Aeor eased his door shut behind him, the faint click carrying in the stillness. The central hall was cool, the stone floor still holding the night's chill. A narrow blade of light angled through a tall window, catching the dust as it drifted in lazy spirals.
Dregor sat at the long table, his broad frame leaning forward over clasped hands. Even at rest, there was more weight to his posture this morning, not the sag of exhaustion, but something steadier.
"You're up early," Aeor said as he crossed the room.
Dregor looked up, the lines around his eyes softer than the night before. "Didn't feel like sleeping the morning away."
"You seem better," Aeor noted, pulling out the chair opposite him.
Dregor gave a small shrug. "Felt a powerful pull to the stone last night. Hard to explain."
Quiet settled over the table, the indistinct murmur of their voices filling it. Then light footsteps padded from the sleeping quarters.
Zoey appeared in the doorway, a grin bright enough to split the morning in two.
"You're looking cheerful," Aeor said, raising an eyebrow.
"That's because..." She swept into the room with a mock flourish, dropping into the seat beside Dregor. "I got my class."
Dregor's brow rose. Aeor's curiosity stirred despite the lingering fog in his head. He let the subtle pull of Threadgaze settle over her.
Class: Heartweaver
Class Rarity: Flicker (E)
The words lingered in his vision before fading.
Velora emerged from her room, drawn by the shift in tone. "Heartweaver?" she echoed, the syllables measured and cool.
Zoey's grin sharpened. "And a new trait Anchor in the Veil. Helps allies steady their footing when they're not in immediate danger. Also helps in recovery and provides a little more clarity."
"That might explain why you're feeling better, Dregor," Aeor said.
Dregor gave a short, amused snort. "Might… or maybe it was the bed."
"The bed?" Zoey repeated, then glanced at his stone-like frame. "...Right. Sure. Must've been the bed."
A low chuckle rumbled from Dregor. "Just teasing. Still, last night felt different. More than a bed could give."
"Perhaps I feel a shade better than yesterday," Velora said.
"Did either of you gain a class?" Zoey asked.
"I didn't," Aeor replied.
"Nor I," Velora added.
"Well, there's still time," Dregor said, pulling out a chair for Velora. "The Archives weave at their own pace."
Zoey's gaze flicked to Aeor's chest. "That crack… that wasn't there before."
Aeor followed her eyes. A thin fracture ran through the gem of his pendant, the light catching in its depth like a trapped spark. His thumb hovered over it. "It… happened in a dream," he said at last.
Zoey tilted her head. "It cracked in a dream?"
Dregor and Velora both looked up, their expressions mirroring the same question.
"I think so," Aeor said slowly. "It was fine before I slept. In the dream… someone struck it. And when I woke, the mark remained."
Velora's gaze lingered on the gem, her voice quiet but certain. "Dreams alone don't change the waking world. Not unless something else is at work."
Aeor felt her gaze sharpen. Threadgaze, he thought, suppressing a sigh.
"The rarity is Kindled," she said. "Where did it come from?"
"It was my mother's. My uncle gave it to me shortly before I was whisked away for the Initiation."
"'In the marrow of kings, death finds its throne,'" Zoey quoted. "That's… something."
"I had no part in its making," Aeor said. "Certainly not in this Archive note."
Velora studied him, gaze distant. "You're becoming a contradiction to everything I know."
"I get the feeling you'll be raising the dead soon," Zoey said.
Aeor frowned. "Where is that coming from?"
"Doesn't matter," Zoey said breezily. "Just promise me you'll say 'Arise' when you do."
He stared, confusion flickering in his eyes. Zoey leaned back, her grin returning. "Now, with Aeor's future powers settled, who's hungry?"
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They ate in no rush, the simple rations from their journey grounding the morning in quiet familiarity. The conversation meandered, eventually settling on whether they should make the city their base.
Velora rested a hand on the table's edge. "From what that scribe said yesterday, the barracks have been chipping away at the Initiation thread, issuing tasks to those who are willing. It wouldn't be a bad place to start."
"We also need more Solari if we plan on staying here," Aeor said. "So it makes sense."
Dregor gave a low hum, pulling a small pouch from his belt. "That reminds me. From the eight hundred Gurz gave us, we've got five hundred sixty-eight left." One by one, the coins clicked against each other, the higher-value pieces catching the light as he arranged them into four even stacks.
Aeor slid his share into a pocket without fuss. Velora stacked hers with deliberate precision, then tucked them away. Dregor's went straight back into his belt. Zoey let hers run through her fingers for a moment, before she stowed them.
From within his coat, Dregor produced a folded letter sealed in plain wax. He set it on the table with a certain weight. "Gurz also asked me to deliver this to an acquaintance here."
Aeor leaned forward. "We could start with that, deliver it, then see what the barracks have for us."
