Eryshae

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Sam

She sat across from them at the table, back straighter than before, though the wariness hadn't left her eyes.

"I'm Mira," she said at last.

Her voice carried softly, but it held the quiet weight of someone who'd had to say their name too often just to remind the world she existed. The name lingered a moment in the space between them, unadorned and unclaimed by titles.

Sam leaned back slightly in the booth, one arm draped over the seat behind Vael. He studied the girl; not just her words, but the tired shape of her. The way she kept her hands folded together as if to keep them from shaking. The small, barely noticeable bruises along her wrist from the earlier scuffle. The faint hollow beneath her cheekbones that hunger carved, slow and invisible until it wasn't.

"Mira," Sam repeated, giving her the name back. "I'm Sam. You already met Vael." Vael gave a small nod beside him, resting her hand lightly on his knee under the table.

Sam looked down, jaw flexing. "And still," he said, voice lower now, "you didn't beg. Didn't ask us to save you. You stood your ground."

Mira looked up, something uncertain flickering across her face. "You did save me." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "Now you have a name. And a chance." Vael turned slightly toward Mira. "You've accepted my offer?"

"Yes, Princess," Mira said, the formality almost slipping out of habit. Sam saw it then; how much effort it cost her to remain composed. The battle between pride and need. He respected that.

"Well," he said, rising from the booth, tossing a few coins onto the table, "first lesson in traveling with us; don't call her 'Princess' unless she's wearing something ridiculous and issuing orders like a queen."

Vael swatted his arm lightly as she stood beside him. "Rude." He grinned, then turned back to Mira.

It hadn't taken effort. That's what unsettled him most. One moment he was Sam; tired, hungry, trying to keep Vael safe in a city they barely understood; and the next, something older had surged beneath his skin.

The bark hadn't cracked into place. It had bloomed. It crept down his arm like ivy sensing violence, like it wanted to become something. His flesh gave way to ancient armor, his heartbeat steady and slow like a great tree in windless silence.

It hadn't felt like rage. It had felt like truth. A deeper, primal vow written in marrow; do not touch her.

Not her. She is Mine.

Even now, with Vael's hand lightly on his, with Mira sitting across from him like someone still learning how to breathe normally, the memory of it pulsed behind his eyes. That green flame in his vision, those deep, rumbling words not entirely his own. The way the handcuffs had crumpled like tin. The guard's throat in his grip, weightless. Fragile.

If Vael hadn't been there;

The door banged open. Boots stormed across stone. Sam's head snapped up.

The tavern's murmur went death-quiet as a dozen city guards poured into the room, weapons sheathed but hands poised. Their armor was mismatched, clearly not a formal garrison but a city unit trying to look more dangerous than they were.

At their head swaggered a man with a clean-shaven jaw, a chest puffed unnaturally high in polished bronze mail, and a sneer he wore like a crown.

The captain.

Sam could see it before he opened his mouth; this man was not here to defuse anything. He was here to perform. "Well, well," the captain said, his voice smooth with rot. "I was told there was an altercation involving a foreigner, two women, and a case of guard assault."

He let his eyes sweep the table, lingering with smug disdain on Vael and Mira. His lips twisted. "I see we're bold in taste and dramatic in temper. Very exotic." Sam's hands tightened on the edge of the table.

The captain stepped forward, pulling off his gloves with slow, theatrical snaps. "On behalf of the Auxillary City Guard, I'll need you; " he jabbed a finger at Sam, "to stand, surrender yourself, and be detained for questioning regarding obstruction of civic duty, threatening an officer, and possible sedition."

Sam rose slowly, deliberately. His voice was level, but iron threaded beneath it. "Is that an official charge?" The captain sniffed. "You don't need to worry about charges. You need to worry about compliance."

Mira shrank back slightly, but Sam caught the flicker of heat in Vael's eyes. The captain didn't see it. He was too busy posturing.

