When Sylvia arrived in Gideon's apartment dining room, she appeared almost seamlessly—her form manifesting in a soft shimmer of arcane light that quickly faded. The air shifted slightly, a subtle warmth that would normally go unnoticed by all but the most sensitive. She stood there for a moment, adjusting to the change of environment, her eyes quickly scanning the cozy space that Gideon called home.
Her gaze softened when she saw him asleep on the sofa, clearly having dozed off while waiting for her. His features were drawn, the lines of weariness etched into his face, and despite the tension in his body, there was a rare moment of vulnerability. She could tell he’d been through a lot—not just from the recent events, but the many scars life had left on his heart and mind.
Sylvia’s own emotions bubbled just beneath the surface, but she forced herself to focus on the practicalities first. She set down the bottomless satchel carefully on the floor, the muted thud breaking the stillness. Her hands lingered over the strap, fingers briefly trembling as she steadied herself, brushing off the weariness and grief she’d kept at bay.
After a long pause, she moved closer, standing by the sofa where Gideon slept. Her expression was a blend of sorrow, fondness, and something unspoken—a tenderness she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time. She reached out, then hesitated, hovering a hand over his shoulder.
As Sylvia internally debated whether to gently wake him, Gideon’s eyes snapped open. In a blur of motion, he caught her floating wrist in an iron grip,his body moving with the precision and flow of his Judo training. Gideon’s muscles coiled as he twisted his body in a single fluid motion. With a swift, practiced movement, he swung his legs around and locked them over the arm, pulling it into an armbar. A juji gatame .
He applied just enough pressure to immobilize, ready to fully extend if necessary. His breath was heavy, his heart pounding in his ears as his mind scrambled to catch up with his body’s reflexes.
It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized who was hovering above him—Sylvia.
Her eyes were wide, more in surprise than pain. “Gideon...” she said softly, the calm in her voice a stark contrast to the tension in his body.
Realization hit him like a shockwave, and he immediately eased up, releasing her arm from the hold. He lay there for a second longer, chest rising and falling rapidly, before he scrambled to sit up, rubbing a hand over his face.
“ Scheiße ,” he muttered under his breath, a mix of shame and adrenaline flooding his system. “Sylvia... I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Sylvia, now free, stood there, rubbing her arm lightly but without any signs of anger or fear. She offered him a small smile, the calm of her lilt soothing the moment. “I figured you’d be a bit jumpy,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I probably shouldn’t have hovered over you like that. You alright?”
He nodded, still trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “ Ja ... I’m fine. Just... reflex, you know?” His voice was a little hoarse, as the tension ebbed.
Sylvia’s smile grew slightly, more understanding than anything. “That’s what I get for waking up a soldier, huh?”
Gideon huffed into his palms, the guilt remaining. “I could’ve hurt you.”
“But you didn’t,” she replied simply, her eyes meeting his. “And that’s what matters.”
Sylvia took a slow step back, giving him space as he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He glanced around, as if trying to regain his bearings, and then back to her, noting the satchel filled with supplies by her feet, the solemn look in her eyes. The moment carried a heavy silence—awkward, yes, but also laced with a strange, fragile trust.
Clearing his throat, Gideon shifted his stance, slipping into a mask of formality and courtesy that was more habit than genuine warmth. “Ach, where are my manners?” he said, offering a small, polite smile, extending his hand. “So nice to finally meet you in person, Sylvia. You must be tired after that long-range teleport. Maybe you’d like somewhere to rest? Or a shower, something to eat?”
The words came out smoothly, his tone calm and practiced, as if he were offering hospitality to a guest rather than feeling the undercurrent of suspicion tightening in his chest.
Taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, Sylvia’s expression softened with gratitude at his offer. “That’s kind of you, Gideon, but I’ll be right for now, thanks,” she replied, her tone warm yet measured, like she was speaking to someone who might need the reassurance as much as she did.
“Please, have a seat, I will be back with some tea. Here, allow me to get your coat.” he chirped, gesturing to an oaken armchair by the coffee table while extending a hand to take her long, dark emerald woolen coat.
