King Xerxes
Scrawl Banditta
Not a Sayan
Candy Cane Elf
Sleepy Tani
Neziul
Kuro
Before anything else Nyra remembered the smell of those days. The scent of smoke and bitter herbs burning nonstop as if the air around them could be purified with enough effort, even if it carried a constant sting, as if the crushed roots were left too long in the flame. How her father hated the smell. The trader that coughed into his sleeve at the market stall, that child who seemed too tired to run home at dusk. How quickly everything seemed to shift in the world outside.
Her father was the first to catch on, he was always quick with the dangers that couldn’t be seen. “They’re afraid.”, His gaze focused out to the pillars of smoke in the distance. From that day on she noticed her mother left the house less frequently, if there was a need to go outside it was done by her father. Despite that, at night is when she would continue to get her lessons.
Even when his voice grew rough. Even when there seemed to be longer pauses in his movements. Nyra could always sense a feeling of pride from her father even then. One that drove Nyra to want to impress him with those results. Putting her everything into the training her parents gave.
“Again,” He spoke, forcing steadiness into his hands. She couldn't even remember what the lesson was that day.
At first all it seemed like was fatigue in her father. Then a fever. Nyra didn’t know it but the weakness in her father made just standing feel like a battle. He would hide it the best he could, but it wasn’t long before Nyra picked up on how he started pacing himself against doorframes. The way he sat a little too long before answering her. Or how his bow that to her seemed as if it was an extension of his body seemed too heavy in his hands.
Her mother seemed to notice it, but if she spoke to her father about it she wasn’t sure. Yet Nyra thought someone like her father was untouchable. Yet the sickness made it harder to move around unnoticed and the rumors quickly started to spread like the sickness around them. Whispers about glimpses of strange almost ink-like markings on her mother. How her skin was darkened in unnatural tones. Something that didn’t fit cleanly into their understanding.
“Bad luck follows them.”
“The sickness came after they arrived.”
“Monsterkin.”
It wasn’t long before they started pointing the blame at her mother. Not because any of it was true, but because it proved useful for their fears. Something to blame for this sudden sickness, someone they could take action on. Something more tangible.
On a dim night with a dying fire that nobody moved to feed. One where the shadows stretched thin along the walls, shifting only with every moment of the flame. The air still carried the same bitter edge that was over the entire settlement, the smoke and herbs that her father seemed to hate. Nyra sat close to her father, closer than she had any other night. Her father laid against a wall, one shoulder braced where he had insisted on sitting upright instead of lying down. Even now, even like this he refused to look weak in front of his daughter. Yet his effort showed.
Each breath came slower than the last, measured as if to count each one of them. To save as much as he can. “Your footwork’s gotten sloppy.” He murmured, filling that silence. Nyra blinked as if she couldn’t believe his words. “What?” His eyes were still half open, unfocused but far from unaware. “Earlier. You’re favoring your right side again.”
There it was, he didn’t even seem fearful of his fate. It was another correction. Nyra swallowed hard, it felt like there was something stuck in her throat, and a pain welling in her eyes. “You can’t even stand-”
“It doesn’t mean I’ll just stop seeing it.” He paused, only just for a moment. “Again.”
Her hands tightly curled into fists, trying to squeeze the emotions out of herself. “Not now.”
His gaze shifted to her then, sharper for a moment despite the sickness sapping away his strength. “Nyra.” His voice was quiet, but firm in a way where she didn’t feel any room to argue. She’d take in one deep breath, before standing. There hadn’t been much space in the room, but she stepped back anyway. Slowly adjusting her stance in the way she had been trained hundreds of times before.
Her weight balanced, her breathing steady. Ignoring everything else. She moved, not fast nor flashy. One step, and a turn, the ghost of a draw as if her bow were in her hands at this very moment rather than leaning untouched against a wall. Allowed just this moment for the world to be narrowed down to only that. To the muscle memory she built, the discipline of her training, to what made sense.
“Better.” The way he spoke was as gentle as the wind. Nyra slowly dropped back down to her knees beside him, in a much less controlled motion. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you can just rest.” He let out a faint breath that she could imagine being a laugh. One that made her throat tighten. “Who else will correct your stance?”
Outside everything seemed deathly quiet, no voices, not even the soft steps of someone walking at night. Even the wind started to feel distant, as if this place was filled with an absence. Nyra watched as his gaze shifted past her, toward the doorway where her mother stood in silence. As she could tell there was some silent agreement between them both, a choice she wasn't part of.
She felt his fingers shift, just enough to press weakly against her wrist, remnants of the strength that felt previously unbreakable. Nyra knew that they were going to be blamed for the sickness, it was a warning her mother ingrained into her head whenever she asked why they kept moving. Nyra stayed there holding her father’s hand until the tension faded from it, like something slowly unwinding and reaching its end. Until no matter how long she waited his next breath never came. The fire shifted and cracked, nothing had changed. Yet to her it felt as if the world itself had been turned upside down. Neither her mother or her moved right away, to them both it wasn't real yet.
It wasn’t long before the air itself seemed to grow heavy. After they both had laid her father to rest, Nyra had been preparing to leave once again. To go on the road with her mother, but they had stayed for too long. Her mother was already at the door, as if waiting for something to happen. The windows were all covered, that was when Nyra could hear it. The sound of armored guards moving quickly outside.