Too busy imagining the stories his men would tell about how he walked into a tavern, leveled the outsiders, and walked away a hero of Emberhold's order.

Sam didn't move. Not yet. But that weight was stirring again. That bark beneath his skin, still there. Still waiting. Not as a shield this time. But as a warning. He glanced at Vael.

The tavern air turned cold. The captain's smirk widened, misreading the silence. "Guards; seize them!" Metal scraped leather. Batons were drawn. Boots struck wood.

Mira let out a strangled breath. Vael stood up beside Sam, fire rising in her posture; but the guards weren't aiming at just Sam now. They moved for the women first.

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That was the mistake.

The second one today.

In that split-second, the ancient fury showed him what it wanted. Something broke inside Sam. A pulse; no, a crack; like the splintering of ancient bark underfoot in a sacred grove. His vision tunneled. The tavern fell away. So did the captain's sneer. So did the startled gasps of bystanders.

Green fire flared in his eyes. The bark surged. Across his chest. Down his arms. Fingers curled into talons.

The first guard leapt forward; his baton raised. Sam caught him by the wrist and twisted. Bark laced with glowing vines snaked up the man's arm and bloomed through his shoulder. He turned to scream, but roots burst from his mouth, gagging him in silence before pulling him limp to the floor.

Another guard lunged. Sam spun; his elbow sharpened into jagged wood; and slammed it into the man's ribs, splintering bone and armor in one crushing strike. The man's feet left the ground. He did not rise again.

Two more flanked him. He moved like a storm of silence. A vine lashed from his palm, snaring one by the neck and slamming him through the tavern window, glass exploding like brittle ice. The second stepped back; but Sam's other arm unfurled, bark opening like petals. Thorns launched forward, piercing the guard's chest, pinning him to the back wall like a mounted trophy.

A third; trembling now; swung his baton wildly. Sam ducked, his bark-covered leg sweeping in a clean arc. The man's knee bent sideways. He fell screaming; until Sam's foot came down, heavy as falling timber, silencing him forever.

And then; the captain. Still watching. Still believing in control. Sam stalked forward, fire flickering from his skin, each step sinking slightly into the floorboards beneath him.

The captain drew a sword; too slow. Sam closed the distance.

"No; wait; "

Bark-covered fingers plunged into his chest. Not slicing. Not stabbing. Reaching. Ribs cracked like brittle branches. The man choked once; eyes bulging in disbelief; as Sam pulled something out.

It was red.

It was warm.

And it pulsed once before going still.

Sam stood over him, blood steaming in the cold air, the heart clutched in a bark-wrapped hand like a dying ember. He opened his mouth to roar.

And the vision shattered.

Reality snapped back.

Sam stood in place. The green flame still danced in his eyes; but his hands hadn't moved. The guards were still closing in. Vael's voice; steady and calm; cut through the haze.

"Sam."

He blinked. The bark across his arm pulsed once. She was safe. Still beside him. He hadn't moved. Not yet. But the vision lingered; a warning of what would come if they dared take one step closer. He breathed once, slow and deep. And lifted his gaze to the captain.

The air buzzed.

The captain's voice still rang in the air, but the tavern had grown deathly quiet. Guards stood with batons poised, uncertain. The green fire in Sam's eyes shimmered like a warning; alive, ancient, hungry.

But before Sam could take a step; Vael moved. She stepped in front of him, slipping between him and the captain, her back to the guards. Her eyes found his; calm but blazing with resolve. Then softly, just for him, she whispered, "Trust me." The fury in his chest howled against it. But her voice was a tether. A hand on the storm.

Vael turned back toward the captain. "We'll come with you," she said, her voice clear. "Peacefully. There's no need for anyone to be hurt tonight."

The guards blinked. Some relaxed slightly. The captain sneered, suspicious but greedy for compliance. He gave a sharp nod. Sam didn't move.