He hoped it might keep her from noticing the scrutiny in his eyes, the way he watched her every movement. It was easier to play the host than to let her see how much he didn’t trust her yet. In his head, Gideon’s mind raced with the traces of energy he sensed. It was a very very subtle, but unmistakable ripple in the arcane flow that he was trained to detect back in his KSK days—something that shouldn’t belong to a human even if they were blessed with magic. His instincts flared up again, but he held himself in check, schooling his expression into something rather pleasant, giving nothing away.
Sylvia thanked him and undid her coat, tailored but not overly formal. The length fell just past her knees, the deep emerald complemented her auburn hair. Underneath, she sported a simple knit sweater in a muted teal, soft but fitted, suggesting both comfort and an understated sense of style. Paired with it were leather black slim-fit pants that hugged her frame, showing off her athletic build without being too overt. She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to action, her dark leather boots—sturdy but stylish—barely making a sound on the ground.
Around her neck, a simple scarf in a muted gold draped loosely, adding just a hint of warmth and personality to the otherwise practical ensemble. A set of small diamond-shaped golden earrings caught the light subtly, hinting at a more delicate side amidst the practicality.
Sylvia’s form seemed so effortless, so human, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a façade, something crafted with the kind of precision he had only heard about in his training and never quite encountered in reality. At least, nothing as natural and precise as this. There were rumors, whispers of beings who could cloak their true selves beneath layers of magic and/or their own biological functions , creatures that even seasoned operators like him rarely encountered.
Additionally, the way Sylvia remained calm and controlled under his armbar earlier set off quiet alarm bells in Gideon’s mind. Most people—anyone untrained or even trained —would’ve struggled or panicked, even briefly. But she hadn’t. She had handled it with a composure that spoke of experience, as though she was already accustomed to being ambushed or navigating rapidly changing situations. That in itself was unsettling.
It was her physique too—impressive in a way that was easy to miss unless one were trained to notice. Standing a head taller than him, her frame was slender but deceptively strong. She carried herself with an almost predatory grace, the kind he’d seen in operators and soldiers who were constantly on high alert. If not for the subtle magic she exuded, she could’ve been mistaken for a fellow operator rather than a mage. When he had shaken her hand earlier, he’d felt the roughened skin beneath her fingertips—calluses that hinted at more than just spellwork. They spoke of someone who knew hard, manual labor, or perhaps, something more... physical, something dangerous.
Her presence stirred a deep unease within him, not because she was a threat, but because she was an enigma. There was a lot more to Sylvia Ashborne than she let on.
But he didn’t speak these thoughts aloud. He had learned long ago that revealing what you knew too soon could shift the balance of a situation—turn an ally into an adversary or lose the chance to gain a crucial advantage. He would keep watching, keep listening, until he was certain of what she was. For now, he would let her believe he hadn’t noticed a thing.
He took Sylvia’s coat and hung it on a wall-mounted coat hanger by the door, he briskly walked towards the kitchen and started to boil a kettle of water for the tea. His hands moving automatically as he reached for the dried black tea leaves Elara had always insisted on using—rich, aromatic, and full-bodied. She had taught him that proper tea wasn’t just a drink; it was a moment of clarity, a ritual of focus. He measured the leaves carefully, placing them in the ceramic tea infuser that had been part of the kit she had bought for their common use. But, as always, the tea wasn’t complete without the herbs. Elara had sworn by adding a few sprigs of dried thyme and a pinch of lavender , their floral notes softening the boldness of the black tea while bringing a subtle calming effect—something more than just flavor, something that carried a faint magic of restoration and balance.
Boiling water, just shy of a full boil, was poured over the mixture, and Gideon let it steep for a few minutes, as she’d taught him—exactly three minutes to avoid bitterness, though sometimes the lavender would push him to add a little more time. The steam rose, carrying with it the familiar earthy and floral scent that had always brought them all some comfort after long, grueling missions.
While waiting, he quickly disposed of the remains of his Hexlink’s packaging, swiftly discarding the paper-based ones while storing the device inside its original wooden box away to his room. He also secured his KM2000 knife in the process. As his kitchen timer rang, he shut off the stove, transferred the kettle’s contents to a china pot, chose a matching set of white teacups, and arranged them neatly onto a wooden tray.
