Whispers in the Smoke

In the heart of Larethian, beneath the golden spires of the Temple District and far from the scent of sizzling meats and clove-laced stew, a storm was gathering.

Within the marble halls of the Council of Dawn, seven robed figures sat in half-shadow—one from each major race of the continent. The tension was thick enough to slice with an elven blade.

"The death toll in the outer provinces has doubled," growled the orcish representative, High Warden Grohn. "Another caravan raided. And again, not a single body left behind—only blood, and sigils we haven't seen in centuries."

"The Crimson Veil is only a legend," hissed Lady Nemyra, a vampire noble draped in obsidian silk. "Fairytales to keep dhampir children in bed."

"Then explain the reports from Vel'kar's pass," said the dwarven magistrate. "An entire fortress garrison gone. Drained."

The room fell into silence.

From the shadows, the elven Seeress finally spoke. "An ancient hunger is awakening."

But not a word of this reached the bustling warmth of Hearth & Heaven, where Kael sliced starfruit with the practiced ease of someone who could gut a demon with the same precision.

Outside, the sun had barely risen. Aeris was already up, hair braided in elven fashion, humming softly as she arranged herb baskets. She moved like a dancer—graceful, serene. There was something otherworldly about her lately, like she heard whispers Kael could not.

"Strange sky this morning," she murmured.

Kael looked up. The twin moons were still visible, faint and pale in the dawn. "Omen?"

"Or just a sky," she smiled faintly, but her fingers lingered over a charm hidden beneath her collar—a sigil he still hadn't deciphered.

Then came the chaos.

The front door slammed open, and Ryn stormed in—hair tousled, eyes blazing, twin daggers strapped to her back.

"Three adventurers fought over your smoked wyvern buns," she announced. "One got stabbed. I threw the winner out the window."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "You broke a window?"

"No, I used one," she said, proud. "It was open."

"Remind me not to let you handle marketing."

Aeris giggled. Ryn smirked. Lyra, now awake and in her high chair, was scribbling war plans in syrup on the table.

But beneath the flirtation and levity, Kael felt it: something off in the air. A weight. Like being watched.

Later that evening, as Kael took out a tray of bread—sliced with rosemary and drizzled in unicorn-milk butter—a cloaked figure stepped inside. A woman. Tall. Pale lavender skin. Horns curling like moon crescents above her brow.

A tiefling.

"Is this the famed Hearth & Heaven?" she asked, voice like cool smoke.

Kael narrowed his eyes. "It is. Hungry?"

She pulled back her hood.

Her beauty was striking—otherworldly even. And her gaze held secrets… and sorrow.

"My name is Velira, envoy of the Midnight Court," she said. "I've come seeking sanctuary… and perhaps a job."

From the corner, Aeris stood still. Her eyes didn't blink. And Ryn had a hand on her dagger, her tail twitching.

Kael said nothing for a long moment. Then, he nodded slowly.

"You're welcome to try the soup," he said. "But I'll warn you—it's not as innocent as it smells."

Velira smiled faintly. "Neither am I."

As they sat her down, served a bowl, and lit the evening candles, none of them saw the rune pulsing beneath her glove… or the mark that matched the same one the elven seeress had spoken of hours earlier.

And far beyond the city, in a ruined temple half-swallowed by the forest, a shadow opened its eyes.