Eryshae

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Vael

The morning dawn had softened around them. Emberhold's cobbled streets gleamed with lanternlight, amber and flickering, as the scent of baked rye and wildflowers clung to the cooling air. Sam walked beside her, his shoulder brushing hers now and then, casual but grounding. Vael's fingers tightened around his.

They were only a few turns away from their guest quarters when the wind shifted. It carried a whisper of something old; incense, myrrh, and the breath of deep earth. She stopped abruptly, turning toward the narrow side street that wound upward like a vein carved into the hillside.

Sam glanced at her. "What is it?" She didn't answer at first. Just smiled faintly and gave his hand a tug. "This way."

They ascended in silence, the world quieting with every step. At the crest of the path stood a temple half-swallowed by trees and time. Moss draped its stone archways, and ancient lanterns flickered in blue-green glass. Carvings older than language adorned the columns; twisting vines, laughing raccoons, and a single massive eye set in the bark of a tree.

Vael let her fingers glide across the vine-etched gate as they stepped through. "It's the oldest structure on the continent " she whispered, reverence slipping into her tone. "Older than any city. Older than Ichi, Ni, San or any of the other Cities. This was the place of the First Pact."

A woman emerged from the shadows within. Her robe was dark silver, embroidered with root sigils. Her skin was lined, and her hair was as dark as soot. "Princess Vael." She bowed her head. "It has been a long time."

"Too long, Elder Zharra." The priestess smiled knowingly and beckoned them forward. "Come. The Pact Stone waits."

Sam followed without a word, though his eyes swept the temple with curious awe. The hallway they walked was dim, each alcove holding a fossilized relic: a curved fang sealed in glass, a copper root bound in silk, an ancient flute carved from shell.

"One thousand years ago," Zharra began, her voice echoing softly, "your forefather stood here when the skies first darkened. The world cracked open, and monsters poured in. He alone sought a covenant with the Eryshae Guardian."

They emerged into a small chamber. At its center rested a single stone table, smooth and dark, with a handprint pressed deep into its surface; larger than human. Root tendrils wove around it, half-living, half-fossilized.

"He placed his hand here," the priestess said. "And the Guardian answered, its twin resides in the Grove." Vael stepped closer. The moment felt distant and overwhelming, like standing at the edge of something eternal.

"It wasn't a prayer," Vael whispered. "It was a bargain." Zharra nodded. "Life for protection. Memory for power. Roots for sovereignty."

Sam took her hand again. Vael felt the weight of it; her lineage, the pact, the Guardian's unseen eye that had watched every monarch of Eryshae since.

"Do you ever wonder," she asked softly, "if the Guardian still remembers us?" Zharra smiled sadly. "I wonder more if we remember it."

The roots around the Pact Stone pulsed once; slow, like breath beneath the earth. Vael turned to Sam. "This is where our fate as a Tribe began." And deep inside, she wondered; was this also where it would one day end?

The first light of dawn slipped through the high slats of the temple's ancient roof, catching on dust motes that danced like ash in the air. Vael lingered beside the Pact Stone, her fingers brushing its edges, now warm with the faint kiss of sunlight. The roots around it shimmered faintly, responding not to light, but to memory.

Elder Zharra had gone, leaving them in silence; perhaps to grant them privacy, or because she too believed in what the old pacts required: stillness, thought, presence.

Sam stood behind her, quiet and steady. He hadn't asked questions. He hadn't needed to. There was something about the way he looked at this place; with respect, not wonder; that told her everything.

"This place," Vael murmured, not turning. "It's always been here, older than thrones or cities or kings. And yet…" Her voice faltered.

Sam stepped closer, his hand brushing hers. "And yet?" She turned to face him fully now, the morning light cresting behind her, gilding the sharp planes of his face in gold. "I feel the real beginning wasn't a thousand years ago. I think it was when I met you." He searched her face, that quiet kind of searching he always did, like he was trying to read her soul through her silence.

Vael's thoughts swirled, unruly. She had always loved her people. Her forests. Her ancestors. But this man… Sam wasn't just someone she loved. He was the center of her storm. The anchor in her growing chaos. The one person who made her want to let go of all she had ever known.

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She would follow him anywhere.

She didn't say more.

She didn't have to.

Instead, she kissed him; gently, reverently; beneath the haloed light, among roots and dust and the memory of gods. And when they finally stepped out of the temple into the cool morning mist, the sky above Emberhold was streaked with soft coral light, and the air held the weight of old pacts and new beginnings.

The morning had brightened into pale gold by the time Vael and Sam stepped through the market square. Emberhold's charm was unmistakable; brick lanes lined with flower boxes, whitewashed shops with green shutters, baskets of dew-wet fruit swinging beneath striped awnings.

But the warmth of it all shattered in an instant.

A shout rang out. "You thief!" a stocky man bellowed from the front of a bakery, shoving a young woman into the street. She stumbled, clutching a half-loaf of bread as her knees scraped the cobblestones.

The baker's face was flushed and furious, flour dust clinging to his apron. "I saw you! Filthy liar! Thief!"

The woman didn't speak; just curled slightly around the bread like it was a shield. Her hood had fallen back, revealing tangled black hair as dark as obsidian, streaked with road dust. Her cheeks were sunken. Her wrists bone-thin.