Gideon found himself wiping away streaks of tears from his face, the warm steam emanating from the pot doing little to stave off the chill creeping into his chest. It had been a long time since he’d made this particular tea, and the act of brewing it stirred emotions he’d tried to bury. Longing, sadness, and guilt threatened to overwhelm him all over again. He remembered the first time Elara had introduced them to this method after a draining mission where they’d dismantled an extremist terror cell in Munich some years ago. The tea had worked its magic, calming them all far quicker than any whiskey ever could. Elara always hated how alcohol clouded the mind and had insisted on finding a better way to help her charges unwind after missions.
Gideon may have been their captain, but it was always Elara who played the role of their mother hen, watching over them with gentle, stubborn care.
His eyes fell on the bottle of whiskey sitting in a nearby cabinet, the temptation to drink himself into oblivion tugging at him like a lead weight. The thought of it almost felt comforting, the numbness alcohol could bring. But Elara would have never allowed it, not if she were still here. If any of them were still here.
But that wasn’t the answer. Not now.
Gideon took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself as the emotions gnawed at him. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned away from the whiskey, gripping the kitchen sink instead. He splashed cold water onto his face, letting it clear away the remnants of tears before patting it dry with a paper towel. He exhaled slowly, pulling himself together. The tea tray was still waiting for him, the fragrant steam rising steadily from the cups. He picked it up and carried it into the living room, the weight of his grief never far behind.
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When Gideon returned, Sylvia was already busy pulling various items from her satchel, carefully setting them on the table. From the seemingly bottomless bag emerged a delicate wreath of deep crimson roses, intertwined with strands of enchanted ivy. The leaves shimmered faintly with a golden hue, a telltale sign that they would stay fresh for weeks, perhaps longer. She handled the wreath with a reverence that spoke volumes, placing it aside with deliberate care.
The scent of the tea had begun to fill the room, and as she glanced up, her eyes met his. Sylvia's expression softened as she noticed his sullen look, the telltale signs of someone who had hurriedly washed their face to conceal traces of tears. She said nothing of it, though. Instead, she offered a gentle smile, her voice as soothing as the warm steam rising from the teapot.
“I hope you don’t mind me using the table, Gideon,” she said, turning her attention briefly to the pot. “Smells good... and really familiar. Did Elara teach you?”
“No trouble at all. You were Elara’s friend, and that makes you a friend of mine. So please, make yourself at home,” Gideon replied, a hint of genuine warmth threading through his words. There was a sincerity in his tone, just enough to make the sentence easier to bear, though the weight of grief and suspicion still lingered. He gestured toward the hallway. “By the way, the guest bedroom is open. It’s still much too early to head to the cemetery. I’ll bring you a blanket shortly. There isn’t much in the refrigerator, but help yourself to what’s available.”
Sylvia offered another soft smile, inclining her head in gratitude as he set the tray down on the table and poured tea into their cups—hers first, then his own. “Thank you, Gideon. That’s very kind of you,” she said gently.
Her reassuring tone might have comforted him if his mind weren’t still whirring, parsing every subtle clue. He returned her smile with one of his own, though he felt it was mostly a reflex. “You’re very welcome.”
He settled onto the sofa he had slept on earlier, cradling the tea cup in his hands as he took a slow sip. His gaze wandered around the apartment, trying to ground himself in the simple, mundane details—the soft hum of the enchanted lights, the worn rug beneath his feet, the slight creak of the old floorboards. But his mind couldn’t help but drift back to the question hanging between them like an invisible weight. He knew he’d have to confront it eventually—but not yet. Not before he knew more about her, and the role she intended to play in his life now.
He watched her from the corner of his eye as she continued to unpack. Next, she pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. The surface was etched with faintly glowing runes, the design reminiscent of the very box that had held his Hexlink. Opening the lid, she revealed beeswax candles infused with herbs and magical oils, their subtle scent filling the air with a calming aura. Beside them lay a neatly wrapped bundle of dried lavender and sage, tied with a twine of arcane thread—a gesture meant for cleansing and peace, to honor the old traditions.
She continued, placing a smooth, river-worn stone onto the table, its surface etched with Elara’s name in a flowing, elegant Elven script. It bore her likeness for remembrance, a symbol meant to carry messages to the other side. Sylvia’s fingers lingered on the stone’s surface for a moment, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she slipped back into her calm composure.
