The next morning, dawn broke softly over Amberheart, the first rays of sunlight spilling golden light onto the cobblestone streets. Silas stood outside Rowan’s house, watching the scene unfold within. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a mix of anticipation and melancholy coursing through him as he observed Layla saying her goodbyes to Rowan’s parents.

Rowan’s mother wrapped Layla in a warm embrace, her voice tender as she said, “This is your home too, dear. You can come back anytime you like.”

Layla’s cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, a shy smile dancing on her lips as she absorbed the affection. Rowan’s father nodded in agreement, offering his own cheerful farewell, his eyes sparkling with warmth and encouragement.

After a few more exchanges of kind words, Layla began stepping out of the house, her expression a blend of gratitude and unwillingness.

As she lingered in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, her hand brushing the wood as if reluctant to leave the comfort of the home she had grown fond of, a soft rustling came from the corner of the yard. Goldie waddled toward her with wide, innocent eyes, his small body covered in the warm morning light. He nuzzled her leg, his fluffy fur brushing against her as if he didn’t want to see her go. He let out a quiet “Wow,” as though offering his own version of a farewell, his head tilting up toward her in silent understanding.

Layla bent down, scratching behind Goldie’s ears with affection. “I’ll miss you too, little guy,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Goldie responded with another soft “Wow,” blinking up at her with those large, expressive eyes that seemed to hold a depth of loyalty beyond his size.

Trickster slithered down from a tree from above, his sleek body weaving through the branches until he coiled near Layla’s feet. He flicked his tongue out as if tasting the air, then lightly brushed against her boot, his own silent form of goodbye. The serpent’s presence, usually so sly and mysterious, felt almost comforting at that moment, like an old friend acknowledging the weight of departure.

Silas pushed himself off the wall, falling into step beside her and Rowan as they made their way towards the stable where her horse awaited.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Layla sighed softly, reaching out to pat her horse, who nickered in response. “I’ll be alright. Just… it’s hard to leave.”

Rowan nodded, understanding the weight of her words. “You’ll be back before you know it,” he assured her and himself. They walked side by side, the reins of the horse resting comfortably in her hand.

Rowan’s pace slowed down as they approached the Western Gate, his expression sour. He cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly. “So, this is it,” he said, casting a sideways glance at Layla.

She forced a smile though her eyes betrayed her. “I’ll visit as soon as I can,” she promised, though doubt flickered in her voice. The road ahead seemed longer now, the world outside of Amberheart suddenly feeling vast and uncertain.

With that, Layla turned to them, her heart racing. She hugged Silas tightly first, squeezing him as if to hold onto the moment a little longer. Then, she moved to Rowan, wrapping her arms around him in a long and warm embrace. Their hands intertwined as they unwillingly pulled away.

As she walked towards her horse, a sudden rush of emotion surged within Rowan. He stepped forward, pulling her back into his arms. His fingers gently cupped her cheek as he leaned in, kissing her softly. Layla was momentarily taken aback but quickly melted into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair and resting on the nape of his neck as their lips moved together in a tender dance of longing.

When they finally pulled apart, the world seemed to slow around them, the noise of the streets distant. Their breath mingled in the cool morning air, but the moment couldn’t last forever.

Finally, they exchanged smiles filled with promise. “We’ll meet again soon,” Layla whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Silas watched them, his own chest tightening with a strange mixture of happiness for them and sadness for the inevitable separations to come. Seeing them together like this made him realise just how far they’d all come—how much farther they still had to go.

Just as Layla was about to mount her horse, drums and cymbals echoed through the air. A voice boomed, “Make way for the Heralds!”

Silas, Rowan, and Layla stepped aside, their earlier moment forgotten as they turned to witness the spectacle unfolding before them. A group of riders, adorned in vibrant colours and bearing the insignias of their noble houses, galloped toward the gate. One herald announced their arrival while others played drums and clashed cymbals, creating a cacophony that filled the streets. Above them, a shadow passed, darkening the ground as the rhythm grew louder.

Rowan’s gaze shot skyward, where several large Blackwing Eagles, their wings spanning wide, soared overhead. Each eagle carried a herald, their vibrant banners fluttering in the wind. The eagles, adorned with leather harnesses and golden clasps, were majestic, their powerful forms casting long shadows across the city. The sun’s rays barely broke through the vast wings of the lead eagle, the sound of its wings beating, adding an ominous rhythm to the heralds’ procession below.