His arm coiled around Vael's waist. Firm. Protective. Possessive. He leaned in, voice low and raw at the edge of control. "If they so much as lay a finger on you," he growled, "I will destroy every single one of them. I'll tear them limb from limb. I'll rip out his heart with my bare hands."

The green flame in his eyes flared again; bright and wild. Then dimmed, not because the fury left him, but because Vael anchored him.

She reached down and gently took his bark-wrapped hand where it rested at her waist, lacing her fingers into his. And she whispered back, "I love you." He closed his eyes. Just for a breath. And in that moment, he was hers completely.

They walked through Emberhold's early-morning streets surrounded by armed guards. Vael's hand never left his, and Sam's never loosened its grip.

The guards had split them; three surrounding Sam, three around Vael, two behind Mira; but his arm remained stretched across the distance, his fingers tangled with hers. His gait was calm, but his body pulsed with pressure. Every heartbeat was a drum of restraint.

The guard captain strutted at the head of the group like a crow in borrowed plumage, smirking at passersby, nodding to underlings who pretended not to be curious.

Sam's eyes never left him. Not for one second. As they turned down a side alley and neared the guard station; a squat, moss-covered stone building wedged between two old taverns; Sam felt the shift. A warning in the roots. A wrongness in the air.

Still, he said nothing.cWhen they reached the holding room, the guards moved to separate them. Vael's hand clutched his tighter. "I'm right here," he whispered, voice sharp with control.

"I know," she whispered back. The guards pulled. Sam didn't let go. Only when Vael leaned up on her toes and pressed her forehead against his, did he relent. "I'll be fine," she said gently. "I'm Eryshae. Remember?"

He nodded once. Bark still crawled across the backs of his knuckles. They were forced into separate cells; stone-floored, iron-barred, barely wide enough to stretch their arms. One for Sam. One for Vael. One for Mira.

Sam sat on the stone bench, facing the bars, but his gaze never left Vael in the adjacent cell. She sat with her knees drawn up, fingers curled loosely in her lap, calm but watchful.

Mira sat silently in the far cell, eyes low, arms wrapped around herself, but Sam's fury hadn't passed.

It pulsed just beneath the surface; molten, ancient, his skin itching as if the bark still wanted to spread. He watched the corridor. Waited. The storm was still inside him. For now.

The cell was too small.

Too cold.

Too wrong.

Sam's breathing had slowed to a dangerous stillness, but his pulse thundered like war drums beneath his skin. Bark still veined his arms like cracked armor. The green flame in his eyes hadn't faded; it had simply gone quiet.

Waiting.

He sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the iron bars before him. Too thin. Too weak. They trembled at the edge of his vision, taunting him with their fragility. A growl built low in his throat. Ancient. Feral. Not entirely human.

He heard Vael shift in her cell, felt the tether of her presence pulling at him, grounding him; and still, the fury surged. He couldn't stand it. The smell of mildew. The scent of iron. The lie of captivity.

He rose.

The stone cracked faintly underfoot.

A green light shimmered at the edges of his eyes. Bark crawled down his shoulders, spreading across his chest like a living breastplate. Fingers hardened. Thickened. The bars before him groaned as his hands closed around them.

Then;

He pulled.

With a scream of iron and a spray of dust, the bars bent outward like paper reeds, the hinges shrieking as the door buckled and ripped free from the frame. He dropped the ruined door with a clang that echoed down the corridor like a thunderclap.

Guards would come.

Let them.

He didn't stop.

He crossed to Vael's cell, the green in his eyes now a quiet inferno. She had risen to her feet, breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted in awe, in knowing, in the kind of love that doesn't run when the world becomes wild.

He gripped her lock next; crushed it in one hand; then ripped her door open with a single motion, hinges tearing from the wall. Before she could speak, he pulled her into his arms. His body trembled with restrained violence; but his embrace was gentle.

Protective. Possessive. Infinite.

"I love you," he whispered against her temple. His voice was deeper than before. Older. A vow etched into the bones of the world.