Finally, she withdrew a small, leather-bound book—its pages filled with Elara’s own handwriting. A personal journal from the looks of it. Sylvia had kept it safe for decades, a memento from their years of friendship. Her thumb brushed the edge of the worn cover, as if seeking comfort from the familiarity of old memories before she placed it gently beside the other items.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Hmm, das ist ihre Handschrift.” Gideon mused, confirming the book was in fact, Elara’s, thanks to the unmistakable handwriting. This alleviated his suspicions a bit, whoever Sylvia really was, Elara actually trusted her.
Sylvia glanced up at Gideon, offering him a small, reassuring smile as she laid everything out on the dining table, the dimly lit space now filled with the subtle scents of the tea, herbs, and the quiet glow of the enchanted ivy. All he could focus on was the way her movements betrayed a deep, unspoken grief—a grief that mirrored his own in ways neither of them were ready to acknowledge just yet.
"These roses and ivies... they were Elara’s favorites during her life in Zeelandia," Sylvia remarked, her voice lilting softly with that unmistakable New Zealand accent as she took a sip of the tea. “She adored them. Born there, she was. Her family’s still there—her clan lived deep in the forests bordering the town I call home. I picked these from a meadow near our shared hometowns—a place we used to visit often... just before I came here.” She smiled faintly, the memory casting a quiet warmth into the room. “Ah, just like how she used to make it,” Sylvia added with a small nod, her words carrying that gentle, melodic tone.
Gideon felt the weight on his chest loosen slightly, her words easing some of the tension within him. He recalled Elara’s stories of Zeelandia—its deep forests, the warmth of her family, and the timeless beauty of her homeland. Knowing that Sylvia had shared those moments with Elara gave him a sliver of reassurance, a fragile connection to the life Elara had lived before joining Wolfpack.
Gideon nodded slowly, his German accent giving his words a soft edge. “ Ach , ja . I remember, she mentioned these places a few times. Elandor is your hometown, ja ? And... Veloria’s Glen, that’s the meadow?”
Sylvia’s gentle smile deepened, her eyes reflecting something between fondness and nostalgia. “Yes, Gideon, you’ve got it. I’m impressed she told you that much,” she said, the cadence in her voice rising slightly as she spoke, as if she were sharing a treasured secret. “How much did she tell you about her forest?”
Gideon leaned back in his chair, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his teacup. He could still hear the soft lilt in Sylvia’s voice, the warmth of her memories of Elara filling the room like a fleeting comfort. The gentle scent of the roses and ivy, now mingling with the tea, brought him back to the stories Elara had once told—glimpses of a life in a magical land he had only ever heard about through her.
“She told me bits and pieces, Eledhwen’s Embrace I believe it's called? ” Gideon said, his voice lowering slightly as he recalled their quiet conversations after missions, “about her clan, the forests that stretched for miles, the creatures living there… how the air there felt alive with magic, something different from here.” He paused “But not too much detail. Elara was always… reserved when it came to her past.”
Sylvia nodded, her eyes clouding with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. “That sounds like her,” she said softly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “She never liked to burden anyone with her own history, always focused on looking forward, not back.” Her voice wavered slightly, the melody in her accent adding a quiet depth to the moment.
For a moment, the silence hung between them, filled only by the faint sound of the wind rustling through the enchanted trees outside the window. Sylvia broke the stillness first, setting her cup down gently before speaking again, her tone more serious this time. “You know, Eledhwen’s Embrace… it's ancient. The trees, the land, the creatures, are all tied to magic that’s older than anything here. It’s why her clan stayed so close to it. They believe that the forest itself is alive in a way… that it chooses who it allows in and out.”
Gideon’s brow furrowed, curiosity pulling him out of his memories. “Is that why she left? Was she… not allowed back?” He wasn’t sure what answer he expected, but the idea of Elara leaving such a mystical place voluntarily seemed at odds with the woman he had known.
Sylvia’s expression grew solemn, her gaze flicking to the roses as if they held some unspoken truth. “In a way, yes,” she admitted, her fingers lightly brushing the petals. “Elara chose to leave, but it came at a price. Her people, especially her clan, believe that once you leave their forests, you can never return—not truly. It’s an exile of sorts, a consequence of stepping away from the magic that sustains them.” She glanced up at him, her eyes softening with understanding. “But I don’t think she ever regretted it. She found a family here after all.”