Silas’s eyes followed the creatures, a mix of awe and wariness flickering across his face. Layla shielded her eyes from the sun as the birds flew lower, their presence as commanding as the riders on the ground.

As the procession passed, both above and below, Silas, Rowan, and Layla stood stunned, the air thick with the moment’s energy. Rowan, breaking the silence, turned to a nearby guard. “What’s happening?” he asked, curiosity etched on his face.

The guard sighed, the weight of his words heavy. “You’ll hear it soon enough. All nobles at or above the rank of a Viscount are being summoned to the capital for a meeting in three months.”

Silas blinked in surprise, absorbing the news and its implications. Rowan and Layla exchanged a stunned glance, the gravity of the situation settling in around them.

Silas sighed as the gravity of the news settled over them, but he didn’t want to let seriousness hang at this moment. “Well,” he finally muttered, the corners of his mouth lifting,” ‘this will be awkward for you guys.”’

Layla started contemplating. A journey to Clifden would take her at least two months as Cliden was on the Southernmost part of the continent. If her mother chose a different part to reach Amber’s heart, she could potentially miss meeting her. The main issue was that she couldn’t communicate with her as the communication stones had specific ranges in which they function properly, and Clifden was too far away.

Rowan rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “With all the nobles summoned to Amberheart, you should probably wait for some time, Layla.”

Layla nodded awkwardly, a hesitant smile appearing. “I’ll find an inn to stay in, I guess,” she replied, her tone slightly uncertain.

Rowan laughed, his demeanour lightening. “You don’t need to worry about explaining anything to my parents. I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks, Rowan,” Layla said, her voice soft as she squeezed his hand briefly, the gesture saying more than her words could. A small but sincere smile played on her lips.

As they walked back to the stable together, a sense of friendship replaced the earlier tension. The path ahead seemed uncertain, but they had each other for now, and that was enough.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

The next day, as the first rays of sunlight filtered into Silas’s room, he sat cross-legged on the floor, concentrating on the intricate wind magic array floating before him. The air hummed with energy, the array spinning in slow, methodical circles. Next to him, Breeze floated lazily in the air, channelling her magic into the array with sharp, precise movements that sent short, piercing sounds of wind cutting the air—*shhh, shhh*—as Wind Edges filled the magical structure.

When the array was finally complete, a soft gust blew through the room before the Breeze’s form faded, heading back to Elementis. Silas exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow. He had grown stronger and more focused, but the demands of mastering advanced wind magic always left him feeling like he was teetering on the edge of something beyond his grasp.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He turned, rising to his feet, and crossed the room to open it. Sullivan stood on the other side, his usual composed smile greeting Silas.

“Father,” Silas greeted, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Sullivan nodded and entered, taking a seat on a nearby chair while Silas sat on the edge of his bed. For a moment, there was silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging between them.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the mark,” Sullivan said finally, his voice calm but serious. “But before that, we’ll need to test you.”

Silas blinked in surprise. “Test me?”

Sullivan smiled cryptically. “The times are…tense right now. You need to show me that you’re prepared to deal with what’s coming.”

Though Sullivan’s words were vague, Silas sensed the gravity behind them. He simply nodded, knowing his father wasn’t one to make idle remarks. “Alright.”

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“I’ve also prepared something for you,” Sullivan continued, pulling something from his coat pocket and handing it to Silas. “A gift.”

Silas looked down at the dull grey stone, which was covered in intricate runes. The lines formed patterns that seemed to pulse with ancient energy. He turned it over in his hands, frowning slightly. “What is this?”

Sullivan’s eyes gleamed with a touch of mystery. “A condensed version of the ceremonial altars and ancient stones used in Solarisynth for Soulweavers’ ceremonies. This doesn’t belong to this realm.”

Silas’s eyes widened in shock. “Huh... Then where did you get this?”

Sullivan only smiled, offering no answer. “It will help you become a Soulweaver, even without the traditional ceremony.”

The surprise that had gripped Silas intensified. He shook his head, letting out a soft, wry laugh. “I failed the ceremony before. What makes you think I’ll succeed this time?”

Sullivan’s expression remained unwavering. “I just know. But, if you must hear an answer... The mark on your forehead is more than enough as a qualification.”

“The mark?” Silas echoed, frowning in confusion. Sullivan held up a hand before he could probe further.

“You’ll get your answer after the test,” he said. “For now, trust me. Try it with the same incantation as the ceremony. You still remember it, I hope?”

Silas sighed, staring down at the stone in his hand. He felt a mixture of reluctance and hope bubbling within him. “I do, but Father, I hope you’re right. Because if I fail again… it’ll cost me another ten years of life.”