Nyra listened to her mother’s order to hide away and wait, they would only be grabbing her after all. The capture hadn’t gone violently, it was quick and procedural. Chains ready they grabbed her wrist as if they were handling something dangerous that they didn't fully understand. All while Nyra hid away in a crawlspace, her gaze never strayed from her mother the entire time. Her mother couldn’t risk the guards seeing her daughter’s eyes, she couldn’t risk that they would decide she belonged chained beside her.
From the crawl space she remembered the final hug they shared, her mother’s soft voice. How fear and instinct made her want to help her mother. How the guards' voices carried throughout that entire house, reaching even her hiding spot. She closed her eyes tightly and most of that day became a blur outside of the emotions that engraved itself on her heart. Losing both of her parents so close to each other, nothing about it felt real. It was as if she was living a nightmare.
How she would do anything to see her parents again. Even if for just one more day.
The settlement of Dunmere sat along the old trade road like a stubborn ember refusing to die. Small compared to the sprawling glow of Moonreach, it clung to survival through caution, routine, and just enough moonlite to keep the dark from pressing too close. A low fence of pale stone encircled the town, each slab threaded through with faint silver veins that shimmered softly beneath the eclipse. Beyond it, great iron firebasins burned day and night, their flames fed constantly by bundled peat and lamp oil until smoke curled endlessly into the darkened sky. The townsfolk measured safety in light here, and there was never quite enough of it.
At the heart of Dunmere stood a wide stone well, old enough that no one remembered who first dug it. The rim had been worn smooth by generations of hands hauling water upward from the black beneath the earth. People gathered there throughout the day with wooden buckets and iron pails, voices carrying softly through the cold air as they traded news, gossip, and quiet reassurances that another night had passed without incident. Children ran between market stalls with frost reddened cheeks while seamstresses hung thick wool cloaks beneath covered awnings to keep the rain from soaking through. Life moved carefully here, but it still moved.
Travelers passed through Dunmere more often than they stayed. Merchant wagons rolled slowly along the muddy roads toward Moonreach, their wheels creaking beneath crates of grain, lamp oil, salt, and worked moonlite. Inns remained crowded most evenings, filled with caravan guards warming stiff hands beside the hearth while traders whispered rumors over watered ale. News traveled with them, carried from settlement to settlement like sparks drifting through dry grass. Some spoke of increased shadow movement beyond the eastern hills. Others spoke of the King’s summons and the growing number of armed strangers heading toward the capital.
Three orders kept the kingdom alive beneath the eclipse, though few envied any of them. Scarecrows guarded the farmland surrounding Moonreach itself, patrolling the outer fields and intercepting threats before they reached the walls. Crusaders rode beyond the safety of civilization entirely, hunting shadow creatures through forests, ruins, and forgotten roads in brutal campaigns meant to keep their numbers from swelling unchecked. Wardens, however, belonged to places like Dunmere. They were stationed across smaller towns and settlements, tasked not with conquest or glory, but endurance. They reinforced failing defenses, helped hired mercenaries escort caravans on occasion, settled panic before it spread, and stood watch through endless nights so smaller communities could survive another morning.
The Wardens of Dunmere stood near the outer fires as dusk deepened once more, the darkness of the eclipse deepening as the day came to a close, silhouettes wrapped in heavy dark cloaks lined with strips of moonlite chain. Their weapons rested close at hand, long spears and hooked blades forged for defense within tight streets rather than open battlefields. Rain hissed softly against the flames while the eclipse loomed overhead, vast and unmoving, its silver edge casting faint light across the clouds. Beyond the perimeter fires, the world disappeared quickly into blackness thick enough to swallow shape and distance alike. Still, the gates remained open for travelers arriving late from the road, and the people of Dunmere carried on beneath the glow, refusing to surrender what little light remained to them.
Nyra would spot those familiar gates long before she finally reached them. Still open. This was the kind of place that rarely closed the gates and seemed more than welcome to travelers and their coin. The wooden gate doors pushed inward beside a low stone barrier worn smoother by weather and years of passing hands. The lanterns burned near the entrance, their weak amber glow reflecting across the muddy wagon tracks carved into the road. No guards ever stopped her here.
She’d continue through the gates without slowing, boots carrying the damp scent of pine and wet earth from the wilderness behind her. Nya kept her hood low as she moved in, noting that the life in this town seemed to continue in small stubborn ways. The laughter that traveled from the tavern, the fellow travelers lingering in the streets despite the late hour and rain. It was almost like the road running through the town was its very spine. The buildings leaned close together on either side, timber framed homes with sagging roofs and narrow alleys blackened by rain and age.
Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, carrying scents of burnt wood, broth and damp wool in the air. This very town still had a sense of warmth, even in this weather. The rainwater dripped steadily from the edge of her cloak, leaving behind her in a soft rhythm. She kept her face angled away from the lantern light whenever it threatened the shadows underneath the hood. She brushed her gloved hand against the small coin punch hidden in her cloak, counting what was left without looking. It seemed enough for a room if she bargained carefully, or enough for food if she decided otherwise.