Gideon felt a lump form in his throat. He hadn’t known about the full weight of Elara’s decision to leave her home, to walk away from everything she had known.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking slightly as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “She never told us… I didn’t know it cost her that much. But why did she actually leave?”
Sylvia’s expression softened as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant, as though recalling a conversation she and Elara had once shared. “Elara always had a thirst for more than what her clan could offer. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her home or her people… it was just that, for her, staying in Eledhwen felt like living inside a beautiful cage. She wanted to see the world beyond the trees, to experience new places and people. She talked about making a difference, about wanting to help others in ways she couldn’t if she stayed tied to her clan’s traditions.”
Sylvia paused, taking a slow breath before continuing. “She believed in doing good, in leaving the world a little better than she found it. Elara wanted to meet new people, build a life where her magic could serve more than just her kin. And maybe, somewhere along the way, she thought she’d find a place she could settle down—a home of her own, one that she chose.”
Gideon swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in his chest. “She never really told us that... not fully. I knew she had big dreams, but I didn’t realize...” He trailed off, the reality of Elara’s sacrifices hitting him harder than he expected.
Sylvia reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm, her touch warm and reassuring. “She didn’t want you to know. Elara believed that some sacrifices were worth making, even if it meant giving up everything she had known.”
Gideon nodded, his eyes misting over as he stared into the tea, the steam rising like ghosts of memories he could never quite grasp. Elara had always been their guiding light, and now that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of his grief.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “For telling me. For… being here.”
Sylvia’s smile returned, softer now but still full of warmth. “You’re not alone, Gideon. Not while I’m here.”
The quiet of the early morning settled around them like a blanket, the first hints of light still not touching the horizon. The night had stretched on longer than either of them realized, their conversation pulling them deeper into shared memories and unspoken grief.
Gideon glanced at the clock on the wall, the faint ticking a reminder that time, despite everything, continued to march on. It was still hours before dawn, but exhaustion hung heavy in the air between them. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the weight of the last few days settling in his bones.
“We could rest for a bit, Sylvia.” He offered gently, sensing his weariness. “It’s still early. The cemetery will be there when we’re ready.”
“Yeah... maybe that’s not a bad idea,” she muttered, her voice thick with exhaustion. Sylvia cast a glance toward the hallway, where the guest bedroom lay in quiet darkness. “I’ll take the guest room, then,” she said, offering him a small smile. “You should get some rest too.”
Gideon watched her move toward the hallway, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and something he couldn’t quite place—a sense of comfort in her presence. He exhaled slowly, nodding as he got up from his sofa. “Yeah... I will. Thanks, Sylvia. Before that, let me get you that blanket.”
He moved toward a small closet nearby, the quiet shuffle of his feet against the wooden floor the only sound in the stillness of the apartment. Pulling out a thick blue wool blanket, one that Elara had insisted they keep for “guests” who would never visit, Gideon’s throat tightened momentarily. He had forgotten about it until now. On his way to the guest room, he grabbed a clean towel and a toothbrush from the bathroom cabinet—small, mundane things, but they felt like gestures of some long-forgotten hospitality.
When he returned to Sylvia, she had already taken a seat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes soft but distant, lost somewhere between thought and memory. The weight of everything—of loss, of their shared grief—hung in the air between them, unspoken but present.
“Here,” he said quietly, handing her the blanket. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do the job.”
Sylvia looked up at him with a small, warm smile, accepting the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders like a protective cocoon. “Thank you, Gideon,” she said, her voice gentle, appreciative. “You’ve already done more than enough.”
He nodded, his lips pulling into a faint smile. “It’s the least I can do. Have a nice rest, Sylvia.” With that, he turned to leave, his footsteps soft on the wooden floor, retreating toward the door.
“By the way, may I ask you a question?” Sylvia’s voice, soft but clear, chirped behind him. Her tone was tentative, but curious enough to make Gideon stop and turn back to face her.
“Of course,” he replied, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.
Sylvia hesitated for a brief moment before continuing. “You aren’t living here alone, are you? This apartment feels… too spacious for just one person. I, uh, hope I’m not intruding on the rest of the people here during my stay.”
Gideon’s expression shifted, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened for just a moment, and he exhaled a quiet sigh. “I am now.” he answered softly, his voice carrying a weight that didn’t need further explanation.
