The morning air was cool, touched with the faint scent of dew-damp earth and distant forge smoke. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting golden light over the dirt road that stretched beyond Ignisia's gates.
The halflings were packed and ready. Their modest carriage stood by the roadside, the horses shifting restlessly, sensing the coming journey. Sam double-checked the harness, while Sophia fussed over the bags, making sure everything was in place. Poppy and Derin stood nearby, speaking in hushed tones, their laughter lighter than it had been in days.
To anyone passing by, it might have seemed like nothing more than a simple departure—merchants moving on, continuing their lives elsewhere.
But Pip wasn't laughing.
He stood beside Irelia, hands tucked into his coat pockets, watching as his friends made their final preparations. A smile played at his lips, easy, practiced—too practiced.
Irelia saw through it.
Sophia was the first to turn to them. "You sure you won't come with us, Pip?"
Pip's grin widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, you know me. Too stubborn for my own good."
Sam huffed. "That's one way to put it."
Poppy rolled her eyes. "One step short of reckless, more like."
Derin smirked. "I'd say more than one step."
Pip chuckled, shaking his head. "You wound me."
The humor came easy. But the weight behind it lingered.
One by one, they said their goodbyes.
Sophia pulled Pip into a tight hug. "Don't do anything stupid."
"No promises."
Poppy punched him lightly on the arm. "You better write."
"I'll send you the most dramatic letters imaginable."
Sam and Derin clasped his shoulder in a firm grip. No teasing this time. Just understanding.
Then, at last, the halflings climbed into the carriage. The driver gave a short call to the horses, and the wheels creaked into motion.
Irelia and Pip stood side by side as they watched it roll down the road, dust trailing behind it in the morning light. The chatter of merchants and distant clang of blacksmith hammers filled the silence they left behind.
Pip kept watching long after the carriage had faded from view.
Irelia broke the quiet.
"So, what now?"
Pip let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "For now? Finish selling the goods we brought. After that…" He exhaled, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "One step at a time, I guess."
His voice held an almost convincing certainty.
He didn't have an answer yet.
And Irelia didn't push.
Instead, Pip glanced at her. "What about you?"
Irelia hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the road ahead—the road she knew she would take soon enough.
She could tell him the truth.
That she wouldn't stay in Ignisia much longer.
That the Egg was calling her somewhere else.
That this town—this life—was something she feared losing.
Her fingers brushed against the satchel at her side, feeling the faint warmth of the container through the fabric.
Instead, she said, "Same as always."
The words rang hollow the moment they left her lips.
Pip studied her for a moment, but if he noticed, he didn't call her out on it.
"Guess that makes two of us."
He gave her a grin. Lopsided. A little too casual.
A gust of wind stirred the dust along the road, carrying it toward the horizon. The last traces of the carriage's path.
Irelia didn't return his smile.
Not because she wasn't amused.
But because, in the end, they were both just waiting.
Waiting for the moment when neither of them could pretend anymore.
The sun hung high in the sky, its warmth lingering longer than an autumn day should allow. A few clouds drifted lazily overhead, casting fleeting shadows across the streets—welcome relief from the heat, even if rain felt like an impossibility.
Ignisia bustled with its usual rhythm. Merchants shouted their wares, the aroma of roasting meat and spiced cider drifted through the air, and children's laughter rang out as townsfolk moved in and out of the busy streets.
But Irelia barely noticed any of it.
She had meant to go home—to lose herself in the quiet of her workshop, to finish reinforcing the Egg's container before she left. Before.
But as she rounded a corner near the barracks, she saw her.
Nariel.
She stood a short distance away, speaking with another knight. Her stance was rigid, arms crossed, her expression carved from stone. The sun caught in her silver hair, its light tracing sharp edges over the set of her jaw, the line of her shoulders. Calm. Controlled. Distant.
Irelia slowed, then stopped altogether.
She should walk away.
She should.
But her feet didn't move.
Nariel was the only one who knew. The only one who understood the weight of the Egg, the reason it had to be protected. If there was anyone she should tell she was leaving, it was her.
And yet—
If she spoke to her now… what would she even say?
They had spent days trapped in the same dance—hovering near each other but never stepping forward. Words teetering on the edge of their tongues, never spoken.
What made now any different?