The boy appeared beside her so suddenly that Nyra’s hand may have twitched toward the knife beneath her cloak before instinct caught up with reason. A bright voice cut clean through the rain and chimney smoke, warm as hearthfire and entirely too cheerful for the hour. “Hullo!”
He rocked back on his heels after saying it, hands clasped behind his back like he had not nearly startled years off her life. He could not have been older than twelve or thirteen, though there was a quickness behind his eyes that made him seem older in fleeting moments. Curly dark hair spilled untidily across his forehead in rain damp waves, one side flattened where a hood had clearly been thrown back in haste, and freckles dusted pale cheeks pink from the cold. A deep green traveling cloak hung from narrow shoulders, weatherworn near the hem but stitched from fabric far finer than most people in this town could afford.
Beneath it, his clothes were clean and carefully tailored, cream linen layered beneath fitted leather straps and little travel pouches stuffed nearly to bursting. A plump gray rat poked its head from the loose collar of his tunic, whiskers twitching furiously as it sniffed the rain. The boy noticed her staring and grinned immediately, entirely unashamed. The expression carried all the reckless confidence of someone who had survived this long by assuming people would like him before they decided otherwise. A polished lyre rested against his back beside an overfilled travel pack, its wood glossy even in the dim lanternlight. Around his neck hung an ornate silver amulet set with a blue gemstone large enough to catch the eye instantly. The stone glittered strangely beneath the lantern glow, not reflecting light so much as holding it, and for a brief moment Nyra could have sworn something moved within its depths.
“It took me forever tae find ye,” he said brightly, accent curling thick around the words as he pointed at her with complete familiarity. “Ye travel quite a lot, dontcha?” The rat squeaked in agreement.
The boy tilted his head then, studying her from beneath damp curls with open curiosity rather than caution, his blue eyes bright. Most people looked at Nyra and saw the wrongness eventually, but this boy looked at her like she was a particularly interesting road he had decided to follow simply because it wandered somewhere unexpected. Rain pattered softly against the rooftops around them while the tavern farther down the street erupted into a round of laughter. Somewhere nearby, a horse snorted against the cold. The boy seemed entirely untouched by any of it, planted beside her like he had appeared there naturally, as though wandering out of darkness to greet strangers was something he did every day.
“Name’s Finlay,” he added, rocking once more on his heels. “An’ before ye ask, aye, the rat bites folk. Only sometimes, though. Say, I have a message for ye!”
She’d finally exhale, something about this boy made her feel completely uneasy. Someone who was probably as young as her when she first started traveling on her own. Who's been searching for her for some time. Yet they were just a boy, pushing aside what felt like her brain shouting off alarms, as even if she acted now it would only bring large amounts of trouble.
“Right, thanks for the warning Finlay.” Her eyes softened for a moment, “If you’ve been looking for me then you must know who I am already. What message do you bring?” At the very least it would’ve been easy for this boy to try and bring her harm, so there wasn’t much use in simply distrusting someone who managed to scare off years like that. In her travels she had seen plenty of... lets say interesting people.
With a case like hers too, she wasn’t exactly the kind of person to simply judge someone else for having an… eccentric air around them. Plus the rat was definitely doing some work here, such a cute animal! Normally with danger, animals were the first to react. If this rat was comfortable perhaps it was all just in her mind.
Finlay watched her carefully after the question, green eyes bright beneath the damp curls hanging into his face. The rat at his collar sniffed once toward Nyra before disappearing halfway back beneath the fabric of his cloak, evidently deciding she was not immediately dangerous. Rain tapped softly against the rooftops around them while wagon wheels groaned somewhere farther down the road, and through it all he stood there with the loose ease of someone entirely comfortable speaking to strangers in dark places.
“Message came from King Vorn himself,” he said matter of factly, as though that explained everything. Then he paused.
A grin spread slowly across his face, crooked and terribly pleased with itself, like he had already guessed exactly what she was about to ask next and intended to enjoy every second before answering. He shifted the lyre from his back and settled it against his chest with practiced familiarity, fingers brushing lazily across the strings. The notes that followed drifted softly into the street, light and wandering, the kind of tune meant for roads and long miles rather than courts or ballrooms. It threaded itself through the sound of rainwater and distant tavern laughter until the whole town seemed to hum faintly around it.
“Aye, aye, I ken,” he continued before she could speak, accent curling warmly around the words. “Yer askin’ how a king managed tae find a lass who clearly spends half her life disappearin’ into forests an’ the other half avoidin’ folk.”
He plucked another careless chord. “That’d be me.” The grin widened. “’M very talented.”
The rat squeaked again, as though confirming the statement on official authority. Finlay’s grin turned sharper when she did not immediately answer him. The kind of grin belonging to boys who stole pies from windowsills and somehow talked their way out of punishment afterward. His fingers continued dancing loosely across the lyre strings, careless in appearance yet strangely precise, each note slipping easily into the next while rain whispered around them. Even the rat seemed to settle into the music, tiny paws gripping the collar of his tunic as it peeked back out to watch Nyra with bright little eyes.
“Or mayhaps ye wonder what the message is, aye?” he said lightly. The tune shifted then, brightening into something playful.