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The silence that followed was heavy, but understanding. Sylvia offered no more questions, only a gentle nod, as if she already knew the answer long before she asked.
The dawn light filtered through the curtains, a soft, muted glow spilling into the quiet apartment. Gideon woke to the faint sound of birds outside the window, the warmth of a new day pressing against the lingering weight of the previous night’s conversation. His body felt heavy, as if the grief that had momentarily receded had returned to anchor him once more.
Gideon found Sylvia already awake, standing by the kitchen window, cradling a cup of the tea he had brewed earlier. Though traces of weariness were etched into her features, she stood with quiet determination. Her eyes lingered on the magic planter by the window, observing the wilting plant within. With a soft sigh, she walked over to the sink, filled her cup with water, and poured it gently into the planter, imbuing the water with a touch of magic. The bird feeder outside caught her attention next—its contents already half-empty.
They didn’t exchange many words as they prepared for the day. After taking turns in the shower, they sat down for a simple breakfast. The tea tasted warm and familiar, and the egg sandwich, made from the failed elven bread Gideon had attempted the day before, provided sustenance, if nothing else. The weight of the day ahead hung heavily in the silence between them, unspoken but palpable. As they finished, Sylvia broke the silence, her voice soft yet steady. “Thank you for opening your home to me, Gideon,” she said, her New Zealand lilt adding a gentle warmth to her words.
Gideon nodded, pulling his brown bomber jacket tighter around himself. “You’re welcome. Follow me.” He turned, leading the way out.
They walked side by side through the cobblestone streets of Eichenwald, the town drowsy in the cool morning quiet. The enchanted trees lining the streets swayed gently, their leaves glowing faintly with the first light of day. The serenity of the town contrasted with the heaviness in Gideon’s chest, as the reality of the day crept in with every step.
Arriving at the cemetery near the town’s edge, the stillness deepened. Neat rows of tombstones stood solemnly, silent sentinels to the lives now lost. As Sylvia’s eyes fell on the gravestones, the weight of Gideon’s words from the night before crashed down on her like a tidal wave. Elara. Kaz. Mira. Thorneck. Each name etched in stone, each a reminder of those who had once filled Gideon’s world, now reduced to memories and inscriptions.
For a moment, Sylvia stood frozen, her gaze moving from one tombstone to the next. The loss, the emptiness, the silence—all of it sank into her chest, tightening like a vice. “Oh, Gideon…” she whispered, the words barely escaping her, heavy with the realization of his grief.
Gideon remained silent, his eyes fixed on the tombstones of his fallen comrades. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his boots crunching softly against the gravel beneath him. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he said nothing, his emotions kept tightly under control.
Sylvia knelt beside Elara’s grave, her fingers tracing the inscription on the stone. She moved from one to the next, her expression unreadable but filled with quiet reverence. Each gravestone bore an inscription in German, words Gideon had written himself. Sylvia, wanting to understand, took out her Hexlink from her satchel, scanning the tombstones with the device. Unlike Gideon’s sleek, tactical Hexlink, hers was more archaic, resembling an ancient tome infused with magic. The translations soon appeared, shimmering in a warm, ethereal glow on the journal’s translucent pages.
"Elara Daralis, the Watcher of Silent Paths. In her aim, we trusted. In her heart, we found peace. Born in Zeelandia, now resting among the stars. ‘May the winds guide you, as you once guided us.’”
"Kazimir 'Kaz' Volkov, the Blade in the Shadows. His silence was our shield, his strength our salvation. ‘In the centuries I’ve lived, you all are some of the finest people I’ve come across.’”
"Mira Schneider, the Codebreaker and Dreamer. Her laughter was our light, her brilliance our beacon. ‘We will never get to play in that new update, will we?’”
"Bjorn Thorneck, the Strong Arm and Steady Heart. In his hands, we were safe. In his honor, we endure. ‘Violence is easy, but righteousness… that’s harder.’”
Sylvia knelt before Elara’s gravestone, her fingers delicately tracing the letters of her friend’s name. Memories flooded back—quiet conversations, shared laughter, unspoken bonds. From her satchel, she withdrew the wreath of crimson roses and enchanted ivy she had brought from Zeelandia, and placed it gently at the base of the gravestone. The wreath shimmered faintly in the soft morning light, carrying with it her love and respect for Elara.