Sullivan nodded solemnly, his gaze softening with assurance. “You won’t fail this time. I’m sure of it.”

Taking a deep breath, Silas held the stone tightly and began to chant the incantation that Sullivan had taught him. The words felt heavy on his tongue, laced with ancient power. As he spoke, the stone began to hum with energy, vibrating in his hand. The runes glowed faintly, their light growing brighter until, with a flash, a Minor Soulbound Spirit appeared above it.

Silas stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as the spirit materialised before him. Its form shimmered like morning mist, ever-shifting, yet somehow anchored by an otherworldly presence. He could feel its intent, not through words but through an unspoken connection that settled deeply into his mind—something both he and Sullivan understood instantly. Silas could feel its power offering a contract– twenty hours of service each month, a perfect agreement for a Minor Soulbound Spirit

Silas was still stunned, barely processing the magnitude of what was happening. It wasn’t until Sullivan nudged him with a smile that he snapped out of it.

“Well? Don’t just stand there. Accept it.”

Silas laughed, heart pounding with excitement as he sealed the contract with the spirit. A strange warmth surged through him as the bond was formed. He could feel his life force surging as his lifespan increased. He had done it—he was now a Soulweaver.

As the bond settled between Silas and the spirit, a familiar sense of power washed over him. He had seen Rowan and Layla wield these techniques countless times—Soul Bind to slow an enemy’s advance, Spirit Infusion to empower a strike, and even Minor Soul Disruption when their foes stumbled, disoriented by an invisible force. Yet, there was something different about feeling the spirit’s energy merge with his own. This wasn’t just witnessing it; this was his connection and command over these abilities.

The spirit showed him the techniques in quick flashes of understanding, and Silas took it in with calm confidence. He wasn’t shocked—he had faced enemies using these powers and trained alongside Rowan and Layla, but the excitement still surged within him. Now, he could wield these abilities himself, not merely defend against or admire them from a distance.

Sullivan watched him with a knowing smile, clearly aware that Silas was no stranger to the world of Soulweaving. “You’ve seen it all before, but it’s different when it’s your power, isn’t it?”

Silas nodded, feeling a strange warmth settling in his chest. This was the start of something new, a step toward mastering a power he had long respected. He didn’t need the shock of the unknown to feel the gravity of the moment. Instead, there was happiness—one that couldn’t be described with words.

Sullivan then clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, Silas.”

Overcome with excitement, Silas leapt up and hugged his father tightly. “I can’t believe it! I need to tell Rowan and Layla. We’ve got to celebrate!”

Sullivan chuckled. “Invite them to the Lonestar Manor for dinner tonight. We’ll celebrate properly.”

Silas grabbed his communication stone without wasting a moment and reached out to Rowan and Layla.

“I just became a Soulweaver!” he blurted, his excitement bursting through.

A groggy voice crackled through first—Rowan, barely awake. “What...? Silas, are you sleeptalking? It’s way too early for this...”

His drowsy protest was followed by a *Smack* as half-asleep Layla slapped Rowan in the background. “Mmm... shut up and let me sleep...” she mumbled, clearly unimpressed by the interruption.

There was a pause, a rustling noise, and then a loud grunt from Rowan as he finally shook off his sleep. “Wait... what did you just say?”

“I’m not kidding,” Silas said, grinning despite the early hour. “I just became a Soulweaver.”

There was a brief silence on the other end before Rowan burst into laughter, sharp and incredulous. “You... what? Are you serious? How the hell did that happen?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” Silas replied, his grin widening. “There’s a celebration at Lonestar Manor tonight. You and Layla should come.”

Rowan’s laughter came next. “You’re unbelievable. Fine, we’ll be there.”

Another muffled *Smack* came through the stone, followed by Layla’s groggy voice, “If you two don’t let me sleep, I’m going to kill both of you...”

Silas chuckled, pocketed the stone, and turned back to Sullivan. “They’ll be there.”

“Good,” Sullivan said, rising to his feet. “Tonight, we celebrate not just this step, but the ones that will follow.”

Silas couldn’t stop the joy bubbling up inside him. He was finally on the path of the Soulweaver. And tonight, they would toast to new beginnings.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

The night of celebration at Lonestar Manor was filled with laughter, warmth, and the clinking of glasses. Silas sat amidst familiar faces—his father, Sullivan; his stoic yet caring sword instructor, Kael; the cold but watchful archery master, Kaede; Uncle Chen, who was like family to him; and the ever-attentive maids, Aisha and Minerva. Surrounded by them all, Silas found himself swept up in the joy of the evening.

