Erik and Lyra left the guild yard side by side, with Finn ambling just ahead, already humming a tavern tune about roast pig. The sun was dipping, a red-orange hue painting the sky and gilding the edges of Blackstone's rooftops. The town's evening bustle was beginning, shops closing, people heading home or to the tavern for supper. A line of refugees from Graystone, weary but safe, shuffled toward the community hall for lodging that Governor Seraphine had arranged. Lyra paused to offer a polite nod and a few gentle words to a passing family she recognized, ensuring they were settling in. Watching her compassion in action, Erik felt that familiar warmth of admiration. She cares so deeply, he thought. And not just for our party, but for everyone she could help.
At The Gilded Tankard, they convened around their usual table. True to rumor, Miss Hilda, the stout proprietress, had a hearty venison and vegetable stew ready, and made sure to heap their bowls generously ("Heroes eat free tonight," she insisted with a grin, swatting away Finn's attempt to pay). The stew was delicious, rich with herbs and chunks of potato, and it refueled their tired bodies. Darius joined partway through the meal, bearing a neatly tied bundle of supplies which he set by the door. For once, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the food without rushing off.
The conversation was comfortable and light during dinner, a conscious unspoken choice by all to not dwell on tomorrow's journey or the dangers ahead. They shared laughs about Holt's drunken singing last night, or how Zara had bragged she could out-spear an elf (a challenge she apparently won). Finn recounted, to Lyra's mortification, how earlier that day one of the stableboys shyly asked if "Lady Lyra" truly had angel's blood because she glowed when casting miracles. "The poor boy was convinced you're a saint in disguise," Finn teased, waggling his eyebrows. Lyra nearly choked on her cider and swatted Finn's arm amid the group's laughter. Erik chuckled but privately reflected that the stableboy wasn't entirely wrong, in a way.
As twilight settled and one by one the oil lamps in the tavern were lit, a comfortable drowsiness fell over the four companions. Their bellies were full, muscles pleasantly tired, and hearts light from camaraderie. They knew a storm likely awaited over the horizon, but right now, in this dim warm tavern, things were alright.
Eventually, Darius stood, stretching. "I'll retire now. Want to review the maps once more before sleep." He gave each of them a meaningful look, a silent goodnight and perhaps a hint of how much he valued them. He clapped Erik on the back gently. "Don't stay up too late. Dawn comes whether we will it or not."
"We'll be right behind you," Erik assured. Finn yawned hugely, seconding that plan.
Darius took the supply bundle and headed upstairs to their rooms, Finn trailing after him, already muttering about his lumpy cot. That left Erik and Lyra alone at the table, a rare occurrence in the lively inn. A companionable silence hung between them for a moment as they sipped the last of their drinks.
Through the tavern's small window, Erik noticed the night was clear. The second, smaller moon had risen, a faint blue crescent accompanying the larger silver moon. Stars peeked out across the dark canvas sky. On impulse, he stood. "Would you like to step outside for a bit? The air is nice and cool."
Lyra's eyes flickered with surprise, but she smiled and nodded. "I'd like that."
They slipped out the side door, into a quiet alley. Erik led Lyra up a short flight of stone steps to the top of the outer wall. It wasn't a high wall, Blackstone's defenses were modest, but it gave a vantage over the open fields beyond. They rested their arms on the wooden railing, looking out at the serene, starlit night.
"It's hard to leave, isn't it?" Lyra said finally, her voice very quiet.
"Blackstone's been our refuge," Erik agreed. "It feels… safe. Known." He exhaled. "Out there, so much is uncertain."
Lyra nodded. "I was barely more than a girl when I first came here. Terrified. But then I met Darius, and Finn, and… and you. And it became home."
Erik felt a tug at his heart. "You made it a home for the rest of us, too. With your warmth. Your light."
"I worry I'll drag you down," she confessed, her voice raw with a vulnerability she rarely showed. "If a real enemy got that close, I'd be in trouble."
He reached out and gently took her shoulders, looking her straight on. "Listen to me. You are as important as any of us. Strength isn't only swinging swords or axes. You have a strength of spirit I admire. You stand in the face of horror with faith and compassion. That's rarer than brute force."
A hint of wetness gathered in Lyra's eyes, but she smiled, a trembling, grateful smile. "Thank you, Erik. That means a lot."
The night breeze chose that moment to sweep across the wall. Lyra shivered. Instinctively, Erik moved closer, draping part of his cloak around her. She looked up at him, surprised by the closeness. They were shoulder to shoulder now, the rough wool of his travel cloak enveloping them both in a narrow cocoon. His heart thudded a little faster.
Lyra broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wonder… why fate brought us all together?"
Erik thought of how literal that was for him. "All the time," he admitted. "I wonder why I'm here, what purpose I'm meant to serve."
She leaned her head lightly against his shoulder. "I don't know what the truth of it is. But I like to think… we were meant to find each other. To be each other's strength."
He turned slightly, enough that he could look down at her. "I'll be your strength as long as I draw breath," he said, the vow coming out quietly but fervently. "I'll protect you. All of you. I promise."
Lyra looked up, eyes shimmering. Instead of words, she answered by rising on her toes and wrapping her arms around him in a gentle embrace. Erik's breath caught. He immediately encircled her with his own arms, pulling her close. She was soft and warm against him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, imprinting the sensation into memory.
The moment lingered, quiet and fragile under the twin moons, until the chill of the night finally broke the spell. Lyra gently pulled back, though her hands lingered on his arms for a moment.
"It's getting late," she whispered, a faint blush on her cheeks visible even in the moonlight. "Darius is right. We need our rest."
Erik nodded, a little reluctantly. "You're right."
They descended the steps and walked back toward the inn, the mood comfortable and quiet. At last, they climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor. In the dimly lit hallway, they paused outside their respective doors. Darius's room was silent, as was the one Lyra had been given. Erik stopped before the door to the room he shared with Finn.
An awkwardness threatened to creep in, a silent acknowledgment of the moment that had just passed between them. But Lyra dispelled it by reaching out and squeezing his hand once. "Good night, Erik," she said, the simple phrase laden with the weight of everything they'd shared.
"Good night, Lyra," he replied gently.
She gave him a final, warm smile before disappearing into her own room, leaving Erik alone in the hallway. He stood there for a moment, then turned and quietly entered his own room. Finn was already asleep in his cot, snoring softly.
As Erik blew out the lamp and settled under the quilt, he listened to the quiet rhythm of his friend's breathing and felt an unexpected peace wash over him. His last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of dawn's first rays, and of a quiet promise echoing in his heart: No matter what comes, I will keep them safe.
He drifted into slumber, the night deep and kind outside, a final calm before the journey's dawn.
As the night deepened, a faint pulse of red flickered unseen in the room.
Erythrael, resting on the bench where he'd set it, glowed softly, not bright enough for mortal eyes to catch, but sharp and steady in some deeper spectrum. The runes along its haft bled with dark crimson light.
No voice spoke aloud, but somewhere in the marrow of the weapon, the echo of an ancient will stirred.
Blood will be spilled, it whispered in tones beyond sound. It always is. Blood of foe, of brother, of bearer, all flow beneath my edge. The wielder's fate is not to choose if it comes, but only whose blood shall fall first.
The light dimmed. The axe lay still.
Erik slept on.