Eryshae

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Sam

Sam stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the heavy double doors that had swallowed Serene Liri and her retinue. The murmur of departing Cardinals was a dull roar in the back of his mind, but all he heard was the pounding of his own heart; heavy, relentless, as if it were trying to rip free from his chest.

Vael's hand rested firmly on his chest, her warmth a tether pulling him back from the brink of despair. "What if truth isn't enough?" he had asked, and the question echoed in the stillness like a challenge thrown to the void.

Vael's smile sharpened into something fierce; a blade glinting in the half-light. "Then we forge a new truth. One they can't ignore." Sam's eyes lifted to meet hers. There was fire in her gaze, an ember of hope kindled by stubborn defiance. It was the same fire that had drawn him to her from the beginning; the quiet strength beneath her calm, the unwavering belief that no matter how many times the Court bent or broke, the roots ran deeper than their schemes.

He clenched his fists. The loss still burned, fresh and bitter. But beneath the sting, beneath the crushing weight of the Court's verdict, something else stirred. A resolve. Not to fight a losing battle, but to change the game entirely. Vael's fingers squeezed his hand, a silent promise; not alone.

The chamber emptied. Only the fading scent of burnt parchment and wax lingered, mingling with the cold stone and polished wood. Sam inhaled deeply. He could still taste the acrid smoke, feel the eyes of the Court's factions burning into his back like poison. "Did you see the way they looked at me?" he asked, voice low and raw. "The relief. The quiet gladness that I lost." Vael's jaw tightened. "They underestimate what you mean to them."

"Maybe," he said, stepping away from the dais, the weight of his robes dragging at his shoulders. "But I'm tired of being underestimated. Tired of shadows playing over everything I try to build." Vael followed, her steps measured beside his. "We'll find another way," she said. "We always do."

Sam paused, looking down at her; a woman who chose to stand by his side through every whispered threat and every clash of power. She was more than an ally; she was the root that held him steady in the storm. "Then we start now," he said, his voice firmer. "Not tomorrow, not after the Court's next move."

Vael nodded, a faint smile breaking the solemnity. "We begin by gathering those who still believe in something more. Those who aren't sold to coin or fear." His eyes darkened. "The Court may have its rituals and rules, but the real power is in the people. The forgotten, the overlooked, the brave."

Vael's grip tightened again. "And we will remind them. They need to see that the heart of this Tribe beats stronger than any throne." Sam felt the pulse of the future in her words, a rhythm steady and sure. "Then let them come," he whispered. "Let them see that even in loss, we grow. Like roots breaking stone, we will rise." Together, they stepped from the shadows of the chamber into the faint glow of dawn.

The warm glow of blue lanterns floated ahead as Sam and Vael made their way down the cobblestone path toward the heart of the village celebrations. Music and laughter spilled out into the cool evening air, and the scent of spiced cider and fresh bread teased their senses.

As they approached the bustling square, two familiar figures emerged from the crowd; Elder Cherry, her silver-streaked hair catching the lantern light, and Elder Thornhollow, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Sam, Vael," Elder Cherry greeted softly, her eyes twinkling. "The night carries more than song and drink. Remember, the strength to face tomorrow grows from the peace you find tonight."

Elder Thornhollow nodded, his weathered face breaking into a rare, gentle smile. "Troubles may weigh heavy, but here, under the stars, you can find a moment's reprieve. Breathe it in." Sam felt the knot inside him loosen, the elders' calm presence a balm to his restless thoughts. He glanced at Vael, whose eyes reflected the flickering lantern light with quiet hope.

The village square pulsed with life; a whirl of color, laughter, and music weaving through the night air like a warm embrace. Lanterns hung from every branch and rooftop, casting a golden glow that flickered with the rhythm of the fiddles and drums. Sam and Vael stepped into the crowd, their hands brushing as Elder Cherry and Elder Thornhollow's words settled softly in Sam's mind, easing the tension coiling in his chest.

Would you… care to dance with me?" Sam asked, his voice softer than before, a smile touching his lips. Vael's cheeks flushed a soft rose, and she nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. Her hand slipped into his, fingers curling gently around his. The music shifted; a slow, lilting tune that seemed to weave itself around them, inviting them closer.

Sam pulled Vael gently into the circle of dancers, the warmth of her body against his, a quiet comfort in the midst of celebration. The scent of pine and wildflowers clung to her, mingling with the earthy notes of the night. Their steps found a natural rhythm, feet moving carefully over the uneven stones. For a moment, it was just the two of them; the sounds of the village fading into a soft hum at the edges of Sam's awareness.

Vael's eyes met his again, wide and shimmering. "This… feels different," she murmured, her voice barely above the music. Sam nodded, his grip tightening slightly; not possessive, but protective. "It does. Like finding a small piece of peace I didn't know I needed." The world spun gently around them, but in that dance, time slowed. The worries of tomorrow softened, replaced by the simple connection of movement, breath, and shared smiles.

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As the song drew to a close, Sam bowed his head slightly toward Vael, his smile warm and sincere. "Thank you for this." Vael squeezed his hand. "Thank you for asking." They lingered a moment longer before stepping back into the flow of the crowd; but the quiet glow between them had deepened, a fragile ember kindled beneath the night sky.

The music faded, replaced by laughter and the crackle of firepits around the square. The dancers slowly broke apart, drifting toward food stalls and friends, but Sam lingered in place. His fingers brushed his ring; worn, becoming familiar. A simple band carved decades ago. He hadn't noticed its weight in some time, but now it pressed against his skin like a living thing. Not heavy; just present. Anchoring.

He glanced sideways. Vael stood beside him, her chest rising and falling gently with breath. Firelight curled through her hair, casting its green tones in gold. Her cheeks still held the flush of movement, and a fine sheen of sweat clung to her brow. Not perfect; radiant. Alive. She'd laughed during the second turn of the dance, something soft and breathless, and the sound had settled in his chest like sunlight in deep water.