Looking to the other graves, Sylvia realized the weight of Gideon’s grief. She hadn’t known that Wolfpack had all fallen, and hadn't brought enough wreaths to honor them all. Yet, each one deserved remembrance.
Without a word, she walked toward the edge of the cemetery, where wildflowers grow freely in the morning breeze. Gathering a handful, she returned to the graves of Kaz, Mira, and Thorneck. For each, she placed a small bouquet at the foot of their gravestones, and lit a candle from her satchel, a soft blue flame flickering to life with the snap of her fingers.
“For Kaz,” she whispered, lighting the candle at his stone. “For the strength in the shadows, the blade that protected us.”
“For Mira,” she murmured, placing the flowers and candle beside her grave. “For the light and laughter you brought to us.”
“And for Thorneck,” her voice softened as she lit the last candle. “For the wisdom and strength that kept us standing tall.”
Sylvia’s soft prayers filled the air, spoken in the ancient, melodic language of her people, the tongue of dragons. Each syllable carried the weight of millennia, humming with ancient magic that stirred the very air around them. The enchanted flowers near the graves seemed to respond, glowing faintly as her voice called to them.
“For each of you,” she whispered, the reverence in her tone undeniable. “For the sacrifices you made, for the battles you fought, for the lives you lived.”
Sylvia returned to Elara’s grave one last time, leaning her forehead gently against the tombstone. Her shoulders shook as silent sobs wracked her body, and it wasn’t long before the tears spilled freely from her eyes.
Gideon stood quietly behind her, the memories of his fallen comrades flooding back in painful clarity. He could almost hear their voices—Kaz’s teasing laughter, Mira’s banter, Thorneck’s deep chuckle. And Elara, with her guiding voice, always calming them. The weight of Sylvia’s respect for them, for all of Wolfpack, overwhelmed him.
After some time, when Sylvia’s sobbing began to subside, Gideon stepped forward and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. His grip was steady, offering silent comfort as she gathered herself. When she rose to her feet, she placed the river-worn rock next to the wreath, and planted a soft kiss on the cold gravestone, as if saying a final goodbye to her friend.
“Elara believed in honoring the fallen,” Sylvia said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t just honor her alone. They deserve this, too.”
“They would’ve appreciated this, Sylvia,” Gideon whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own emotions. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Sylvia placed a hand gently on his arm, her touch grounding him in the moment. “You don’t have to,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “They deserved to be remembered.” She smiled faintly, her lips curving upward. “And technically, I did meet them, didn’t I? Even if it was just through their messages on your Hexlink.”
Gideon chuckled softly “ Ach so .”
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The pair stood silently for a while, their grief settling as the cool breeze swept over them, carrying with it the faint scent of wildflowers and the distant rustling of the enchanted trees. Gideon’s gaze lingered on the neat rows of tombstones, his mind swimming in memories both painful and bittersweet. The weight of their shared loss still hung between them, but the oppressive heaviness began to ease, bit by bit, with every breath they took in the open air.
Sylvia, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, turned her gaze toward the horizon, where the town of Eichenwald lay just beyond the cemetery grounds, bathed in the soft, golden light of the morning. She drew in a deep breath, her posture relaxing slightly, and then glanced at Gideon, her teal eyes thoughtful but gentle.
"Maybe we should take a walk through the town," she suggested quietly, her voice calm yet encouraging. "Get some fresh air, clear our heads a bit. I think it might help."
Gideon looked over at her, the tension in his shoulders easing as her words sunk in. He wasn’t one for distractions, especially not during moments like this, but something about Sylvia’s suggestion felt right. Maybe it was the way her presence seemed to ground him, or perhaps it was the reminder that life continued beyond these graves, even when it didn’t feel like it. Either way, the idea of moving, of doing something other than standing there with his grief, was appealing in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Yeah,” he murmured after a beat, his voice low but steady. “You’re right. A walk sounds good. This is your first time in Eichenwald, right? What do you say to a little tour?”
“I’d love that. Lead the way.” Sylvia offered him a small, understanding smile. She picked up her satchel, and together, they turned away from the cemetery, their steps light but purposeful as they made their way back toward the cobblestone streets of Eichenwald.