Eryshae

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The quiet between them deepened, thick with the kind of gravity that made breath slow and hearts louder. Vael didn't move her hand from Sam's chest. Beneath her palm, his heartbeat was steady, but something about the stillness between them felt more charged than even their kiss.

She looked up at him again.

His eyes caught the light; but not in the usual way. A soft shimmer stirred beneath the surface, green and alive, like morning sunlight sifting through leaves. The color pulsed faintly, deepening as she held his gaze. Vael's hand stilled. "Sam…" she murmured. "Are you… a Druid?"

He blinked, the glow fading almost as quickly as it had come. Confusion flickered across his face, but not fear. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I've been having strange things happen since I have been here. But sometimes I feel like… I understand things I shouldn't. His gaze dropped, almost sheepish. "It's like… like the world hums louder around me lately. Especially around you."

Vael's breath caught. Her fingers flexed slightly against his cloak, steadying herself. That wasn't coincidence. That was resonance. "No," she whispered. "You're not crazy. You're listening. Most people spend their lives trying to learn that."

He looked at her again, something cautious and vulnerable in his expression. She reached up and brushed her hand along his jawline, letting her fingertips linger just beneath his eye.

Vael tilted her head, watching him carefully. "But something inside you knows," she said gently. His jaw worked. Then, without a word, Sam reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Vael's breath caught in her throat. The glow wasn't just in his eyes. Faint green light traced through his skin, pulsing gently beneath the surface like living veins; curling around his shoulders, down his arms, flickering like bioluminescent roots just beneath flesh. The pattern wasn't constant, like ink, but alive; shifting, fading, returning with every breath he took.

Vael tried not to stare, but her gaze lingered on the broad lines of his chest, the way the light curved along his collarbone, down to the carved lines of muscle that flexed and moved as he adjusted his stance. She swallowed. Her face warmed.

Sam noticed.

His voice was low, almost shy. "It's been happening more often lately. When I feel... strong emotions. When I get too still." Vael forced her gaze back to his eyes. "And the first time it happened?"

His brow furrowed. "After I met you."

She went still. Then Sam looked down at his hand, lifted it slowly. He took a breath, steadying himself. "It happens when I try to listen. Not to people, but to… everything else."

At first, nothing. Then, from the tip of his index finger, a thin green tendril emerged; delicate as a seedling, glowing faintly, curling into the air. It extended just a few inches before flickering, trembling, and receding like it had never been.

Vael's eyes tracked the vine as it extended from Sam's fingertip; living, pulsing with a quiet, radiant energy. The glow lit the edges of her face, casting delicate shadows across her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. When it vanished, her gaze remained fixed on his hand.

He let out a breath. "That terrified me the first time, but its a part of how I escaped from Ruwan and his men." Vael reached for his hand. "And now?" He met her gaze. "Now it terrifies me less." She gave him a deeper look.

"That…" she whispered, almost to herself. "That's not just Druidcraft." Sam's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" She looked up, meeting his eyes again. "Most Druids commune with nature through ritual. Through years of study. What you just did; intuitively, without training; that's something else."

He shifted, discomfort flickering across his face. "So I'm not a Druid?" Vael stepped closer, her voice gentle. "I didn't say that. But I don't think you're only a Druid."

Sam blinked. "That doesn't exactly clear things up." A quiet smile touched her lips, fond and soft. "No. But you're not alone in this. After the vote, I'll speak with Elder Cherry; she's one of the Nine. If anyone can help us understand what's happening to you, it's her." Sam hesitated. "Do you trust her?"

"With my life." Her hand lingered near his. "And if she senses something deeper in you… we'll face it together." A silence fell between them, not awkward, but thick with something unspoken. Vael's eyes flicked once more to the place where the vine had bloomed, then back to his bare chest, the faint green glow slowly dimming beneath his skin. She exhaled, as if grounding herself. "No matter what you are, Sam…" she said softly, "you belong here more than you know."

Sam searched her face, something fragile and uncertain in his eyes. "You really believe that? That I belong here?" Vael nodded slowly. "I do." Her voice was steady, but laced with feeling. "The forest doesn't waste energy on things that don't matter. It reached for you. That means something."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

His throat bobbed with a swallow, and he looked down, absently pressing a hand to his chest where the glow had just faded. "It never made sense to me; any of this. The way I feel when I touch the earth, when I listen too closely to the wind. It's like the world's been whispering to me, but I never knew the language."

Vael smiled faintly. "Maybe you're remembering it now." She took a slow breath, reaching up to gently brush her fingers against his temple, trailing down his chest. "Sometimes the soul carries old songs, even if the mind forgets the words."

Sam's eyes fluttered at the touch, the warmth of her hand grounding him in the moment. "You always talk like that?" he murmured. Her smile deepened. "Only when I'm trying to keep someone calm before their life changes forever."

He gave a soft, breathy laugh. "You're good at that." Vael let her hand fall away, but she didn't step back. "I meant what I said. We'll figure this out. Whatever you are, whoever you were before… right now, you're here. With me. And that matters."

