Silas sat on the edge of his bed, absentmindedly tracing the intricate carvings of the communication stone in his hand. The warmth from the stone hummed softly as he leaned back, savouring a brief moment of peace. The room seemed to close in on him, his thoughts too restless to be contained by its walls. As if sensing his need for escape, the communication stone buzzed in his hand. Layla’s voice chimed through, smooth but with a hint of amusement.
“Silas, it’s time. We should head to the Western Gates. Get ready.”
He chuckled softly to himself, setting the stone down before making his way to the mirror. He glanced at his reflection—formal attire, a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver, and matching trousers. It made him look like a nobleman preparing for court, though the role felt foreign, like wearing someone else’s skin. Ebonheart, his sword, rested sheathed by his side—a habit he wasn’t about to break anytime soon, even in these clothes.
Satisfied with his appearance, Silas made his way out of the manor and towards Rowan’s home. The fresh air filled his lungs as he walked, feeling lighter already. Being outside the bounds of his room offered a brief respite from his own thoughts.
As he approached Rowan’s home, he spotted the couple standing outside. Rowan fidgeted slightly, adjusting his collar, while Layla stood beside him, arms crossed, her gaze sharp as always. They stood outside, their matching outfits of deep burgundy with golden trim giving them an unexpectedly dignified air.
“Wow! Look at you two! Matching outfits and all—what, did you plan this? Are you just trying to outshine me? Or just planning to leave a good first impression in front of the Countess?”
Rowan flushed immediately, his hands fumbling at his tunic. What? No way—it's... it's just a coincidence!"
Layla rolled her eyes, giving Silas a sharp glance. “One more word, Silas, and you're walking to the gates by yourself."
He raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright. No more teasing. You two look good.”
Just then, Goldie emerged from behind Rowan, the little bear cub wobbling forward on his stubby legs with an excited “Wow!” before clambering up Silas’s leg with surprising speed. Seems like the little guy missed him. Trickster slithered behind, his sleek form winding lazily through the grass, eyes gleaming with quiet mischief.
But then added, “Now... Now... Rowan,” Silas teased lightly. “You pull off the look. Are you a little nervous, though?”
Rowan tried to respond but only managed an awkward chuckle. “Nervous? Me? No, no, I’m perfectly fine. Totally fine. Absolutely... fine.”
Silas grinned wider. “Uh-huh, sure.”
Layla gave Rowan a sideways glance, then turned to Silas. “Don’t make him any more jumpy than he already is. Or I’ll let you handle his nervous rambling.”
“I can handle it,” Silas said with a wink. “I’ve had plenty of practice dealing with your sharp tongue.”
Goldie gave an enthusiastic “Wow!” as if fully agreeing with Silas’s comeback as if he was the one who came up with it, while Trickster hissed quietly as though amused by the banter.
The light-hearted exchange eased the tension, and even Rowan’s nerves seemed to settle a little, his smile growing more genuine despite Silas’s teasing.
Layla’s lips quirked up into a small smirk, but she said nothing more. Together, the three of them set off toward the Western Gates, their playful banter easing the tension of the coming meeting. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the streets in a warm, golden glow. Silas relished the peacefulness of the walk, the simple comfort of being with friends.
After what felt like only a short time, they arrived at the Western Gates. They stood in wait, watching the horizon as the soft rumble of approaching carriages grew louder. Layla felt a twinge of anticipation but kept his expression calm.
Finally, two grand caravans crested the hill, their banners rippling in the wind. The first displayed the golden bear of the Shone family—an unmistakable symbol of wealth and power.
Fierce Soulweavers flanked the convoy, their mere presence radiating authority. As the carriages halted before the gates, Silas felt the heavy weight of Countess Cassandra’s gaze, palpable even before she stepped out.
"Countess Cassandra stepped out with the kind of effortless grace that spoke of absolute certainty in her place in the world—and ensured no one ever doubted it. She was middle-aged and clad in sleek black leather, contrasting sharply with her golden hair cascading in soft waves. Her golden eyes gleamed with an eccentric spark that mirrored Layla’s but with a more mature allure.