"I ought to drag you to the stockades myself!" the man spat. "Guards! Guards!"

Two armored men turned the corner as the woman looked down, silent. But her shoulders were trembling, her jaw clenched in a way Vael recognized.

Vael stepped forward. "How much is the bread?" The baker blinked. "What?"

"I said, how much?" she asked calmly, reaching into her coin-pouch. The man squinted. "Three copper" Vael counted out four and set them in his hand. "Keep the change."

The black haired woman looked up, startled. "She's with me," Vael said gently. "Are you alright?"

But the baker wasn't done. "She's a rat. Probably working you too. I've seen the type. You're both in on it, aren't you?"

The guards exchanged a glance. "She's right," one of them said with a shrug. "Can't be too careful. Could be a distraction tactic. Saw it in Ni. One distracts with sympathy, the other lifts the coin."

He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his baton. "Both of you, hands behind your back. We'll get this sorted out." Vael's eyes narrowed. "I paid; "

"You can explain it to the detective when you're locked in the stockade." Then the guard grabbed her by the wrist and locked the cuffs with an audible click.

He shouldn't have. Sam had been quiet, but in one heartbeat, his hand snapped forward and clamped down on the guard's wrist like iron.

The soldier grunted, trying to twist free, but couldn't. "Let go of her," Sam said softly. Something ancient had cracked in his voice.

The other guard laughed. "Oh? Tough guy huh? That a threat, traveler?" He reached for the black haired woman, dragging her arm behind her back and clicking the first cuff shut.

Sam's eyes flared. The bark began to creep up his arm like growing armor, pulsing with subtle green light. Bioluminescence flickered beneath his skin, veins glowing like buried roots. His pupils burned with green fire.

The guard holding woman faltered. And then Sam ripped the cuffs from Vael's wrists; metal groaning and snapping like twigs.

The crowd gasped. Even the baker backed a step. Sam turned, seized the first guard by the throat, and lifted him clean off the ground.

"You will not touch," Sam said, voice deepening, resonating, "that which is Mine."

The guard's eyes bulged. His feet kicked the air. Then Sam threw him backward. The man hit the ground hard, skidding across the stone and knocking over a crate of apples with a crash.

The second guard paled. He rushed to his partner, crouched, and helped him up. Without another word, the two turned and sprinted down the lane.

"Reinforcements!" one of them barked. The crowd scattered, murmurs rising like startled birds. Vael was already beside Sam, placing a steadying hand against his chest.

"Sam; it's okay." He blinked. The green fire dimmed. The bark receded.

The black haired woman, still half-bound, stared at them both with a look of stunned reverence; and something else. Vael turned to her. "You'd better come with us. Now."

She nodded once. Then softly said. "Yes, my lady."

The warmth of The Willow Hearth had begun to work its way into her limbs, loosening something brittle beneath her ribs. She sipped slowly from her tea now, hands steadier than when she first entered. Across the booth, Sam watched her; not unkindly, but sharply, like a general taking stock of the battlefield behind someone's eyes.

Vael sat beside him, posture relaxed but alert. She finished the last of her bread and set the crust down with care. Then she spoke, voice quiet, but with practiced clarity.

"I used to be a housemaid. In Ni." Vael's brows lifted slightly, but she said nothing.

"I worked in the estates near the eastern canals; cleaning, errands, assisting in the kitchens when needed. It wasn't a bad life," She continued. "The family I served wasn't cruel. But they weren't kind either. Just distant. Important I suppose." She paused, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "I got permission to leave the city with a traveling caravan. My brother was sick in one of the coastal towns near Ocean City. I had saved enough to go see him."

She swallowed. "We were halfway there when bandits struck. Killed the guards. Took most of the supplies. Left me for dead."

Sam leaned forward slightly. "How long ago?"

"Three weeks. Maybe more." Her voice turned dry. "It's hard to tell the days when you're sleeping under stairs and begging for old bread from closed markets." Vael's eyes softened with sorrow. "And you've been trying to find a way back to Ni ever since?"

She nodded once. "The roads aren't safe. No one travels back west without coin or muscle. I've been trying to save enough for passage. But work is scarce if you don't have a guild mark or a known name." Sam exhaled slowly. "You survived."

"I had to." The words weren't defiant. Just true. Vael tilted her head. "You said you worked in the eastern canal estates. Did you learn anything there?"

Her face stayed composed, but her fingers curled slightly around her teacup. "I listened well. Learned how to serve without drawing notice. I saw how people with power behave when they think the help isn't watching."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "I can be useful," she added. "If you'll let me." Vael looked at Sam, then back at her. "You don't owe us anything. But if you want a safe place, food, and a clean bed for a while; we'll provide it."

She hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Thank you." The tavern around them buzzed softly; plates clinking, soft laughter at nearby tables, the faint murmur of Emberhold's late afternoon lull settling in. Outside the rain had stopped, leaving the cobblestone alleys damp and gleaming. "You handled yourself well back there," Sam said after a pause. "Didn't flinch when things turned."

"I've been through worse," Mira replied, then looked down. "And… I've had to lie low. Most people don't ask your name if you're sleeping under market stalls."

"Instead, you got accused of theft," Sam muttered, bitterness curling the edge of his voice. She gave the smallest of shrugs. "They weren't wrong. I took the bread. I hadn't eaten in two days."