The cobblestone paths of Vaelrin glowed faintly under the descending twilight—soft lanterns humming with contained luminescence, warm orange halos cast over the passersby. The air was fragrant with the mingling scents of roasted grain, lavender oil, and faint alchemical smoke from nearby workshops. The faint rhythm of distant music floated through the alleys, a comforting, cyclical song that felt older than the town itself.
Alatar's gaze wandered—eyes calm, almost unreadable—as Lysera led him down the sloping streets. Around them, fey and humans mingled freely, their tones and faces distinct but not distrustful. A few of the fey bore luminous markings upon their skin—lines of dim light across their cheeks or arms, pulsing faintly like veins of moonlight. Humans, by contrast, seemed heavier, grounded—broad-shouldered, solid-eyed, their clothing stitched with sigils of practicality and charm.
To Alatar, it was strangely quiet despite the bustle. There was a rhythm here, a balance—fragile, mundane, but real. The sort of stillness his former life had never offered.
Lysera's voice broke his quiet observation.
"Here we are—the guild of Vaelrin."
The building loomed ahead, three stories of pale stone bound by polished oak. The emblem of the Hunter's Guild—a spear through a crescent—hung from an iron chain above the entrance. Inside, the space was alive: walls lined with bounties, trophies of slain beasts, the clinking of armor and coin echoing off high ceilings.
The group moved toward the front counter. Lysera, confident but humble, produced a wrapped bundle containing the fangs and claws of their lesser kills. The guildmaster, a stout man with greying hair, inspected the spoils with professional detachment, tallying the worth in a thick ledger.
When it was done, he slid a pouch forward across the counter.
"Four silver draelins and a cut of copper scales for the rest," he said.
Lysera nodded. "And… I'd like to report a sighting."
The man looked up sharply. "A sighting?"
"A beast. Tiger-like, large as a wagon. We encountered it in the Verran woods—too close to town. If it wasn't for… him," she gestured slightly toward Alatar, who stood silently behind them, "we'd be dead."
The guildmaster's brow furrowed. "That deep into Verran…? I'll have the patrols doubled." He turned to Alatar. "You have my thanks, stranger. You saved my hunters."
Alatar inclined his head slightly. "No thanks are needed." His tone carried a softness that was neither warm nor cold—merely distant, precise.
After the formalities ended, Lysera's companions dispersed—each offering quick farewells and grateful nods to Alatar before vanishing into the glowing streets. That left the two of them standing outside the guild entrance, the evening deepening into a bruise-colored sky.
"So," Lysera began, adjusting the straps on her armor, "where to now, traveler? You seemed like you were searching for something."
Alatar glanced briefly around, then toward the faint gleam of the western horizon. "I need a place to eat. And perhaps, rest."
Lysera grinned faintly, brushing a strand of silver-blonde hair behind her ear. "You've got options, though I'll warn you—Vaelrin's pubs are… charming, but not exactly refined."
Alatar raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps something more… sophisticated?"
Her grin turned sheepish. "Ah. You'd be wanting The Ember Establishment, then. Finest restaurant in the city, though it'll burn through your coin faster than a sunshard through parchment."
She paused, then, realizing—perhaps from his stillness—that he might not understand.
"Right, the currency here's layered. Not all kingdoms follow the same minting, but within the Lysian Concord, we use a five-tier system."
She began counting on her gloved fingers, speaking as they walked.
> "Lowest are Copper Scales—the commoner's coin. One scale'll buy you a loaf of bread or a mug of ale.
Then come Silver Draelins—guild-level currency. One draelin's worth a hundred scales. Enough for a night in a decent inn or a full meal at a tavern.
Above that are Gold Lumens—one lumen equals a hundred draelins. They're used mostly for trade, property, or weapons commissions.
Then there's Platinum Crowns, rarer than you'd think—usually nobles or guildmasters deal in those. Ten lumens per crown.
And at the very top—" she glanced at him, a faint smirk on her lips, "—the Ecliptics, coins of black-gold alloy used only by royal houses and high sorcerers. One Ecliptic could buy a small estate or a ship."
Alatar listened, quiet, gaze drifting as she spoke.
"And this Ember Establishment," he said finally, "which of these would it demand?"
Lysera laughed softly. "A lumen or two for a full-course meal. Maybe three if you drink like a noble."
Alatar nodded, understanding. "Then that will suffice."
As they reached the plaza, the night bloomed around them—light from the upper windows of Vaelrin dancing across polished roofs, the low hum of enchantment woven into every lamp. Alatar's expression remained serene, but beneath it was calculation.
For as Lysera led him onward, he felt the faint tug—a thread of power—still coiling through his veins from the tiger-beast's soul he had quietly absorbed earlier. The essence now rested deep within his ash, melding, whispering faintly. Its feral will thrummed, feeding his constructs, unseen by all but himself.
He walked beside Lysera, silent but listening to her every word, and for a moment, under the silver-washed light of Vaelrin, Alatar felt something he hadn't in an age—
not warmth exactly,
but presence.
The night stretched on, and the city of luminaries pulsed softly—unaware of the being that had just stepped into its heart.
The evening had deepened into a jeweled calm by the time Alatar and Lysera reached the Ember Establishment. The building stood apart from the rest of Vaelrin—not by grandeur, but by presence. Its walls were built from smooth volcanic stone, veined faintly with glowing red cracks that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the dark facade. Wisps of incense drifted from brass holders, mingling with the faint sound of strings and harp, and through the frosted glass, Alatar could see silhouettes moving with quiet grace.