“The King has called for swords an’ shields,
For wanderers from roads an’ fields,
For hunters bold an’ fools wi’ pride,
To march beneath the dark outside.”
He swayed a little where he stood, boots splashing shallow rainwater while his fingers plucked another string.
“A mighty quest, a grand affair,
Wi’ shadowed beasts an’ foul despair,
An’ every soul what answers true
Gets silver, glory… mayhaps two.”
His eyes flicked upward toward her then, glittering with unmistakable mischief.
“But that’s no’ why I hunted ye
Through half the forests past Dunmere.
No’ fer coin, nor crown, nor fame—
The King, ye see, spoke yer name.”
The melody softened slightly after that. Still teasing, still light, but gentler around the edges now.
“He bids ye tae the capital hall,
Past Moonreach gates an’ towering wall.
Accept the quest, stand wi’ the brave,
An’ he shall free the one ye crave.”
A quieter chord rang out beneath the rain.
“Yer mum,” he added plainly then, though the smile never fully left his face. “Safe an’ breathing, iron-bound still. But King Vorn swore upon the crown, help him, an’ she walks free.”
The final notes drifted into the damp night air between them while Finlay looked up at her expectantly, entirely too pleased with the dramatic delivery of it all. “Pretty good song, aye?”
Had this been a more normal situation Nyra would’ve allowed herself to enjoy each and every moment of that little song. Yet the messaging was more the clear, the king wanted her to partake in whatever suicide mission in order to free her mother. Along with the fact that he had somehow, someway managed to track her down, even if it was some sort of trap it would be one she would willingly walk into.
It seemed this boy at least talked more than enough for the both of them, perhaps he was promised something from the King himself to bring upon this message and she wasn’t one to shoot the messenger nor shoot a boy. She’d exhale slowly and give a small nod to the boy. ”It was a wonderful song. Thank you for your work.”
Of course the King would deliver his message through song, would a letter be asking for too much? Either way she would be lying if she didn’t say she at least liked this strange bard, and if it took some time for Finlay to find her then she would have to make her trip quicker. Perhaps the coin would be used for food then. ”Then it appears I have a new place to head toward. Although are you normally the King’s messenger Finlay?” She wouldn’t be shocked if the boy couldn’t answer.
Yet she also wouldn’t be shocked if the boy just saw this as some form of challenge, to find the roaming afflicted woman that keeps to the shadows. This boy seemed more than mischievous enough to be the one to look for this kind of trouble, and yet somehow avoid it at the same time. For someone to be as comfortable as scaring a woman like her, and as cheery as any other kid. This bard was definitely something else.
She was already plotting the route in her mind, and how exactly she would make it to Moonrise. A trip like that wouldn’t be hard for her, and at least she would have something to look forward to in the future. She couldn’t wait to feel the warm embrace of her mother once more.
The compliment lit him up instantly. Finlay straightened with theatrical pride, grin spreading ear to ear as though she had just declared him the finest bard in all of the land instead of merely tolerable. His fingers swept dramatically across the lyre strings, sending another bright cascade of notes dancing through the rain soaked street. “Excellent question,” he said in a lilting sing-song voice, clearly delighted she had taken the bait at all.
He rocked back once on his heels again, curls bouncing slightly. Lanternlight caught the blue gemstone hanging around his throat, and for the briefest moment it shimmered strangely beneath the eclipse, like starlight trapped beneath deep water. “I’ll be seein’ ye, m’lady.” The lyre rang once more beneath his fingers.
Then he was gone.
Not vanished in smoke or swallowed by darkness, but simply absent between one blink and the next, as though the town itself had folded around him and carried him elsewhere. One moment a boy stood there grinning up at her in the rain, boots planted crooked in the mud. The next there was only the empty stretch of road beside her, wet lanternlight trembling softly across puddles where he had been. And yet the music remained. It drifted faintly through the street ahead of her, soft strings and wandering melody weaving between the buildings as though Finlay himself were still strolling carelessly through the town somewhere just out of sight. The tune grew quieter with every passing second, retreating farther into Dunmere until it became impossible to tell whether she still truly heard it or merely remembered the sound.
Her eyes narrowed where the boy had been, he just vanished? She hadn’t lost track of him down an alley, no kind of slight of hand or any other smart exit. It had to be simply one thing, but that was just a myth, but now it made sense why the boy didn't seem scared at all. If he could’ve vanished like that, who knows what else he could’ve done. The music that seemed to be filling the town felt more like laughter to her now, as if she hadn’t known what she was going toward. ”What the hell?”
She examined where the boy clearly stood, tested to see if it was even real by smudging the ground where he stood. It wasn’t some weird hallucination from what she ate today, she gripped a dagger under her cloak, whatever answers she wanted were in the King’s hands and she already clearly had something she wanted. If only she knew whatever the hell magic that was, then she would’ve simply taken her mother straight out of whatever hole they put her in.
Perhaps she met some weird fairytale creature, at this rate the sun could magically show the hell back up and she would believe that more than what just happened in front of her. Whatever the hell it was, it was clear it wasn’t going to help make her journey any shorter right now, she let her gaze move up to the sky for a couple of moments. It would’ve been nice if whatever the hell that was took her straight there, but life never seemed easy.