"Better than wandering blind," Dregor agreed.
They both looked to Velora and Zoey. Velora opened her mouth, but Zoey was already leaning in with a spark in her eyes. "We're going shopping. If this is home for a while, it’s getting some personality."
Velora tilted her head, a rare hint of play in her voice. "We're?"
"Oh yes," Zoey said, looping an arm through hers before Velora could object.
The mood loosened, a small smile circling the table as talk drifted to lighter matters. Zoey campaigned for curtains, Dregor argued for sturdier chairs, Velora vowed to burn anything pink and demanded violet, and Aeor made his case for pillows. Laughter passed between them before they finally pushed back from the table.
Through the lodge walls came the even strikes of a wooden mallet, work folding itself into rhythm. Life in the city carried forward, indifferent to their pause.
Zoey's laugh lingered as she tugged Velora toward the door, the Eidryn shaking her head but not breaking the link. Aeor and Dregor exchanged a brief look before following them out into the day.
The laughter faded with the lodge at their backs, replaced by the soft scrape of boots on stone and the distant wash of the tide.
The streets here bent toward the harbor like the ribs of a great fan, cobbles running between narrow gutters that carried rainwater toward the sea. Buildings pressed close on either side, whitewashed walls inlaid with thin bands of colored stone. Red, green, and blue, marking the merchant quarters. Aeor's gaze traced the lines upward to where plain wooden balconies leaned over the street, their railings hung with drying nets that whispered faintly in the wind.
Between two of the balconies, a faded banner hung limp in the breeze, its dragon-stitched threads dulled by years of sun. Below it, a small shrine was tucked into the wall, a veiled stone figure, hand outstretched, its fingers chipped away. Someone had left a cluster of pale flowers at its base, their petals already curling.
They were already deep into the Outer Ring before Aeor realized how little either of them had spoken.
"So," he said at last, glancing at Dregor, "where exactly are we going?"
Dregor's eyes stayed forward. "Not sure. Gurz just said he lives near the harbor, Outer Ring."
Their steps fell into an easy rhythm, boots scuffing over worn flagstones. Aeor's thoughts drifted until he spoke again. "So... what will you do when you get back home?"
"The lodge?" Dregor asked.
"No. Your homeworld."
Dregor's eyes softened, the lines in his face settling into something warmer. "To where my little ones are," he said after a pause. "Two of them, rough little lumps of granite. My daughter's got silver striations in her stone, catches the light when she turns her head. My boy's darker, more basalt than anything else. Stronger than he knows."
Aeor blinked, taking in the picture. "You have children?"
Dregor nodded.
"I thought you were... younger."
Dregor drew a faint smile. "Depends on how you're counting."
Aeor tilted his head. "Meaning?"
"Zoey was going on about it the other day," Dregor said. "Something about how a year here is longer than where she's from. Had to do with how close a planet is to its star, or something. Where I'm from, one year here is like three back home. Days, seasons… everything moves at its own pace."
"Seasons too?" Aeor asked.
"They come and go quicker for us."
"That's..." Aeor shook his head. "That's a lot to get your head around. I think for me a day back home was longer than here, but not by much. I'm not sure about the years... maybe they were longer too?
"If it's slightly longer, I'd say maybe a hundred and fifty years, by your measure."
Aeor let out a short huff. "Hundred and fifty in my world is unheard of for humans."
He caught himself wondering, If my years are longer, does that make me older than Zoey? The thought was still forming when Dregor’s voice broke through.
"You were there when she was talking about this, weren't you?"
"I don't think so... or maybe I was and tuned it out. When Zoey’s rolling, you let her go."
Dregor chuckled. "Truth to that."
A cart rattled by, its axle groaning over the stones. Aeor stepped aside, catching glimpses of pale masts beyond the rooftops.
"Looks like we're getting closer," Dregor said.
"Let's hope so, before we end up circling the city twice."
They turned down another lane, the salt tang sharpening on the air. Two fishermen were hauling a dripping net between them, its silver catch flashing in the sun. Dregor stepped aside and asked if they knew the way to a man named Belthar.
One jerked his chin toward the harbor’s far end. "Follow the wall until you see the cyan-painted doors. Next to the old guildhall. Can’t miss it."
They did, in fact, miss it. More than once. The harbor’s narrow lanes wound between salt-streaked walls, stone and timber bending with the curve of the bay. Each path seemed certain to lead to their mark, only to spit them into a market square or down a dead-end stair. The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew with brine and tar. Gulls cried overhead, their calls mingling with the low creak of moored ships.
The doors they'd been chasing all morning stood before them at last, broad and weathered, their edges polished smooth with age. Dregor approached and knocked.
It opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered orc, dark hair laced with grey. His eyes held the stillness of weathered stone, though a flicker of suspicion passed through them.
"Are you Belthar?" Dregor asked.
The old orc nodded once. "And who might you be?"
"We're friends of Gurz," Dregor said. "We bring a word from him."
The name drew a moment of relief to Belthar's face, only for worry to settle in its place. "Is everything alright?"
Dregor hesitated, then shook his head slightly. "It's best if you read the letter first."
Belthar's eyes lingered on them, but he didn't press. "Very well." He stepped back from the door, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the quiet. "Come in."
The interior smelled faintly of burning resin. Light from a narrow window fell across walls lined with folded banners and carved masks, their colors muted with age yet still bright in their intricate patterns. A clay brazier smoldered near the center of the room, casting a soft orange glow over a low table ringed with cushioned stools. On a high shelf, a dozen unlit candles waited in neat rows beside a shallow bronze bowl.
Aeor's gaze lingered on the banners, the threads woven in sweeping arcs and intricate knots, then on the masks, each shaped with deliberate expression, from fierce to serene.
Belthar followed his glance. "Those banners are from festivals long past," he said, voice touched with quiet warmth. "The masks mark each season's telling. For many years, I helped prepare for those days, keeping the city's heart in rhythm with its people."
He moved toward the seating area, his steps deliberate. From a small larder, he retrieved a round, golden-skinned fruit, cutting it into even segments and setting them on a carved wooden plate. The slices glistened faintly, a sharp, honeyed scent rising from them.
"A gift to guests," Belthar said, placing the plate between them. "In Sar’Vareth, it’s a sign that you are welcome under this roof."
Dregor accepted a piece with a nod, Aeor following his lead. The sweetness bloomed on the tongue before fading to a lingering tartness, though as Belthar's gaze fell to the folded letter in Dregor's hand, the flavor seemed to dull.
The old orc didn't inquire again about Gurz. Instead, he accepted the letter with both hands, resting it on the table for a long breath before breaking the seal. Aeor caught the faintest hesitation, a man delaying the answer he already feared.
Aeor watched the old orc’s eyes move across the page, the silence between each line feeling heavier than the words themselves. The faint crinkle of parchment under his hands seemed too loud in the stillness. Aeor’s own thoughts drifted to that day. To the weight of inevitability in the air before the end.
When Belthar finished, he folded the parchment and set it down, one thick hand resting over it. His voice was low when he finally spoke.
"Zura. Barek." The names felt heavier than the air. A thin line of moisture gathered at the corner of his eye before he blinked it away. "Thank you... for bringing this to me."
The room felt smaller. Aeor and Dregor exchanged a glance before Dregor began to speak, steady and plain, recounting the fight without embellishment, the clash in the square, their divided allegiances, the otherworld initiate, and Barek's eternal flame. Aeor added a few words where needed, his thoughts brushing against the stillness of Zura's and Barek's final moments.
Belthar listened without a word, his gaze steady though his hands tightened against the table's edge.
When they finished, he sat back slightly, drawing in a breath that seemed to carry more than it released. "Then they've found their rest," he said quietly. "I only wish it had been later... under gentler skies." His eyes lowered for a heartbeat. "Still, I'm glad they weren't alone."
Silence settled again, broken only by the faint pulse of the brazier's glow. Belthar's gaze shifted toward the shelf of unlit candles, then back to them.
"In ten days' time," he said, "I'll be holding a Lunethiran here."
He hesitated, then went on. "It's an old Sol’Karenth custom for the departed. Luneth for candle, Thiran for farewell. Candles of Farewell." A gentler note entered his tone. "You should be part of it."
Dregor inclined his head. "We'll be there."
He glanced at Aeor, then back to Belthar. "We'll give you some space. If you wish to talk further, we're staying at the Sunweaver Lodge."
Belthar rose with them, his movements measured despite the weight in his eyes. "Thank you."
He saw them to the door. Outside, the harbor air felt cooler, the salt sharper, gulls calling in harsher tones.
They walked on without a word, the city’s rhythm folding around them as the barracks drew near.
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Mercury = 0.25 Earth years per Mercury year (rounded from 0.241)
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Dregor's world = 0.3 Earth years per Dregor year
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Earth = 1 Earth year per Earth year
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Khorvalen (Aeor's world) = 1.25 Earth years per Khorvalen year
187.5 Earth years, given that his original age is 625 years in his home world.
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Mercury = 750 years (187.5 ÷ 0.25 = 750 Mercury years)
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Dregor’s world = 625 years (baseline)
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Earth = 187.5 years (625 × 0.3 = 187.5 Earth years)
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Khorvalen = 150 years (187.5 ÷ 1.25 = 150 Khorvalen years)
Chapter 20 releases Friday at 6 PM EST.