Eryshae

ε૨ყรɦαε

Sam

The convoy rolled to a slow halt beneath the swaying arms of giant willow-birch trees, their silver-veined leaves whispering secrets to the breeze. The road had grown quiet again; no signs of pursuit, no shadows moving where they shouldn't. Still, every guard's hand hovered a little too close to their blade.

Sam hopped down from the lead wagon, stretching his arms until the bark along his forearm cracked faintly. Vael was already dismounting, her twin blades crossed at her back and her eyes scanning the treeline, more out of habit than suspicion now.

"We've got time to rest," Commander Sidney barked to the unit. "Eat fast. Watch the ridgeline. Pairs only; no one pisses alone."

Grumbling in response, the soldiers began unpacking rations and unfurling worn cloths to sit on. A few even dared to laugh quietly, exhaustion tugging the edge of their weariness into something close to camaraderie.

Sam moved to where Vael knelt beside a tree, unpacking a tin of smoked fish, bread, and a curled fruit that smelled faintly of mint. She handed him a piece without a word. He took it, sitting beside her on the moss-covered stone. "You think we'll ever stop flinching at silence?"

Vael tore into the bread, chewing slowly. "Maybe. But I don't think I want to." He glanced at her, and she raised one eyebrow. "A soldier who stops flinching forgets how close death really is."

"Cheerful." She smirked faintly. "It's not about fear. It's about readiness. Fear rusts. Readiness sharpens." Sam shook his head with a laugh and took a bite of fish. "You make war sound poetic."

"I make everything sound poetic," she replied, leaning her shoulder against his for just a moment. "Even this." Around them, the convoy settled into its brief reprieve. The smell of food, woodsmoke, and faint rain drifted together under the trees.

For a moment, just a moment, it was peaceful. Sam held her close, letting the quiet hum of her heartbeat soothe the ache in his chest; the ache he never quite knew was there until she began to fill it. Her presence had become something steady in his world of fractured sky and strange lands. And even here, in a foreign land he did not know, her warmth was home.

He breathed in the subtle scent of her hair, a wild mix of forest bloom and fire-kissed wind. The kind of scent he could lose himself in. The kind he already had. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. "Vael, I didn't come here expecting to belong. I thought… maybe I'd drift the rest of my life. Be a ghost among roots and branches." She touched his chest, fingers resting over the faint pulse of his heart. "And now?"

"Now I'm tethered." He smiled, small and real. "To you. To something real." There was a flicker of movement in the distance; a raccoon the size of a pony, lazily stretching in its pen. Sam's smile deepened at the surreal sight. He was still getting used to that. Horse-sized raccoons. He'd been dropped into a living fever dream… and yet, somehow, it felt less strange than his old life had begun to feel near the end.

"Back home," he said suddenly, gaze drifting toward the sea-tinged skyline, "my dad used to take me sailing." Vael tilted her head, eyes softening with curiosity. "You've never told me much about Earth."

He leaned on the terrace rail, arms folded, voice distant with memory. "We lived close to a massive bay. Long bridges spanning miles of open water. It used to feel like flying when we crossed. Wind in our faces. Salt in the air."

He paused, his smile slipping into something more wistful. "My father was a soldier; strict, but he had this love for the water. Said it was the only place he could breathe easy. My mother was a chef. Ran a tiny restaurant near the docks. She made the best clam chowder you'd ever taste." He gave a soft chuckle. "They used to fight all the time, but they loved each other. Fiercely."

Vael listened, saying nothing, letting the moment stretch between them. "I don't know if they made it," Sam said quietly. "After the Root-Rip. After I… landed here. I think about them every time I smell seawater."

Vael's hand found his, fingers lacing together. "We will try to find a way," she said. "To return you home." He looked at her, eyes steady, searching. "And leave you behind?"

"No," she said firmly. "Never that. But if there's a way to bridge the realms… we should know." Sam shook his head slowly. "I'm already where I need to be." His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "You're my home now."

Vael's eyes shimmered. She didn't speak; didn't have to. The way she leaned into him again, the way her lips brushed softly against his cheek… it was answer enough. But beside him stood a woman who wielded her heart like a blade and her resolve like armor. And Sam would meet whatever came… so long as she was by his side.

The young woman bowed low and held out a lacquered tray with two covered dishes, a bottle of amber wine sealed in wax, and a parchment scroll folded with a wax stamp.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Lunch, since you both need more than just a snack," she said. "As requested, Lady Vael." The food was exotic; sliced rootfish in citrus glaze, buttered seaweed wraps, and thick bread scored with a city crest baked into the crust. Sam took a cautious bite and then a larger one, surprised at the warmth that spread across his tongue.

"This is… actually really good," he admitted. Vael grinned, already halfway through her wrap. Moments later, the same servant returned; this time bearing a velvet box. "The Princess requested her personal deck be brought from her satchel," she said, offering it with bowed head. Vael took it with a quiet "Thank you," then turned to Sam with a glint of mischief.

"Ready for something a little more dangerous than dinner?" He raised an eyebrow. "Cards?" "Not just any cards, my cards," she said as she moved to the table, flicking the lid open.

Inside were dozens of thick, square-edged cards, each carefully painted by hand. She shuffled with care and pulled the first. "This," she said, flipping the card over to show him, "is the City of Ichi. Heart of the Eryshae Tribe."