Towns hardly suited her anyway. She moved with a new vigor, making her way toward what seemed to almost be a new source of hope. If she could finally save her mother even after all of these years, that would be more than enough. No time like the present, and who was she to keep a King waiting.
Her father was the first to catch on, he was always quick with the dangers that couldn’t be seen. “They’re afraid.”, His gaze focused out to the pillars of smoke in the distance. From that day on she noticed her mother left the house less frequently, if there was a need to go outside it was done by her father. Despite that, at night is when she would continue to get her lessons.
Even when his voice grew rough. Even when there seemed to be longer pauses in his movements. Nyra could always sense a feeling of pride from her father even then. One that drove Nyra to want to impress him with those results. Putting her everything into the training her parents gave.
“Again,” He spoke, forcing steadiness into his hands. She couldn't even remember what the lesson was that day.
At first all it seemed like was fatigue in her father. Then a fever. Nyra didn’t know it but the weakness in her father made just standing feel like a battle. He would hide it the best he could, but it wasn’t long before Nyra picked up on how he started pacing himself against doorframes. The way he sat a little too long before answering her. Or how his bow that to her seemed as if it was an extension of his body seemed too heavy in his hands.
Her mother seemed to notice it, but if she spoke to her father about it she wasn’t sure. Yet Nyra thought someone like her father was untouchable. Yet the sickness made it harder to move around unnoticed and the rumors quickly started to spread like the sickness around them. Whispers about glimpses of strange almost ink-like markings on her mother. How her skin was darkened in unnatural tones. Something that didn’t fit cleanly into their understanding.
“Bad luck follows them.”
“The sickness came after they arrived.”
“Monsterkin.”
It wasn’t long before they started pointing the blame at her mother. Not because any of it was true, but because it proved useful for their fears. Something to blame for this sudden sickness, someone they could take action on. Something more tangible.
On a dim night with a dying fire that nobody moved to feed. One where the shadows stretched thin along the walls, shifting only with every moment of the flame. The air still carried the same bitter edge that was over the entire settlement, the smoke and herbs that her father seemed to hate. Nyra sat close to her father, closer than she had any other night. Her father laid against a wall, one shoulder braced where he had insisted on sitting upright instead of lying down. Even now, even like this he refused to look weak in front of his daughter. Yet his effort showed.
Each breath came slower than the last, measured as if to count each one of them. To save as much as he can. “Your footwork’s gotten sloppy.” He murmured, filling that silence. Nyra blinked as if she couldn’t believe his words. “What?” His eyes were still half open, unfocused but far from unaware. “Earlier. You’re favoring your right side again.”
There it was, he didn’t even seem fearful of his fate. It was another correction. Nyra swallowed hard, it felt like there was something stuck in her throat, and a pain welling in her eyes. “You can’t even stand-”
“It doesn’t mean I’ll just stop seeing it.” He paused, only just for a moment. “Again.”
Her hands tightly curled into fists, trying to squeeze the emotions out of herself. “Not now.”
His gaze shifted to her then, sharper for a moment despite the sickness sapping away his strength. “Nyra.” His voice was quiet, but firm in a way where she didn’t feel any room to argue. She’d take in one deep breath, before standing. There hadn’t been much space in the room, but she stepped back anyway. Slowly adjusting her stance in the way she had been trained hundreds of times before.
Her weight balanced, her breathing steady. Ignoring everything else. She moved, not fast nor flashy. One step, and a turn, the ghost of a draw as if her bow were in her hands at this very moment rather than leaning untouched against a wall. Allowed just this moment for the world to be narrowed down to only that. To the muscle memory she built, the discipline of her training, to what made sense.
“Better.” The way he spoke was as gentle as the wind. Nyra slowly dropped back down to her knees beside him, in a much less controlled motion. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you can just rest.” He let out a faint breath that she could imagine being a laugh. One that made her throat tighten. “Who else will correct your stance?”
Outside everything seemed deathly quiet, no voices, not even the soft steps of someone walking at night. Even the wind started to feel distant, as if this place was filled with an absence. Nyra watched as his gaze shifted past her, toward the doorway where her mother stood in silence. As she could tell there was some silent agreement between them both, a choice she wasn't part of.
She felt his fingers shift, just enough to press weakly against her wrist, remnants of the strength that felt previously unbreakable. Nyra knew that they were going to be blamed for the sickness, it was a warning her mother ingrained into her head whenever she asked why they kept moving. Nyra stayed there holding her father’s hand until the tension faded from it, like something slowly unwinding and reaching its end. Until no matter how long she waited his next breath never came. The fire shifted and cracked, nothing had changed. Yet to her it felt as if the world itself had been turned upside down. Neither her mother or her moved right away, to them both it wasn't real yet.
It wasn’t long before the air itself seemed to grow heavy. After they both had laid her father to rest, Nyra had been preparing to leave once again. To go on the road with her mother, but they had stayed for too long. Her mother was already at the door, as if waiting for something to happen. The windows were all covered, that was when Nyra could hear it. The sound of armored guards moving quickly outside.