Irelia exhaled sharply and turned on her heel—
Then stopped.
Her fists clenched at her sides. No more running. No more unfinished conversations.
She turned back, stepping forward before she could change her mind.
Nariel must have sensed her approach, because she glanced up, her piercing gaze locking onto Irelia's before she even spoke.
"We need to talk," Irelia said, voice firm, steady—more than she felt.
Nariel studied her for a long moment. The pause stretched, heavy with everything unsaid.
Then—she nodded.
"Tonight," she said. "At the tavern."
Irelia inclined her head, stepping back, giving her space.
Nariel turned back to her conversation without another word.
And as Irelia walked away, she felt something settle in her chest—something heavier than the Egg, heavier than her runes, heavier than steel.
The tavern was alive with its usual energy—laughter spilling from crowded tables, the warm scent of ale and roasted meat thick in the air, the occasional scrape of chairs against wooden floors. A welcome distraction.
Irelia stepped inside, rolling her shoulders as she surveyed the room. The familiar hum of conversation and the rhythmic clinking of mugs wrapped around her like a cloak, muffling the thoughts that had been circling her mind all day.
She had arrived early. Too early.
Garen, the bartender, leaned over the counter the moment he spotted her, his ever-present smirk already forming. "Drinking alone tonight, or are you waiting for someone special?"
Irelia huffed, shaking her head as she approached. "Garen, if I were drinking alone, you'd be the last person I'd want to share the experience with."
He clutched his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, truly." Then, with an easy grin, he grabbed a mug. "Cider?"
She nodded. "And make it strong."
He chuckled as he poured, sliding the drink across the counter with practiced ease. "Rough day?"
She took the mug, lifting it in a half-salute. "Just a long one."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and made her way to a quieter corner table, slipping into the seat with a quiet sigh.
The tavern carried on around her, the noise a steady, unchanging hum.
But Irelia barely heard it.
Her fingers drifted to the small, round container at her hip, tracing the carved runes absentmindedly. The wood was cool beneath her touch, humming faintly with the magic woven into its core.
The Egg was safe. Secure. Hidden from prying hands.
Yet, the unease in her chest remained.
She exhaled, tilting her head back against the wooden booth, her eyes drifting toward the flickering lanternlight above. The golden glow swayed with the draft that slipped in from the door, shifting shadows against the wooden beams. It reminded her of something distant, something fleeting.
Perhaps of the life she had started here.
Perhaps of the one she would leave behind.
She had told Pip same as always.
But what did that even mean anymore?
Her thumb brushed over one of the runes, feeling the slight indentation beneath her skin.
Maybe, after tonight, she'd have an answer.
Or maybe—she was about to make everything even more complicated.
The tavern was alive. Laughter, conversation, the steady hum of a night like any other.
Irelia sat in her quiet corner, the weight of waiting pressing against her ribs. The cider was half-finished in front of her. She traced the runes on the container absentmindedly, letting the rhythm of the tavern settle in her ears—a steady backdrop to the thoughts she didn't want to dwell on.
Then—
The shift.
It wasn't immediate, not at first. Just a moment of quiet threaded between the clatter of mugs and the murmur of voices. A pause in conversation. A flicker of unease.
Then came the tremor.
A low, distant rumble. Subtle, like a giant shifting in its sleep beneath the earth.
The glass on a nearby table quivered. The wooden beams groaned.
Irelia's grip on the container tightened.
A single beat of silence.
Then—
Boom!
The explosion hit like a thunderclap. A shockwave of force slammed into the tavern, shaking the ground beneath her feet. The blast rattled the windows, sent mugs flying from tables, chairs scraping violently against the floor as patrons lurched from their seats. The roar of splintering wood and shattering glass swallowed the startled shouts.
Then came the heat.
A gust of fire and smoke billowed through the streets, its searing breath curling through the cracks of the tavern door. The acrid scent of burning wood and scorched fabric filled the air, thick and suffocating.
Irelia's ears rang from the force of the blast. The walls trembled with the aftershock. The distant cries from outside grew sharper, panicked.
And then—
Fire.
A distant glow, flickering against the night sky, turning the shadows against the walls into dancing embers.
Irelia didn't need to see it.
She already knew.
Her stomach turned cold, dread clawing its way up her spine.
The Ashen Veil was here.
And Ignisia was burning.