The quiet that settled between them was full; not empty. Filled with the pulse of a bond still forming, but rooted in something real. Sam lifted his gaze again, and when their eyes met, neither of them looked away.

He tilted his head slightly. "You know, for someone who feels like they're all about logic and leadership, you're dangerously poetic."

Vael arched a brow, but her voice was soft. "Don't let the Cardinals hear you say that. They'll start expecting flower crowns and sonnets."

"I'll keep your secret," Sam whispered. Their smiles mirrored each other; small, warm, and sincere. Outside, the sunlight crept across the edge of the wooden floor, inching toward noon. But inside the room, time seemed to pause. Vael didn't speak again. She simply stayed close, letting the moment stretch; anchoring them both in the stillness before the storm.

Sam took a breath. "Would that the world could end with something so harmless." She turned her eyes on him then; steady, unreadable.

He hesitated, then spoke again, voice lower, more measured. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

He saw the faint flicker of adoration in her eyes. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate..." Vael's lips parted slightly, not to interrupt, but to listen.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May," Sam continued, almost under his breath, "and summer's lease hath all too short a date." A pause. The faint sound of wind beyond the windows. The room felt narrower somehow.

"I always liked that one," he said, almost to himself. "Not because of the flattery; but the truth of it. That time erodes everything. Even the most golden days." Vael was still. No smirk. No dismissal. Just silence, held tenderly and reverently.

Sam glanced away, a small, dry smile ghosting across his lips. "Sorry. I forget myself sometimes."

"You didn't," she said, quiet and certain. His eyes returned to hers. Vael stepped closer; not quite a touch, not quite a retreat. Just presence. Intentional and calm. "You forget the world," she added. "That's something else entirely." A long beat passed between them. Sam's hand twitched at his side, then rose to cup her face. The words were already between them now; Shakespeare's and his own. Time. Beauty. Endings. And maybe, just maybe… the dangerous beginnings too.

"I forget the world," he said quietly, "because it fades when you walk into the room." The words hung there, raw and unvarnished. He hesitated only a moment before continuing, as if the dam had cracked.

"Your voice calms the storms," he said.

"Your gaze shames the stars in the night sky. Even silence clings to you, as if hoping to be heard." Vael didn't move. Didn't interrupt. And Sam, drawn forward by her stillness, went on; softer now, but no less sincere.

"If you wore a crown of flowers," he said, almost smiling, "even the petals would envy the shape of your mouth."

"And if I wrote you sonnets…" His voice faltered, not from fear, but feeling. "The ink would turn to blood before the page could hold you."

Something in her eyes flickered; vulnerability, pulled from deep within. Something unguarded. And then, quieter still, he added: "I don't say these things to charm you. I say them because they demand to be said."

He took a single step back, letting the moment breathe. Letting her choose what to do with it. "No crown. No sonnets," he said, a touch of warmth in his voice. "But still… dangerously poetic." She raised her hand and he took it, courteously kissing the back of her hand.

A bell tolled in the distance; once, twice; breaking the moment but not shattering it. Vael dropped her hand but stayed close. "The vote is at noon," she said. "Each faction has already chosen their candidate. The Cardinals will cast their stones in the Court."

Vael smiled as she blushed, still savoring his poetic words, as her hand found his again. "Sam," she said, a bit more serious now. "You need to be ready. Not everyone wants an Outsider to rise. The vote… it won't just be about you. It'll be about what you represent."

He laced their fingers. "And what do I represent?" Vael looked up at him, eyes steady. "Change."

Vael took one final breath, deeper than the rest, steadying herself. Then, with a graceful flick of her wrist, she reached for the small bronze bell resting on a carved pedestal near the doorway. The chime was delicate but clear, echoing gently through the room like ripples in still water.

Sam blinked, the spell of the moment breaking. He straightened slightly, watching her. "That's for Kinnan," Vael said quietly. "He'll take you to be dressed properly for the nomination."

Sam nodded, glancing down at himself, still shirtless and faintly glowing with residual green light. "Yeah, I guess I'm not quite dressed for a sacred vote." Vael offered him a faint smile, then kissed him on the cheek before she turned away without another word, slipping behind a tall, woven curtain at the edge of the chamber.

For a moment, Sam stood there, unmoving, uncertain whether to linger or look away. But as his eyes flicked toward the curtain, he caught a glimpse; her silhouette, soft and graceful in the filtered light. The gentle curve of her back, the motion of her arms as she loosened the ties of her robes. The delicate outline of her form shifted as she stepped into her ceremonial attire, quiet and deliberate.

Sam swallowed and turned his gaze toward the door just as it opened. Kinnan entered with calm efficiency, taking in Sam's state with a single raised brow and a dry nod. "We've got less than an hour, and you'll want to make a good impression."

"Right," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck, still slightly dazed. "Lead the way." As he followed Kinnan out, he cast one last glance over his shoulder toward the curtain. Vael's silhouette was gone, replaced by the rustle of fabric and the distant echo of purpose. Something was changing. In him. Around him.

And noon was coming fast.