Nyra listened to her mother’s order to hide away and wait, they would only be grabbing her after all. The capture hadn’t gone violently, it was quick and procedural. Chains ready they grabbed her wrist as if they were handling something dangerous that they didn't fully understand. All while Nyra hid away in a crawlspace, her gaze never strayed from her mother the entire time. Her mother couldn’t risk the guards seeing her daughter’s eyes, she couldn’t risk that they would decide she belonged chained beside her.
From the crawl space she remembered the final hug they shared, her mother’s soft voice. How fear and instinct made her want to help her mother. How the guards' voices carried throughout that entire house, reaching even her hiding spot. She closed her eyes tightly and most of that day became a blur outside of the emotions that engraved itself on her heart. Losing both of her parents so close to each other, nothing about it felt real. It was as if she was living a nightmare.
How she would do anything to see her parents again. Even if for just one more day.
The settlement of Dunmere sat along the old trade road like a stubborn ember refusing to die. Small compared to the sprawling glow of Moonreach, it clung to survival through caution, routine, and just enough moonlite to keep the dark from pressing too close. A low fence of pale stone encircled the town, each slab threaded through with faint silver veins that shimmered softly beneath the eclipse. Beyond it, great iron firebasins burned day and night, their flames fed constantly by bundled peat and lamp oil until smoke curled endlessly into the darkened sky. The townsfolk measured safety in light here, and there was never quite enough of it.
At the heart of Dunmere stood a wide stone well, old enough that no one remembered who first dug it. The rim had been worn smooth by generations of hands hauling water upward from the black beneath the earth. People gathered there throughout the day with wooden buckets and iron pails, voices carrying softly through the cold air as they traded news, gossip, and quiet reassurances that another night had passed without incident. Children ran between market stalls with frost reddened cheeks while seamstresses hung thick wool cloaks beneath covered awnings to keep the rain from soaking through. Life moved carefully here, but it still moved.
Travelers passed through Dunmere more often than they stayed. Merchant wagons rolled slowly along the muddy roads toward Moonreach, their wheels creaking beneath crates of grain, lamp oil, salt, and worked moonlite. Inns remained crowded most evenings, filled with caravan guards warming stiff hands beside the hearth while traders whispered rumors over watered ale. News traveled with them, carried from settlement to settlement like sparks drifting through dry grass. Some spoke of increased shadow movement beyond the eastern hills. Others spoke of the King’s summons and the growing number of armed strangers heading toward the capital.
Three orders kept the kingdom alive beneath the eclipse, though few envied any of them. Scarecrows guarded the farmland surrounding Moonreach itself, patrolling the outer fields and intercepting threats before they reached the walls. Crusaders rode beyond the safety of civilization entirely, hunting shadow creatures through forests, ruins, and forgotten roads in brutal campaigns meant to keep their numbers from swelling unchecked. Wardens, however, belonged to places like Dunmere. They were stationed across smaller towns and settlements, tasked not with conquest or glory, but endurance. They reinforced failing defenses, helped hired mercenaries escort caravans on occasion, settled panic before it spread, and stood watch through endless nights so smaller communities could survive another morning.
The Wardens of Dunmere stood near the outer fires as dusk deepened once more, the darkness of the eclipse deepening as the day came to a close, silhouettes wrapped in heavy dark cloaks lined with strips of moonlite chain. Their weapons rested close at hand, long spears and hooked blades forged for defense within tight streets rather than open battlefields. Rain hissed softly against the flames while the eclipse loomed overhead, vast and unmoving, its silver edge casting faint light across the clouds. Beyond the perimeter fires, the world disappeared quickly into blackness thick enough to swallow shape and distance alike. Still, the gates remained open for travelers arriving late from the road, and the people of Dunmere carried on beneath the glow, refusing to surrender what little light remained to them.
Nyra would spot those familiar gates long before she finally reached them. Still open. This was the kind of place that rarely closed the gates and seemed more than welcome to travelers and their coin. The wooden gate doors pushed inward beside a low stone barrier worn smoother by weather and years of passing hands. The lanterns burned near the entrance, their weak amber glow reflecting across the muddy wagon tracks carved into the road. No guards ever stopped her here.
She’d continue through the gates without slowing, boots carrying the damp scent of pine and wet earth from the wilderness behind her. Nya kept her hood low as she moved in, noting that the life in this town seemed to continue in small stubborn ways. The laughter that traveled from the tavern, the fellow travelers lingering in the streets despite the late hour and rain. It was almost like the road running through the town was its very spine. The buildings leaned close together on either side, timber framed homes with sagging roofs and narrow alleys blackened by rain and age.
Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, carrying scents of burnt wood, broth and damp wool in the air. This very town still had a sense of warmth, even in this weather. The rainwater dripped steadily from the edge of her cloak, leaving behind her in a soft rhythm. She kept her face angled away from the lantern light whenever it threatened the shadows underneath the hood. She brushed her gloved hand against the small coin punch hidden in her cloak, counting what was left without looking. It seemed enough for a room if she bargained carefully, or enough for food if she decided otherwise.
The boy appeared beside her so suddenly that Nyra’s hand may have twitched toward the knife beneath her cloak before instinct caught up with reason. A bright voice cut clean through the rain and chimney smoke, warm as hearthfire and entirely too cheerful for the hour. “Hullo!”