Sam leaned forward. Painted in brilliant ochres and twilight greens was a sprawling treetop city wrapped in braided bridges and hanging lanterns. Perched above it was a massive raccoon, half-mythic, its fur flowing like wind-tossed silk, its eyes both ancient and amused.

"Let me guess," he said. "Guardian beast?" She nodded. "We believe they once walked beside our people. Some say they still do."

The next card was flipped.

"This is Ni," Vael murmured.

Four crabs; one in each cardinal direction; encircled a glimmering port city cradled between sea and stone. The crabs had carved armor and inky eyes like black pearls. Everything about the painting felt... off. Too symmetrical. Too still. "Their beast watches always," she added quietly. "And answers only to ambition." Sam tilted his head. "Fitting."

She smiled grimly and flipped the third card.

"This is San. The Military-State."

The city on this card was built like a blade; rows of angled towers, soldiers marching in formation across black bridges. Above it all soared a raven with jagged wings like glass knives. Its feathers bled ink across the sky.

"San's guardian," Vael said, "is the Raven of Judgment. They say its cry echoes in the minds of traitors before they're ever caught." Sam stared a moment longer before she turned the deck and showed him the reverse side.

Seven royal cards.

His brow furrowed. "Seven? There are only supposed to be four" She arched an eyebrow right back. "You expected four?"

"In Earth decks, there are only four royal face cards: King, Queen, Jack, and I suppose Joker." Sam replied.

Vael's smile faded just slightly. Her tone, when she spoke again, was thoughtful. Measured. Ancient. "These aren't kings and queens," she said. "They're older. Eldritch." She placed the card down gently. Her fingers trailed along the golden ink as she began to recite:

Pride, the Treant's Roar, who declared himself above all and fell first from the Seat of Unity into Limbo.

Envy, the Green Mirror, who drank another's beauty and shattered their own.

Wrath, the Burning Fang, whose hatred carved the first scar into the dark.

Sloth, the Hollow Root, who watched all others toil and became the first grave.

Greed, the Devouring Maw, who gnawed meaning into value and life into hunger.

Gluttony, the Endless Feast, who drowned paradise in want.

Lust, the Crimson Bloom, who turned harmony into longing; and longing into ruin.

Silence followed her words. Even Sidney, seated nearby, close enoughto guard but far enough for privacy, shifted as if the weight of that ancient rhyme pulled at something buried in her bones.

Sam glanced at the cards, each represented by a twisted sigil: thorned vines, broken mirrors, scorched teeth, hollowed rings. Symbols that pulsed faintly, as if the paint itself remembered.

He tapped a finger on the table. "You play with the faces of fallen gods?"

Vael gave a crooked smile. "Some say it's just a game. Others say it's a warning in disguise."

Sam met her gaze and smiled. "Deal me in."

They played long after the food had cooled and the wine had gone warm. Vael had explained the rules quickly; fast enough to make Sam suspicious, and deliberately enough to make him wary.

"You're making this up," he accused, squinting as she stole another card from his pile. "I'm improvising," she corrected primly. "Like any good sovereign. The game shifts depending on the city."

"Or depending on whether you're losing," Sam muttered, plucking a card at random and laying it face-up. It was Gluttony, painted as a sprawling feast table spiraling into itself, plates devouring plates, eyes peering from bread loaves.

Vael laughed. "Bold play. I'll counter with Wrath." She slapped the jagged flame-marked card down, its crimson edges cracking like dried blood. Her eyes sparkled in the low lamplight.

"Feast and fire," she added. "A classic duel." Sidney, still at her post, grunted again; whether in judgment or amusement, it was hard to tell.

Sam tilted his head, studying her. "You've played this a lot."

"I grew up with these cards," she said. "My tutor told me the game was older than our Tribe. Older than Ni and even Juu. Maybe older than writing. Some think it began as a way to teach about the sins. Others believe it's… prophetic."

Sam blinked. "Prophetic?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "There are patterns in the deck. Strange coincidences. People say the card that wins; or the card that's left in your hand; can tell you something about your fate." He smirked. "Let me guess. You're the kind of girl who always wins."

"I'm the kind of girl who always watches," she replied with a wink. "Then wins."

Round after round passed between them; cards slapped with flair, dramatic gasps for effect, a few not-so-accidental kicks under the table. Sam matched her energy effortlessly, amused and intrigued in equal measure.

But when the game drew to its close, they each held a single card.

Sam lifted his slowly. The stylized treant's roaring face stared back at him, branches twisted into a golden crown: Pride.

Vael's fingers lingered on hers before turning it face-up. A jagged emerald mirror, cracked straight down the middle: Envy.

For a moment, the game's playfulness softened. Quiet stretched between them like mist.

She traced the mirror with her thumb. "It's said that Pride and Envy are siblings," she murmured. "Born of the same root, but twisted in different directions." Sam looked down at the roaring treant again. "Pride reaches upward," he said softly. "Envy looks sideways."

Vael nodded. "One believes it's already above others. The other can never stop counting what others have."

"And both," he said, "lead to ruin." She met his eyes across the small table. "Or to change." The flickering candlelight caught the gold ink on the cards, making them gleam like living things.

"Rematch?" Sam asked.

Vael grinned. "Always."