Eryshae

ε૨ყรɦαε

Vael

Kinnan led Sam through a series of quiet halls, the stone underfoot polished smooth by centuries of passage. His pace was brisk, but not rushed; purposeful. "You'll be standing before the Cardinals," Kinnan said as they turned a corner. "Ninety-eight of them. And the Nine Elders. Presentation matters."

Sam glanced at him. "So… what does that mean? Robes? Armor? A really dramatic cape?" Kinnan didn't smile, though his tone softened. "Each candidate wears their faction's formal colors, shaped to reflect their strengths. It's not just symbolism. It's our legacy."

He opened a heavy wooden door to a preparation chamber where attendants waited with folded garments laid across a low table. Rich greens, dark browns, and subtle gold accents stood out against the neutral stone walls. "For the Wood Faction," Kinnan continued, gesturing toward the ensemble, "you wear the colors of the forest. Strength rooted in stillness. The tunic is a living weave, stitched with Eryshae thread. The clasp is shaped like a sapling; a symbol of growth and new roots."

Sam looked at the garments, his fingers brushing the fabric. It was soft but strong, almost humming with quiet energy. "And the boots?" he asked, half-smirking. "Let me guess; crafted from the hide of a moss beast raised on ancient trees?"

"Boiled bark leather, actually," Kinnan said dryly. "But close." Sam let out a quiet breath. "Right. No pressure, huh?" Kinnan met his eyes then, something steady and honest in his gaze. "You're not expected to know everything. Just to show who you are." Sam nodded, more solemn now, and reached for the tunic. He had ninety-eight Cardinals to face; and a tribe watching.

The tunic settled over his shoulders like it belonged there. Warm. Grounded. He caught his reflection in the polished copper mirror as Kinnan and the attendants made quick work of lacing, fastening, and smoothing. The rich forest green fabric clung to his frame with elegant structure, the sapling clasp at his collar a quiet weight. It didn't feel like armor, but something about it was no less protective. "You wear it well," Kinnan said with a nod. "She's waiting."

Sam blinked. "Vael?" Kinnan gave a curt incline of his head and stepped back, giving Sam room. A soft knock summoned a waiting escort, but Kinnan held up a hand. "No need. He knows the way."

Sam followed the corridor back, boots muffled against the woven runners. The hallways felt more solemn now. Each turn brought him closer to her. The memory of her voice still lingered in his head: I'll speak with one of the Nine Elders. Her certainty had planted something in him; hope, maybe, or just steadiness.

The door to her chamber stood ajar. He knocked once, lightly. Vael's voice drifted through. "Enter." Sam stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She stood near the arched window, backlit by the high sun. Gone was her usual simple tunic. Now she wore layered silk robes in deep emerald and ash, cinched with a thin leather belt carved with forest glyphs. Her green hair had been pulled back, revealing the fine line of her jaw and the quiet power in her bearing.

Her eyes moved over him, pausing at the sapling clasp. "Well," she said softly, "you clean up better than I expected." Sam grinned. "High praise. You're not so bad yourself." A moment of stillness stretched between them. The tension from earlier lingered; but it had softened, ripened into something unspoken but understood. Vael turned fully toward him. "The Cardinals are gathering. The vote will begin shortly."

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice low. "Guess we'll see where this goes." She stepped closer, her gaze steady. "You belong here more than most, Sam. Let the Cardinals see that." He swallowed, nodding. They stood a breath apart, and for a moment, neither moved. The outside world waited. The vote. The Elders. Everything. But in this quiet space, there was only the flicker of her eyes on his, and the lingering heat of their last exchange. Vael spoke first, her voice just above a whisper. "Ready?"

"No," Sam said. Then smirked. "But let's go anyway." She smiled; small, real, full of affection; and turned toward the door.

As Sam and Vael stepped through the final archway, the Court of Cardinals unfolded before them like a cathedral carved from living wood and light.

The chamber was vast and circular, formed by the intertwining limbs of ancient trees grown purposefully to create its walls, ceiling, and vaulted dome. Shafts of sunlight poured down through the natural skylights high above, caught in drifting golden pollen that glimmered in the still air. The scent of cedar and myrrh lingered faintly, grounding the solemnity of the space with earthy depth.

Ninety-eight Cardinals stood in tiered circles that surrounded the center platform; an open ring of polished stone veined with vines that pulsed faintly beneath the surface, as if the Court itself breathed. Each Cardinal wore their formal robes of various colors, green for Wood, blue for Water, and so on; draped in robes marked with the sigils of their faction. The hues created a living mosaic of order, history, and power.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The Nine Elders stood in a separate elevated alcove above the Cardinals, framed by roots like thrones grown from the world's oldest trees. Their expressions were impassive, watching. Waiting.

Whispers drifted like wind through leaves as Sam entered beside Vael, hands still linked. All eyes turned to him. He could feel their weight; not hostile, not yet, but full of tension, curiosity, and doubt. He was the Outsider. The one no one expected. And yet, here he was.

The court stilled as the central bell tolled once; low and resonant, echoing through the roots and stone like the pulse of the forest itself. The vote was coming.

The hush deepened as one of the Nine Elders rose from the crescent dais above the Court. Elder Ashwright; clad in ceremonial black robes stitched with silver thread that caught the light like distant stars; stepped forward with measured gravity. His voice, though aged, rang out with unshakable presence.