If one didn’t know any better, they would assume that Layla was trying to copy her mother’s style, which, to be honest, did work in her favour. But there were some differences. If Layla was a blade honed to perfection, Cassandra was a finely aged wine, rich and potent. She was a more seductive version of her daughter, her presence commanding attention.
Silas gave a respectful bow, with Rowan following his lead—though his movements were stiffer, betraying his nerves. Layla curtsied with perfect grace, but Silas caught a faint softening in her sharp demeanour, a rare shift in her usually composed presence.
“Mother, allow me to introduce my companions,” Layla said, her voice steady but carrying a trace of warmth. “This is Silas, and this is Rowan.”
Cassandra’s sharp gaze lingered on Silas for a brief moment, her golden eyes scanning him with a quiet, assessing intensity. “Ah, Silas, Warmaster Sullivan’s son. My daughter has mentioned you in her letters.” She then turned to Rowan, a teasing smile playing on her lips.
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Rowan shifted uneasily under her scrutinising gaze, trying not to fidget.
Silas, however, was caught off guard. His brow furrowed as he glanced at Layla. “You write home?”
Layla shot him a sideways pout, her lips pressing together. “I do, occasionally,” she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of a huff.
Cassandra chuckled at her daughter’s reaction, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Yes, she’s mentioned you both—though she tends to leave out the more... colourful details.”
Turning her attention back to Rowan, she smiled more broadly, her gaze sharpening. “So, you are Rowan? The one she’s been spending so much time with?”
Rowan’s face flushed a deep crimson as he stammered, “I—uh... It’s an honour to meet you, Countess Shone.”
Cassandra’s amusement deepened, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous light. “Oh, Layla, darling... if you’re searching for a husband, I rather like this one. A bit shy, but that’s endearing. He’ll be obedient.”
Rowan’s eyes widened in mortification, and for a moment, Silas thought his friend might pass out. Layla stiffened beside her mother, clearly flustered.
“M-Mother!” Layla hissed, her usual composed tone slipping. “There’s nothing like that going on!”
Cassandra laughed—a rich, melodic sound that seemed to fill the air. “Oh, don’t be coy, dear. It’s all over the two of you—the glances, the little smiles.”
Silas struggled to hold back his own laughter, watching as Rowan, though still clearly nervous and exasperated by the ‘obedient’ remark, seemed relieved. Despite his embarrassment, a subtle smile played on Rowan’s lips. He had often worried about the difference in status between him and Layla; now, the countess’s words seemed to put him at ease.
But a small sound caught Cassandra’s attention before Layla could further respond. Goldie waddled out from behind Rowan with an eager “Wow!” Trickster slithered gracefully behind, his forked tongue flicking curiously in the air, both creatures seemingly waiting for their own introductions.
Cassandra’s gaze shifted to them, a flash of surprise crossing her features as she took in the sight of the golden bear. “Are... Are these your companions, Rowan?”
Rowan nodded, “Yes, this is Goldie. And that’s Trickster, the serpent.”
Cassandra’s eyes rested on Goldie for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “A golden bear,” she murmured under her breath as if speaking to herself. Her gaze flickered toward the family crest etched on her carriage—the emblem of the Shone family, a golden bear. “It must be fate that guided you and Layla together,” she added quietly, almost to no one in particular.
Layla, sensing her mother was teasing again, laughed. “Oh, Mother, don’t start with your stories. It’s just a coincidence.”
Silas nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, fate or not, Goldie’s staying for the snacks.”
Rowan’s lips twitched in an awkward smile as he scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure of how to respond.
Cassandra, however, didn’t join in their laughter right away. She stared at Goldie for a beat longer before her expression shifted, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, though there was a hint of something deeper in her gaze. “It must be a coincidence.”
Cassandra’s playful smirk softened as she knelt to meet Goldie at eye level, her hand resting gently on his head. The cub beamed at the attention, letting out a proud “Wow!” before nuzzling against her hand. Trickster, too, slithered closer, curling lazily around Cassandra’s arm as she began to stroke his sleek scales with surprising ease.
“You two are quite the pair, aren’t you?” Cassandra mused, amusement dancing in her golden eyes as she played with the creatures. Her light-hearted demeanour seemed to soothe whatever thoughts had briefly flickered through her mind.
