The Enigmatic Clue

Emerging from the underground chamber, Amara and Eamon found themselves in the heart of a dense, ancient forest. The transition from the shadowy depths to the vibrant green canopy above was both disorienting and invigorating. They had solved the riddle, found the hidden exit behind a mysterious painting, and ascended a flight of hidden stairs to reach the surface. Now, surrounded by towering trees and the symphony of forest sounds, they marvelled at the journey they had undertaken.

As they began to contemplate the creators of the puzzle that had led them here from Shadowglade town, the rumbling of their empty stomachs interrupted their thoughts. Hunger gnawed at them, reminding them of their physical needs.

"Amara, you know Shadowglade's layout well, right? Can you guide us back to town? My stomach is making it quite clear that it's time for some sustenance," Eamon turned to Amara with a hopeful expression.

"Thankfully I did, Eamon. Let's not keep our bellies waiting any longer," Amara nodded, her expression filled with both amusement and hunger.

With Amara leading the way, they embarked on the journey back to Shadowglade town, their footsteps echoing in the ancient woods as they carried with them the riddle's enigmatic message, guiding them ever closer to the elusive Heartstone.

Night had settled over Shadowglade by the time Amara and Eamon walked its dimly lit streets. The lanterns that adorned the cobblestone paths cast flickering shadows as they wandered through the town. Despite Amara's initial intention to have the castle's cook prepare a meal, their insistent stomachs urged them to make a pit stop at one of the local taverns.

"Amara, I know you had plans to eat at Moonshadow Keep, but I think we should grab a bite at a tavern. It's already nighttime, and I can practically hear my stomach crying for food," Eamon pleaded with Amara, his voice carrying a note of desperation.

With a resigned smile, Amara agreed, her hunger gnawing at her. She had heard rumours about a nearby tavern known for its hearty meals, and they decided to give it a try.

However, before entering, Eamon witnessed something that left him completely awestruck. Right before his eyes, Amara seamlessly transformed her appearance, her fiery red hair turning an inky black, her facial features shifting with uncanny precision. The transformation was so flawless that Eamon's jaw nearly hit the ground.

But what truly astounded Eamon was the subtlety of Amara's abilities. Not only could she change her appearance, but it seemed she could alter her clothing as well. Her attire shifted seamlessly along with her physical form, leaving Eamon in awe of the extent of her powers.

At that moment, Eamon couldn't help but appreciate the finesse of Amara's shapeshifting abilities. It made him understand why Gladers, who possessed such extraordinary talents, often regarded themselves as superior to the Faerans. He chuckled inwardly, trying to banish the intrusive thought that wondered whether a shapeshifter could forego clothing altogether, relying solely on their abilities to create the perfect attire. Such thoughts, however, were best left unexplored, especially in their current situation.

"Have you never seen me shapeshift before?" Amara, catching Eamon's reaction, raised an eyebrow and asked with a hint of amusement,

In Amara's recollection, she had employed her abilities during their initial battle, but this was the first time Eamon had seen it so clearly.

"Not quite like this. You're incredible, Amara," Shaking off his astonishment, Eamon chuckled.

With her disguise in place, they entered the tavern, where the raucous sounds of merriment filled the air. Gladers, some inebriated, revelled in the lively atmosphere, paying little attention to the pair. Eamon, a Faeran without disguise, went unnoticed amidst the festivities, making Amara wonder if her disguise had been entirely necessary in the first place. Nevertheless, they found a table, ready to sate their hunger amid the bustling tavern.

As they perused the menu, Eamon's gaze flitted back and forth between the various options. He scratched his head, clearly overwhelmed by the choices.

"Eamon, it's not a life-altering decision. Just pick something you like," Amara, who had a more decisive streak, couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're right, Amara. I'm just not used to having such a wide selection," Eamon laughed too, the tension of their recent encounter with the mimic dissipating.

Before they could continue their banter, the barmaid returned, her parchment and quill ready to take their orders. She was a curvaceous woman with a playful twinkle in her eye, and Eamon's gaze momentarily lingered on her as she approached.

Amara, noticing his fleeting glances, felt an inexplicable pang of something she was not accustomed to. Suppressing it, she smiled at the barmaid and confidently placed their order.