Rowan, Layla, Goldie, and Trickster joined in, filling the room with the rowdy energy of close friends. Wine flowed freely, and even Trickster, though non-verbal, seemed to slither about the room more playfully than usual while Goldie sat perched on the table, wide-eyed and occasionally letting out a delighted “Wow!” as if to punctuate the merriment.

The hours passed in a blur of storytelling, clinking glasses, and hearty food shared between friends. As the night deepened and the fire in the hearth crackled warmly, everyone’s cheeks flushed from the wine. Silas found himself grinning, the weight of the past days lifted from his shoulders. He had finally become a Soulweaver, and for the moment, the future felt as bright as the flickering flames.

At one point, Rowan and Layla exchanged a glance, then discreetly motioned for Silas to follow them outside. With a conspiratorial wink, Silas excused himself. As he stepped out onto the balcony, the muffled laughter from inside faded, replaced by the gentle whisper of the night wind. The cool air brushed against his skin, a calming contrast to the warmth and revelry still lingering in the manor.

“So,” Rowan began, his voice hushed but laced with curiosity, “how exactly did you become a Soulweaver?” He leaned against the stone railing, his eyes sharp despite the slight sway of drunkenness. “The altars shouldn’t be available for another few months. Do you have connections higher up or something? Can you hook me up with them?”

Layla nodded beside him, her golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Yeah, the altars should be sealed right now. You’ve got good contacts.”

Silas chuckled, shaking his head. “What’s with the conspiracy theories?” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the dull grey stone that Sullivan had gifted him earlier. The runes etched into its surface glowed faintly under the moonlight.

“This,” Silas said, holding the stone carefully in his palm, “is a condensed version of the ceremonial altars and ancient stones.” His voice lowered as if the very words demanded reverence. “Father gave it to me… and it doesn’t even belong to Solarisynth.

Rowan and Layla exchanged wide-eyed glances. “Wait,” Layla whispered, leaning closer. “You’re serious? It’s not from our realm?” The weight of Silas’s words hung in the air between them like a tangible force.

Rowan, his brow furrowed, seemed to be deep in thought. He shifted on his feet, his gaze lingering on the glowing runes of the stone. He hadn’t wanted to ask, not so soon after Silas’s breakthrough, but the opportunity was too rare to pass up. He stared at the stone, rubbing his thumb over his lip and finally asked, “Silas... I know this is a lot to ask, but—could I borrow it? Just for a bit?”

Silas blinked, surprised by the request. “Borrow it? Why?”

Layla tilted her head, equally puzzled. “Yeah, what are you thinking, Rowan?”

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “Layla and I have been discussing this recently… I’ve had this feeling for a couple of days now, like my spiritual power is condensing into liquid form.”

Silas blinked, a grin creeping across his face. “Hold on... Are you telling me it’s happening?”

Rowan nodded seriously. “Yeah. I think I can summon another Minor Soulbound Spirit soon, but the altars are sealed right now... And with the tense atmosphere in Amberheart, it’s best to be as prepared as we can.”

Layla crossed her arms, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, my spiritual power has almost condensed into liquid too. I’d say I’m a few months away. If the stone works for Rowan, I might summon another Minor Spirit as well.”

Silas let out a groan, throwing his head back in exasperation. “Of course, you two are already leagues ahead of me. I barely catch up and you’re already plotting your next spirit summoning.”

Rowan and Layla laughed, and Silas couldn’t help but smile as well. With a playful sigh, he shoved the stone into Rowan’s hands.“Alright, alright—just take it. But don’t get too attached. I’m expecting it back after Layla gets her turn.”

Rowan’s expression brightened as he accepted the stone, his gratitude evident in the way he clasped it to his chest. “Thanks, Silas. Really.”

Layla smiled, her eyes soft as she placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “Yeah, thank you. This could really help.”

Silas waved them off with a smirk. “Just don’t get too far ahead of me, alright? I need to keep up somehow.”

They shared a laugh, the tension of their earlier discussion melting away into the night. As they stood together on the balcony, gazing out over the quiet city of Amberheart, a quiet sense of camaraderie settled between them—a bond that had grown stronger over time and one that would endure whatever trials lay ahead.

“Here’s to new spirits,” Silas said with a grin, raising his glass.

“To new spirits,” Rowan and Layla echoed in unison, smiling under the starlit sky.