Quiet Before the Storm

The towering gates of Sylvera loomed before them, carved from obsidian stone etched with veins of luminous silver that pulsed like the slow beat of a heart. Sentinels clad in dark, angular armor stood guard, their faces obscured behind sleek helms adorned with intricate markings. The air was cooler here, tinged with the faint, metallic scent of magic that never fully faded from the kingdom's borders.

Luke adjusted the strap of his gear while the tension he thought he'd shed on the road began to creep back in.

Home sweet home, he thought dryly.

They passed through the gates without much fanfare, though Luke noticed the subtle shift in the guards' posture when they spotted Kuro. It wasn't hostility—more like a wary curiosity, as if they couldn't quite place what about him felt out of place.

Kuro ignored the stares, his expression the same unreadable mask he always wore. The crimson fur along the edges of his jaw caught the faint sunlight, making the scars along his neck stand out sharper than usual.

Eleanor didn't seem to notice—or didn't care. She strode ahead with the easy confidence of someone who'd been here a dozen times before, her amber eyes scanning the familiar streets.

The city itself was a blend of natural beauty and architectural mastery. Buildings both grown and built, shaped from ancient trees whose trunks twisted into spiraling towers. Vines thick with luminescent blooms crept along stone pathways, casting soft glows in shades of blue and violet. Clean roads made of quartz that reflected the fractured sky above.

And at the heart of it all—

The Sacred Tree.

It rose from the city's core, impossibly vast, its roots sprawling beneath the earth like veins feeding life into the kingdom itself. Its bark shimmered with hues of emerald and gold, and its canopy stretched high enough to brush the distorted clouds.

The steps leading into the Sacred Tree were carved directly into its massive roots, each one smooth from centuries of passage. They ascended in silence, the sounds of the city fading behind them, replaced by the gentle hum of the tree itself—like a heartbeat woven into the air.

Inside, the area was expansive and airy, the walls vibrant with throbbing veins of light that twisted upward, vanishing into the foliage high above. The ceiling disappeared into darkness, yet sporadic rays of light broke through, brightening sections of the gleaming floor.

Elder Thalrien was already waiting for them in the Grand Hall.

Tall and lean, his presence was like a blade—sharp, precise, impossible to ignore. His robes, dark green with threads of silver, shifted like liquid metal as he turned to face them. His features were angular, marked by faint scars that ran like cracks across porcelain. His eyes—pale as frost—settled first on Luke, then Eleanor, and finally… Kuro.

Something flickered in Thalrien's gaze at the sight of him. Not surprise. Recognition.

"Well," Thalrien said, his voice smooth as glass, "this is unexpected."

Luke swallowed, straightening instinctively. "Elder Thalrien. We've returned from the mission."

Thalrien's eyes lingered on Kuro for a heartbeat longer before shifting back to Luke, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I can see that. And it seems you've brought an interesting companion."

Kuro didn't flinch under the scrutiny. "Kuro."

Thalrien's smile deepened slightly, as if the name confirmed something. "Ah. Kael's son."

The title hung in the air, delicate and heavy all at once.

Luke felt a subtle tension ripple through Eleanor beside him, but Kuro remained expressionless.

Thalrien gestured lazily toward one of the curved benches carved from living wood. "You don't need to stand on ceremony. Aldric and Sylveria are away with the other Elders—handling matters beyond our borders. You'll report to them when they return."

Luke exchanged a glance with Eleanor, then Kuro. He'd expected to be dragged into a debrief immediately, questioned about the failed mission, pressed for details until the words carved new wounds.

But this?

Relax?

It felt wrong.

Still, they sat.

Thalrien continued, his tone casual but layered with something Luke couldn't quite pin down. "Consider this… a moment of reprieve. You've been through more than most would survive. Rest. Rebuild."

Luke nodded, though his mind buzzed with restless thoughts.

The inn wasn't far—nestled into the lower roots of the Sacred Tree, almost hidden unless you knew where to look. It was called The Hollow Hearth, carved directly into the wood itself, with warm lanterns casting amber light against walls that seemed to breathe faintly with the pulse of the tree.

Their rooms were simple—just enough space for a bed, a small table, and a window that peeked out into the faint glow of the city's lights. It was definitely familiar to Luke as he had slept here a fair amount of times since Aldric brought him here.

Luke sat on the edge of his bed, fingers tracing absent patterns on the rough blanket. The silence was louder here, away from the road, the battle, the constant noise of survival.

Rest, Thalrien had said.

But how do you rest when your mind won't stop moving?

He leaned back, staring at the wooden ceiling. We failed.....But it wasn't really our fault, the words echoed again, but quieter this time, like a bruise instead of an open wound.

Across the hall, he could hear faint voices—Eleanor's laugh, sharp and quick, Kuro's low reply, quieter but steady.

Luke closed his eyes. You know...I think we did pretty good in the end.

Maybe rest wasn't about silence. Maybe it was just about breathing through the noise.

Tomorrow would come.

With questions. With consequences.

But for now—

He let himself sleep.