A host greeted them at the door—tall, soft-eyed, with the polished tone of someone accustomed to serving nobles. "Good evening. Welcome to the Ember Establishment. Do you have a reservation?"
Lysera cleared her throat. "Ah, no, but—"
Alatar lifted a hand slightly, his expression serene. "We will dine nonetheless."
The host hesitated, eyes flicking from Lysera's worn armor to Alatar's immaculate black robe that shimmered faintly like polished glass. Whatever he saw there was enough. He nodded quickly and gestured them inside.
---
Inside, the air shimmered with restrained elegance. Tables carved from firewood maple glowed softly beneath orbs of hovering light. Murals of long-forgotten kingdoms adorned the walls, shifting subtly, their painted rivers flowing in motionless time. Alatar took it all in with quiet fascination—the illusionary warmth of the place, its mortal artistry attempting to mimic a fragment of the divine.
As they were seated in a secluded corner, Lysera exhaled, leaning slightly on the table.
"Never thought we'd get in tonight," she murmured, smiling faintly. "You've got a way of opening doors, Alatar."
He said nothing at first. His eyes moved toward the velvet pouch at his side—the one Silas had tossed him before he left. He loosened the drawstring under the table, curious, and the moment his fingers brushed the coins within, a voice—soft, familiar, and faintly amused—echoed in his mind.
> "You'll find it convenient, little one. Whatever currency these mortals cling to, the pouch will know and mimic. Spend freely. Learn what their gold can buy—and what it cannot."
Alatar's hand paused, then he let the drawstring fall closed again. Silas's words faded like mist, leaving only the low hum of conversation around them.
A server arrived, and after a brief, polite exchange, Lysera ordered for both of them—a gesture of comfort more than necessity. When the server left, Lysera rested her elbows on the table and looked out the window beside them, where the lights of Vaelrin painted the cobblestones gold.
"Peaceful place, isn't it?" she said. "Not much happens here—well, unless beasts from the forest start wandering too close."
Alatar inclined his head slightly. "It seems… ordered."
Lysera chuckled. "That's one way to put it. Governor Havren Ilthar runs things clean and quiet. Been governor for twelve years. Fair man, but strict—doesn't take kindly to thieves or mercenaries making trouble. He's the kind who still believes in the old ideals of the Concord."
"The Lysian Concord," Alatar echoed softly, testing the words. "A unified kingdom?"
"Sort of. A network of allied cities, ruled by governors but all bound by royal decree. You'll see the banners now and then—silver sun over the twin moons. That's the Crest of Lysia." She took a sip of the amber drink the server had just placed before her. "Havren answers only to the royal court, though around here, the Guildmaster might as well be his equal. The two run Vaelrin together—one handles law, the other trade and protection."
Alatar studied her expression as she spoke—how warmth lingered in her voice when she mentioned the town, how her eyes seemed to soften with familiarity. "You speak of them with respect," he noted.
"I do. Vaelrin may be small, but it's home. The guild keeps people safe. The governor keeps them fed. That's all most of us need."
He nodded faintly, gaze drifting to the window. The music had shifted—a slow, almost mournful tune that wound through the air like fog. Beyond the glass, lanterns floated down the main street, guided by soft enchantment, their flames steady despite the rising wind.
"Tell me," Alatar said quietly, "what lies beyond Vaelrin? The Concord, its edges—what becomes of the world beyond the light of your lanterns?"
Lysera hesitated, as if measuring how much to reveal to a stranger. "Depends where you walk. West leads to the Thalen Expanse—wildlands, old ruins, and forests like the one where we found you. East, you'll find the trade routes to the capital. North is the Aurelian Coast. But most folk don't wander far. The world's too vast, and the dark between roads is… unpredictable."
Alatar's eyes lingered on her, but his thoughts were far away—the dark between roads, she had said. He had walked such darkness before—ages of silence, drifting through places that never saw light. To mortals, such a phrase was fear; to him, it was memory.
The food arrived—elegant, fragrant, arranged like art. Lysera smiled awkwardly at the spread. "I forgot how fine this place is. You're lucky, Alatar—most travelers eat stew and dried meat their first night here."
He inclined his head slightly. "Fortune, perhaps. Or something like it."
They ate quietly for a time, conversation ebbing into comfort. Alatar spoke little, preferring to listen—to the faint tremor in her voice when she mentioned home, to the laughter of the tables nearby, to the rhythmic hum of mortal life around him.
When the meal ended, he drew the pouch again, letting a few coins of gold luster spill onto the tray. The server's eyes widened slightly at the sight of three gold lumens—far more than the meal cost.
Lysera blinked. "Alatar, that's… too much."
He met her gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Then perhaps it will buy quiet."
As they rose to leave, the faint light of the restaurant brushed across his features—calm, almost serene—but within his shadow, for a brief instant, a flicker of ash glowed dull red. The essence of the beast he'd absorbed still churned faintly within him, restless, whispering of things unspoken.
Lysera didn't notice. She only smiled, gesturing toward the door. "Come on. I'll show you where you can stay the night. Tomorrow, maybe you can visit the markets—or meet the governor if you're feeling brave."
Alatar followed her out into the night. The streets of Vaelrin shimmered beneath the twin moons, and for a fleeting moment, as he glanced back at the Ember Establishment's glowing windows, he thought he saw movement in the reflection—a shape, feline and dark, pacing in the shadow behind his own.
It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
And the night carried on, quiet and luminous, unaware of the ripple that had just entered its still waters.