Layla and Rowan exchanged an amused glance, still assuming her mother was joking about the supposed connection between Rowan and the Shone family’s crest. But Cassandra lingered a moment longer, her smile deepening as though there were unspoken secrets she wasn’t yet ready to share—perhaps something more profound tying Rowan and Layla together, a bond more meaningful than any of them could see just yet.
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Silas shifted his weight as he swung Ebonheart, slicing through the air with smooth precision. The quiet of the Lonestar Manor’s garden offered a peaceful backdrop as he practised, the cool evening air refreshing against his skin. His mind was focused on perfecting his form when a sudden shout interrupted the calm.
“Silas! Come out and drink with your big bro!” The voice echoed through the garden, followed by loud knocking on the manor’s front gate.
Silas paused mid-swing, frowning as he turned toward the sound. The voice was oddly familiar, though he couldn’t immediately place it. Setting Ebonheart aside, he wiped the sweat from his brow and headed toward the front gate to investigate.
As Silas approached the entrance, the voice grew clearer. “Silas! Don’t leave your big bro hanging!”
Opening the gate, Silas blinked in surprise. Standing there, with a wide grin plastered across his face and arms thrown out in a dramatic gesture, was Luther.
“Luther?” Silas said, his confusion evident.
He blinked, caught off guard. Luther was the last person he’d expected to show up at Lonestar Manor. The two had fought side by side before, but Luther’s exuberant personality always left Silas wondering what exactly their relationship was—Acquaintances? Friends? Or something in between? Finally he blurted out, “I take it you came with Countess Elara?”
Luther beamed, clapping Silas on the shoulder with a force that made him stumble. “Of course, I did! grandma needed her charming grandson to make an appearance, didn’t she? And here I am, ready to take you out for a drink. Us two brothers deserve it after everything we’ve been through!”
Silas raised an eyebrow. ‘When did I become this guy’s brother?’ he thought, but couldn’t help chuckling at Luther’s exuberance. “Alright, buddy, what’s the occasion? Couldn’t find anyone else to drag along?”
Luther gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded. “Come on, after all we’ve been through, we’re practically brothers. You don’t leave your brother hanging, do you?”
Silas chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. But we should call Rowan and Layla along for the ride. They could use a drink too.”
Luther’s face immediately soured, his grin vanishing in an instant. “Rowan and Layla? Are you kidding me? They’re the reason I need a drink! You should’ve seen them earlier at the Shone family’s lodging—acting all lovey-dovey in front of Layla’s mother. And Rowan—he was already treating the Countess like his mother-in-law! Him and his honey dipped innocent words... Humph” Luther threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s unbearable!”
Silas snorted, struggling to hold back laughter. “Is that so?” He clapped Luther on the back. “Luther… well, if you ever find yourself out of work, there’s a theatre called ‘The Curtain’s Call’ here in Amberheart. I’m sure they’d love to have you on stage… Just something to keep in mind.”
Luther blinked, frowning in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Silas chuckled, shaking his head. “Drop the act, Luther. Everyone knows you’re just playing around with this whole ‘Layla’ thing. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Luther pouted, crossing his arms. “What, you don’t think I could win her over?”
Silas smirked. “Let’s just say your heart doesn’t seem entirely in it.”
Luther sighed dramatically. “Sigh... You’re no fun at all! Fine... You got me. I just wanted to see some drama and cause some chaos, but still, do you know how infuriating it is to watch Rowan prance around like that? Layla’s way out of his league.”
Silas laughed, “I’m sure Rowan feels the same way about you.”
Luther’s smile suddenly dimmed, but he still gave Silas a playful nudge. “You know what? Fine, let’s call Rowan and Layla. Bring the whole gang. Call that bear cub and snake too—those guys are fun! Who knows if we’ll get another opportunity in our lives to hang out like this together, given the circumstances?”
Silas paused at the mention of “circumstances,” a wistful smile tugging at his lips. Luther was right in his own odd way; with the looming uncertainties of war and the intangible weight hanging above Amberfell, moments like this would soon become rare.
“Yeah... you’ve got a point,” Silas said softly, pulling out his communication stone. As the familiar glow of the stone activated, he called Rowan and Layla, telling them about the plan for the night.