He rocked back on his heels after saying it, hands clasped behind his back like he had not nearly startled years off her life. He could not have been older than twelve or thirteen, though there was a quickness behind his eyes that made him seem older in fleeting moments. Curly dark hair spilled untidily across his forehead in rain damp waves, one side flattened where a hood had clearly been thrown back in haste, and freckles dusted pale cheeks pink from the cold. A deep green traveling cloak hung from narrow shoulders, weatherworn near the hem but stitched from fabric far finer than most people in this town could afford.
Beneath it, his clothes were clean and carefully tailored, cream linen layered beneath fitted leather straps and little travel pouches stuffed nearly to bursting. A plump gray rat poked its head from the loose collar of his tunic, whiskers twitching furiously as it sniffed the rain. The boy noticed her staring and grinned immediately, entirely unashamed. The expression carried all the reckless confidence of someone who had survived this long by assuming people would like him before they decided otherwise. A polished lyre rested against his back beside an overfilled travel pack, its wood glossy even in the dim lanternlight. Around his neck hung an ornate silver amulet set with a blue gemstone large enough to catch the eye instantly. The stone glittered strangely beneath the lantern glow, not reflecting light so much as holding it, and for a brief moment Nyra could have sworn something moved within its depths.
“It took me forever tae find ye,” he said brightly, accent curling thick around the words as he pointed at her with complete familiarity. “Ye travel quite a lot, dontcha?” The rat squeaked in agreement.
The boy tilted his head then, studying her from beneath damp curls with open curiosity rather than caution, his blue eyes bright. Most people looked at Nyra and saw the wrongness eventually, but this boy looked at her like she was a particularly interesting road he had decided to follow simply because it wandered somewhere unexpected. Rain pattered softly against the rooftops around them while the tavern farther down the street erupted into a round of laughter. Somewhere nearby, a horse snorted against the cold. The boy seemed entirely untouched by any of it, planted beside her like he had appeared there naturally, as though wandering out of darkness to greet strangers was something he did every day.
“Name’s Finlay,” he added, rocking once more on his heels. “An’ before ye ask, aye, the rat bites folk. Only sometimes, though. Say, I have a message for ye!”
She’d finally exhale, something about this boy made her feel completely uneasy. Someone who was probably as young as her when she first started traveling on her own. Who's been searching for her for some time. Yet they were just a boy, pushing aside what felt like her brain shouting off alarms, as even if she acted now it would only bring large amounts of trouble.
“Right, thanks for the warning Finlay.” Her eyes softened for a moment, “If you’ve been looking for me then you must know who I am already. What message do you bring?” At the very least it would’ve been easy for this boy to try and bring her harm, so there wasn’t much use in simply distrusting someone who managed to scare off years like that. In her travels she had seen plenty of... lets say interesting people.
With a case like hers too, she wasn’t exactly the kind of person to simply judge someone else for having an… eccentric air around them. Plus the rat was definitely doing some work here, such a cute animal! Normally with danger, animals were the first to react. If this rat was comfortable perhaps it was all just in her mind.
Finlay watched her carefully after the question, green eyes bright beneath the damp curls hanging into his face. The rat at his collar sniffed once toward Nyra before disappearing halfway back beneath the fabric of his cloak, evidently deciding she was not immediately dangerous. Rain tapped softly against the rooftops around them while wagon wheels groaned somewhere farther down the road, and through it all he stood there with the loose ease of someone entirely comfortable speaking to strangers in dark places.
“Message came from King Vorn himself,” he said matter of factly, as though that explained everything. Then he paused.
A grin spread slowly across his face, crooked and terribly pleased with itself, like he had already guessed exactly what she was about to ask next and intended to enjoy every second before answering. He shifted the lyre from his back and settled it against his chest with practiced familiarity, fingers brushing lazily across the strings. The notes that followed drifted softly into the street, light and wandering, the kind of tune meant for roads and long miles rather than courts or ballrooms. It threaded itself through the sound of rainwater and distant tavern laughter until the whole town seemed to hum faintly around it.
“Aye, aye, I ken,” he continued before she could speak, accent curling warmly around the words. “Yer askin’ how a king managed tae find a lass who clearly spends half her life disappearin’ into forests an’ the other half avoidin’ folk.”
He plucked another careless chord. “That’d be me.” The grin widened. “’M very talented.”
The rat squeaked again, as though confirming the statement on official authority. Finlay’s grin turned sharper when she did not immediately answer him. The kind of grin belonging to boys who stole pies from windowsills and somehow talked their way out of punishment afterward. His fingers continued dancing loosely across the lyre strings, careless in appearance yet strangely precise, each note slipping easily into the next while rain whispered around them. Even the rat seemed to settle into the music, tiny paws gripping the collar of his tunic as it peeked back out to watch Nyra with bright little eyes.
“Or mayhaps ye wonder what the message is, aye?” he said lightly. The tune shifted then, brightening into something playful.
“The King has called for swords an’ shields,
For wanderers from roads an’ fields,
For hunters bold an’ fools wi’ pride,
To march beneath the dark outside.”
He swayed a little where he stood, boots splashing shallow rainwater while his fingers plucked another string.