"We'll have the tavern's bestseller and a couple of your finest beers, please."

"Excellent! Your meal will be out shortly. Enjoy your stay," the barmaid nodded and noted down their choices.

"See, Eamon? Not so difficult, was it?" As she walked away, Amara couldn't resist giving Eamon a teasing nudge.

"Eh? That's kind of cheating won't you say, Amara? Maybe from now on, I'll leave the ordering to the expert," Eamon chuckled, his eyes now firmly fixed on her.

As they waited, Amara couldn't help but notice more of Eamon's occasional glances in the direction of the barmaids who were attending to the other patrons. An inexplicable feeling stirred within her, something akin to jealousy. But why should she feel jealous? She and Eamon were not involved romantically; they were simply companions on a quest. Still, she found it difficult to suppress the emotion.

"You know, you really shouldn't look at those barmaids," Amara tried to hide her unease by instructing Eamon,

Her words came out unintentionally controlling, a hint of jealousy lurking beneath the surface. She quickly realized how they might have sounded and hastened to explain herself.

"Oh? And why's that, Amara?" Eamon raised an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving her face.

"I mean, it's just... we're here together, right? So, there's no need to be distracted by others," she felt her cheeks flush, but she forged ahead.

"Amara, you don't have to worry about that. I promise, my attention is fully on you," Eamon's expression softened into a gentle smile.

Just then, for a fleeting moment, Eamon caught a glimpse of Amara's true self. It was a subtle shift, but her fiery red hair and striking features flickered before his eyes before returning to the persona she had chosen for herself.

Eamon's quick mind pieced together the puzzle. It was clear to him now that Amara's shapeshifting ability was tied to her emotions. That explained her stoic demeanour and her unwavering control. She had trained herself to be the best shapeshifter, one who would never falter, one who would always present a facade of unyielding strength.

He realized that for a brief moment, he had made her let her guard down. It wasn't just a trivial exchange; it was an acknowledgement, a step forward. In the complex world of Amara's emotions, he had carved out a special place for himself. It was a realization that filled him with warmth and a newfound understanding of the woman beside him.

Eamon's curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to Amara with an inquisitive expression.

"Amara," he began, "I've always been fascinated by shapeshifting. Can you... share some insights about it?"

Amara, while maintaining her cool exterior, couldn't help but feel a subtle warmth at Eamon's interest. She leaned in slightly, her tone softening just a bit.

"Of course, Eamon," she replied. "Shapeshifting is a unique ability among my people, the Gladers. However, not all Gladers possess this power. Some, like me, are full-blooded, and we have the ability in its purest form. Others are half-blooded, which means one parent is a shapeshifter, and the other is not. In such cases, the power is diluted by half."

"So, one can identify a shapeshifter by the hair then?" Eamon listened attentively, his curiosity growing.

"So you'd noticed. Shapeshifters like me often have striking, unnatural hair colours of red, blue, green, and so on. It's a clear sign of our lineage. In my case, my red hair comes from my mother's side," a faint, almost imperceptible smile crossed Amara's lips as she continued.

"Your mother's side? So, you're related to Empress Selene?" Eamon raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yes, that's correct. Empress Selene is my aunt. She and my mother are sisters. That's why our hair colours are similar," Amara nodded, a subtle pride in her voice.

"In Faerundale, it's somewhat similar. We all carry the blood of elves, and it's reflected in our abilities. But we faced similar issues with half-blooded and full-blooded individuals way back then so it's no longer now," Eamon found a connection between their worlds and leaned in, making their conversation feel more personal.

"Tell me, Eamon, I've read in ancient texts that elves are supposedly immortal or can live for centuries. Is that true?" Amara, always composed, leaned forward ever so slightly.

"No, that's a bit of a myth, I'm afraid. There's no concrete evidence of elves living for centuries. Even in Faerundale, where we have a deep connection to elven ancestry, there are no records of such extraordinary lifespans," Eamon maintained his warm smile.

Their conversation was interrupted as the barmaid returned with their steaming plates of food, placing them on the table with a friendly smile. They exchanged grateful nods and began to enjoy their long-awaited meal, the discussion on shapeshifting and immortality set aside for now.