Gods, he thought. She's beautiful. Not just because of how she looks, but because of how she is. He turned his ring again. Vael shifted beside him and turned, her voice gentle but teasing. "Would you like something to eat?"

Sam blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Hm?" She tilted her head, smiling. "Food, Sam. You've been staring into the fire like it owes you answers." A short laugh escaped him. "Sorry. Got caught up." He hesitated, and then; "Yes. I'd like that."

Vael's smile widened, and she reached for his hand again; not just to lead him, but to be near him. He followed her through the crowd, the feel of her fingers against his grounding him more than anything else had in months. And still, the ring sat warm against his skin. For the first time, it didn't feel like it marked an ending. It felt like the beginning of something he hadn't dared to hope for.

They wandered toward the food stalls, where savory smoke and spice clung to the air like a welcome cloak. The square buzzed with chatter, bursts of laughter, the occasional bark of a dog. Lanterns swung overhead on long ropes, casting warm, dappled light across the cobblestones.

Sam and Vael paused at a vendor's cart where roasted root skewers crackled on an open flame beside honey-drizzled flatbreads stacked high. Sam ordered a bit of everything, trading coin for a small plate piled high with crisped vegetables, slivers of fire-grilled meat, and warm bread wrapped in leaves.

They found a stone ledge near the edge of the square, half-shadowed beneath a low-hanging tree hung with glowing orbs of amber light. It was quieter there, though the celebration still pulsed gently around them like the beat of a distant drum.

Sam broke a piece of bread and dipped it into the spicy red sauce pooled on the plate. "Open," he said softly, holding it out. Vael arched a brow. "You're feeding me now?"

"Is that a protest or a question?" he teased, eyes warm. Vael smiled and leaned forward slightly, her lips parting. Sam placed the bite into her mouth gently, his fingers brushing the edge of her lower lip. Her eyes fluttered half-shut for a moment as she chewed, humming softly at the flavor.

"Mmh. That's good."

"Told you."

"Again," she murmured, holding his gaze.

He chuckled, then picked up a roasted pepper slice and offered it next. Each bite was a small ritual; his careful attention, her quiet pleasure, the subtle dance of intimacy blooming like something fragile and secret between them. The kind of closeness that didn't need declarations or reasons. Just presence. "You always feed people you dance with?" she asked after a while, voice laced with mischief.

"Only when they look at me like that," he replied. She flushed; not deeply, but just enough for him to notice. And for a moment, the world shrank to the space between them, warm and lit by something gentler than firelight.

Eventually, they stood again, the plate emptied between them. They drifted through the rest of the celebration; fingers brushing, smiles exchanged. Vael paused at a puppet show and laughed with a small child pointing excitedly. Sam lingered at a weaver's stall, admiring the colors dyed into sky-blue and mossy green threads. They watched fire-dancers send sparks into the night, and for a moment it felt like joy could last forever.

Later, when the stars scattered across the sky like blessings, Sam would remember that evening not because it was loud or grand; but because it was the first time in a long while he'd felt entirely at peace. And not alone.

As the celebration eased into a quieter rhythm, Sam caught the scent of something sugary wafting through the crowd. He tugged gently on Vael's hand, nodding toward a vendor near the square's edge where a line of lanterns framed a stall draped in deep violet fabric. "What now?" Vael asked, amused.

"Dessert," Sam said simply, already heading in that direction. "You haven't lived until you've had festival sweets." The stand was filled with candied fruits on thin skewers, honeyed buns dusted with powdered cinnamon, and crisp, warm pastries stuffed with spiced cream. Sam pointed out a pair of golden-brown rolls with glazed tops that shimmered faintly in the lantern light. "These," he said. "Trust me."

Vael gave him a mock-skeptical look but accepted the warm pastry with both hands. They sat again, this time on a low garden wall, and bit into the sweets together. The filling was soft and fragrant, hinting at cardamom and clove, wrapped in tender, just-baked dough. Vael let out a quiet sigh, eyes closed. "Okay. Fine. You were right."

Sam grinned. "Say it again." She opened one eye. "You were right. And if you gloat, I'll eat your half." He broke off a piece of his and held it out to her again. "I'll risk it."

She took the bite delicately from his fingers, eyes never leaving his. Something about the moment; the soft laughter, the taste of something warm and sweet between them, the music humming in the distance; wrapped Sam in a blanket of strange, quiet contentment. He looked down at his left hand. The ring Vael had given him caught the light, a dull silver shimmer against his skin. He rubbed it gently with his thumb, feeling the weight of it. Not heavy; but grounding.

When he looked back up, she was watching him. "Tired?" she asked. "Getting there." Vael nodded and stood, brushing pastry crumbs off her fingers. "Come on. We don't have to say goodnight just yet."

They left the soft chaos of the festival behind; music fading, torches flickering in the distance, laughter trailing off in echo. The quiet between them wasn't awkward. It was full. Comfortable. Back at Vael's family manor, the hallways were dim and hushed, the kind of silence that settles only when most of the world has gone to bed. Vael opened her bedroom door and stepped aside to let him in.

The room was warm, lit by a few soft orbs of pale light hovering near the ceiling. A quilt rested at the foot of her bed, embroidered in forest greens and earthen tones. Books were stacked unevenly near the low sitting table. A few flowers in a jar gave the air a hint of something floral and fresh.

Sam stood still for a moment just inside the door, taking it all in. "You can sit," Vael said gently, beginning to untie the fastenings on her cloak. "I'll find you a pillow if you want to stay here tonight." His voice was quiet. "I'd like that." She gave him a soft smile; tired, but fond. "Me too."