“A mighty quest, a grand affair,
Wi’ shadowed beasts an’ foul despair,
An’ every soul what answers true
Gets silver, glory… mayhaps two.”
His eyes flicked upward toward her then, glittering with unmistakable mischief.
“But that’s no’ why I hunted ye
Through half the forests past Dunmere.
No’ fer coin, nor crown, nor fame—
The King, ye see, spoke yer name.”
The melody softened slightly after that. Still teasing, still light, but gentler around the edges now.
“He bids ye tae the capital hall,
Past Moonreach gates an’ towering wall.
Accept the quest, stand wi’ the brave,
An’ he shall free the one ye crave.”
A quieter chord rang out beneath the rain.
“Yer mum,” he added plainly then, though the smile never fully left his face. “Safe an’ breathing, iron-bound still. But King Vorn swore upon the crown, help him, an’ she walks free.”
The final notes drifted into the damp night air between them while Finlay looked up at her expectantly, entirely too pleased with the dramatic delivery of it all. “Pretty good song, aye?”
Had this been a more normal situation Nyra would’ve allowed herself to enjoy each and every moment of that little song. Yet the messaging was more the clear, the king wanted her to partake in whatever suicide mission in order to free her mother. Along with the fact that he had somehow, someway managed to track her down, even if it was some sort of trap it would be one she would willingly walk into.
It seemed this boy at least talked more than enough for the both of them, perhaps he was promised something from the King himself to bring upon this message and she wasn’t one to shoot the messenger nor shoot a boy. She’d exhale slowly and give a small nod to the boy. ”It was a wonderful song. Thank you for your work.”
Of course the King would deliver his message through song, would a letter be asking for too much? Either way she would be lying if she didn’t say she at least liked this strange bard, and if it took some time for Finlay to find her then she would have to make her trip quicker. Perhaps the coin would be used for food then. ”Then it appears I have a new place to head toward. Although are you normally the King’s messenger Finlay?” She wouldn’t be shocked if the boy couldn’t answer.
Yet she also wouldn’t be shocked if the boy just saw this as some form of challenge, to find the roaming afflicted woman that keeps to the shadows. This boy seemed more than mischievous enough to be the one to look for this kind of trouble, and yet somehow avoid it at the same time. For someone to be as comfortable as scaring a woman like her, and as cheery as any other kid. This bard was definitely something else.
She was already plotting the route in her mind, and how exactly she would make it to Moonrise. A trip like that wouldn’t be hard for her, and at least she would have something to look forward to in the future. She couldn’t wait to feel the warm embrace of her mother once more.
The compliment lit him up instantly. Finlay straightened with theatrical pride, grin spreading ear to ear as though she had just declared him the finest bard in all of the land instead of merely tolerable. His fingers swept dramatically across the lyre strings, sending another bright cascade of notes dancing through the rain soaked street. “Excellent question,” he said in a lilting sing-song voice, clearly delighted she had taken the bait at all.
He rocked back once on his heels again, curls bouncing slightly. Lanternlight caught the blue gemstone hanging around his throat, and for the briefest moment it shimmered strangely beneath the eclipse, like starlight trapped beneath deep water. “I’ll be seein’ ye, m’lady.” The lyre rang once more beneath his fingers.
Then he was gone.
Not vanished in smoke or swallowed by darkness, but simply absent between one blink and the next, as though the town itself had folded around him and carried him elsewhere. One moment a boy stood there grinning up at her in the rain, boots planted crooked in the mud. The next there was only the empty stretch of road beside her, wet lanternlight trembling softly across puddles where he had been. And yet the music remained. It drifted faintly through the street ahead of her, soft strings and wandering melody weaving between the buildings as though Finlay himself were still strolling carelessly through the town somewhere just out of sight. The tune grew quieter with every passing second, retreating farther into Dunmere until it became impossible to tell whether she still truly heard it or merely remembered the sound.
Her eyes narrowed where the boy had been, he just vanished? She hadn’t lost track of him down an alley, no kind of slight of hand or any other smart exit. It had to be simply one thing, but that was just a myth, but now it made sense why the boy didn't seem scared at all. If he could’ve vanished like that, who knows what else he could’ve done. The music that seemed to be filling the town felt more like laughter to her now, as if she hadn’t known what she was going toward. ”What the hell?”
She examined where the boy clearly stood, tested to see if it was even real by smudging the ground where he stood. It wasn’t some weird hallucination from what she ate today, she gripped a dagger under her cloak, whatever answers she wanted were in the King’s hands and she already clearly had something she wanted. If only she knew whatever the hell magic that was, then she would’ve simply taken her mother straight out of whatever hole they put her in.
Perhaps she met some weird fairytale creature, at this rate the sun could magically show the hell back up and she would believe that more than what just happened in front of her. Whatever the hell it was, it was clear it wasn’t going to help make her journey any shorter right now, she let her gaze move up to the sky for a couple of moments. It would’ve been nice if whatever the hell that was took her straight there, but life never seemed easy.
Towns hardly suited her anyway. She moved with a new vigor, making her way toward what seemed to almost be a new source of hope. If she could finally save her mother even after all of these years, that would be more than enough. No time like the present, and who was she to keep a King waiting.
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