"Vael of the Eryshae," he intoned, his tone both reverent and firm. "Daughter of the Wood, Heir to the Saber-Bond. The Court recognizes your presence. The Throne is yours to address the gathered Cardinals." A ripple moved through the chamber; respectful silence, solemn and expectant.

Vael's hand gave Sam's a final squeeze before she stepped forward. Her movements were steady, poised; nobility rooted not just in title, but in quiet certainty. She ascended the steps toward the dais, each step deliberate across the sigil-etched surface that shimmered faintly beneath her stride. She turned to face the room. The Cardinals watched in silence.

"To be a Cardinal," she began, voice even but resolute, "is not merely to cast a vote or to wear the sigil of your faction. It is to carry the will of your people. To weigh the wisdom of the past with the urgency of the present." Her gaze swept the chamber; anchored, unwavering. "It is to protect; not just our lands or traditions, but the very breath of what holds us together. Our shared fate as children of the sacred Eryshae."

The name rang like a bell struck from deep earth. "A millennia past, when the Eldritch came from beyond the Veil, it was not armies that first held the line. It was the Eryshae; clawed and fanged, fierce and knowing. They stood between the horror and the hearth. They bled for us, and in that blood, we became the Eryshae Tribe."

"To this day, they are our sacred guardians. Not beasts. Not myths. Kin. Every vow spoken beneath their memory is a promise to shield what cannot shield itself." A reverent hush settled like mist. Even the Cardinals, cloaked in power, bowed their heads.

"To lead," Vael said, her voice low and clear, "is not to reign. It is to remember." She turned, and with that same solemnity, let her gaze sweep the chamber once more; pausing on each faction's contingent. "Each faction has offered a candidate. One among them who carries the old weight and new fire."

She raised her hand slowly; an open palm of invitation. "Let them now step forward. Not to claim, but to listen. Not to speak first, but to be seen." Figures began to move. One by one, the chosen of each faction stepped forward, robes whispering, eyes heavy with the meaning of it all.

And then her hand shifted; just slightly; but enough. Her gaze settled unmistakably on him."Sam Faeloc, chosen by Elder Thornhollow to speak for the Wood Faction."

A beat.

"Please step forward."

Sam stood just below the dais, surrounded by carved stone and an audience of history, yet all his attention was on her.

Vael.

She stood so still, so certain, framed by the light of the atrium above, casting a faint glow through the ancient latticework. The silver accents of her formal robes shimmered subtly when she moved; when she breathed; and though her voice carried with command, there was warmth threaded through every word.

Sam didn't know how she did it. How someone could speak with such conviction, hold the weight of a thousand years of tradition and still sound like herself. Not like a figurehead. Not like a symbol. But like Vael. And yet, she was a symbol. The future of the Eryshae. The voice of her people.

His fingers itched with the impulse to reach out. To warmly touch her, to kiss her. She was a part of what had brought him into this world, and now here he was: clothed in tailored robes he barely understood, standing in a hall of ancient stone and deeper expectations. An Outsider, chosen to represent something he couldn't yet define.

What if he said the wrong thing?

What if he didn't belong here?

He watched her hands; steady, eloquent; and remembered the way they had touched his chest just an hour before. The way she had looked at him, not as a stranger, but something else.

Something possible.

He held on to that as she continued to speak, her words braided with tradition and fierce loyalty. And though his uncertainty still lingered like mist at the edge of his thoughts, her presence kept him rooted. Not in confidence; but in trust.

Trust that whatever came next, he wouldn't face it alone. Sam swallowed, the sound loud in his own ears. His feet moved before his thoughts could catch up. Every eye followed him as he stepped forward; past Kinnan, past the veil of self-doubt; and stood at Vael's side, heart beating in his throat.

The light above caught the edge of his robe, making the embroidered vines seem to shift. Vael gave him the smallest nod. Just enough. The rest was his. Vael's invitation still hung in the air; her hand extended, the chamber hushed, the Court waiting.

All eyes turned to Sam.

But he didn't step toward the dais.

He stepped down.

"I decline."

The word fell like a stone in still water.

A collective gasp. The scrape of a chair. A sharp breath from Elder Thornhollow; half protest, half disbelief. Vael's brow arched; not in anger, but in something quieter. Curiosity. The kind that listens more than it judges.

Sam lifted his gaze; not to the Court, not to the Cardinals, but to her. "I won't stand as a candidate. Not for power. Not for politics. But I will stand for you."

The chamber froze, breathless.

He took another step forward, his voice steady; simple, but anchoring. "I'm a stranger in a strange land. But I need you in my life."

He raised his hand. And something answered. The air grew thick with the scent of green things; bark, sap, rain-soaked moss. From his palm, a tendril rose; slender, living, pulsing softly with warmth. It curled into a ring, not carved but born; woven from the marrow of his magic, shaped by quiet love and will.

The wood was pale and living. A thread of green light pulsed beneath its grain.

He stepped forward again. "Let the factions cast their stones. I've made my choice." His hand opened, offering not a claim; but a vow.

"Vael, will you bind with me? Not for dominion. Not for legacy. But for something older."

A beat.

"For us."