Feast

Every time Gabe crossed the borders of Enya, he was reminded how differently the other mortal races of this plane perceived time. Yes, the elves were not the only long-lived species among them, but there was a considerable difference still. Humans, for example, lived like sparks. Brief and bright and restless. 

Elves lingered.

It has been almost 30 years now. Since the war, since they saved the world, since so many gave their lives to ensure their victory. Since the Planar Tree had burned, its roots collapsed into ash and silence.

Gabe let out a quiet sigh as his horse carried him along the road leading away from the forest. Behind him the portal in the tree closed, branches knit themselves back together, but even now he could feel eyes watching him leave.

Things have changed, there is no way of denying that. The settlements along Enya’s borders that had once been scattered camps of woodcutters and traders, appearing and vanishing with the seasons, had grown into villages. Some had become bigger, fully spreading into elven forests and sacred land. Humans moved quickly if given the opportunity. 

But the elves are yet to react.

Gabe rubbed his temples, feeling the faint throb of a headache behind his eyes. His shoulders were tense, muscles pulled tight beneath the leather of his jacket. 

Slowly, he forced himself to relax. He dropped his shoulders from where they were held high and rigid, rolled them, once, twice, drew in a long breath, deep enough to hear the leather groan softly across his chest and closed his eyes.

The world sharpened around him.

He felt a breeze run through his hair, heard the steady breathing of the horses, the creak of saddles and straps, felt the weight of the reins resting in his hands.

He always did this.

Every time he traveled to Highkeep he asked to be teleported just a day or two away from the city, far enough that he could finish the journey on horseback. 

Just enough to find time to breathe.

At first he had felt guilty about it. It had felt selfish, stealing a few days of quiet when there were responsibilities waiting for him in Enya. Kharis had left the Naarthil name in his care, entrusted him with the remnants of a house that had once carried some influence among the elves. And Gabe was not quite sure what to do with this inheritance. 

In the years after the war, for Gabe the elves felt strangely frozen. Time had settled like dust over everything. They mourned still, noble houses hung their walls with dull colors and if they spoke it was only about what had been lost when the Planar Tree burned. 

They never spoke of what might come next.

A small movement beside him broke through his thoughts.

The second horse walking at his side shifted slightly, and the girl riding it pulled her cloak tighter around herself as the cold northern air settled around them. She sat stiffly in the saddle, watching the road ahead with a wary stillness of someone who had learned too early that the world could turn dangerous without warning.

Her name was Meya. She had been one of the several children left behind in a ruined village of some part of the continent where war had passed through. Bandits had taken what little remained and the survivors had scattered in all directions. She was one of the many orphans that Gabe’s former charges had sent his way. 

Meya had not trusted any of them. Not at first.

Honestly, she still did not trust Gabe much either. 

But he had insisted she travel with him to Highkeep, to see for herself what somewhere safe could look like, somewhere with people who knew how to rebuild instead of simply enduring what remained. 

When Soren’s invitation came it had been a relief. A simple letter, with the familiar sigil of a griffin in blue wax, nothing dramatic, just an old friend asking him to visit. 

Gabe had packed his armor, packed a few gifts he had chosen for the youngest members of the Adairn family and a few books that he thought Soren, Lionel or Ell would like. 

His advisors had not been pleased about the notice of his absence, but Gabe had shrugged off their concerns and promised to only be gone for a few days. What was a week of absence when the elves had been sitting in dust for nearly three decades.

Now he rode beneath an open sky in simple travel clothes. The Adairn armor rested safely, wrapped in cloth, in his saddlebags. Wearing it openly would only draw attention, and that was the last thing he wanted on a quiet road. 

At night he tranced beneath the stars. While his body rested his mind drifted.

Sometimes he listened to his own heartbeat.

There had been a time when every single one had felt wrong. Like a lie or a punishment he had been forced to endure. For 184 years there had always been an echo, a quiet certainty that his brother was somewhere nearby.

And when that echo vanished, the silence had been unbearable. It felt like loneliness had been a sentence handed down for every failure, for every mistake that had cost him the things he loved.

On the worst days it still felt that way. 

But it had gotten better. Slowly. 

With Ilmater’s guidance. With Soren’s example and Lionel’s determination and stubborn warmth of the children Ilmater had entrusted him with. With the family that had grown around him whether he expected it or not.

On his good days Gabe thought he might even have found something like peace.

Two days later the stone walls of Highkeep appeared before them, the sight stirring something warm in his chest. A feeling he learned to recognize: Home.

Beside him, Meya straightened slightly in her saddle, staring up at the distant silhouette of the keep and Gabe noticed how her hands tightened around the reins. 

He nudged his horse forward a little, entering her vision. 

“We’ll take it slowly,” he said quietly, careful.

The girl did not answer.

But she did not turn her horse away either.

The sun was already dipping towards the horizon by the time Gabe and Meya reached the gates of the keep. He greeted the guards with an easy familiarity, and waited for them to open the way to the courtyard.

Wrapped in warm coats, Lionel stood with his wife Ell, and their five children at their side. Thena ll had grown taller since the last time Gabe had seen her, her short brown hair falling in waves around a face that was still round despite her 17 years of age. There was a steadiness to her posture, the quiet control of someone already learning what responsibility felt like.

Beside her was Gabriel, fifteen and nearly as tall as his sister, his blond hair tied back into a low ponytail that reached to his shoulderblades and one stubborn strand that fell over his forehead. He tried very hard to appear composed and grown, but Gabe easily recognized the excitement in his eyes. Lavina, his twin, lingered half a step at his side. She carried the darker features of the Adairn family, long dark hair braided loosely over her shoulder and sharp brown eyes that hid a little bit of mischief and squinted as her smile grew.

Morric, only nine, had no patience for standing still. He bounced on the balls of his feet, dark curls wild from the wind, his eyes shifting from Gabe to his father. And then there was Helios, the youngest at seven, standing half a step behind Morric, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Gabe had once asked Lionel not to greet him so formally whenever he arrived. The man had only laughed and waved him off. 

“It’s not only for you,” he had explained.

“It’s for the children. They get excited when you’re coming.” 

Gabe swung down from his horse and met Lionel’s welcoming smile with a nod before his gaze shifted to Ell. 

Their relationship had begun…poorly.

He remembered the night he stormed into Stillmoon after the attack at the Council. Lionel had been badly wounded, the city in chaos, and Gabe had arrived too late, terrified and in no state for diplomacy. Fear and fury had twisted into something ugly inside his chest until he could barely tell them apart. 

He had pushed through the halls, one trembling hand on the hilt of his blade and his  armor dusted with the road. People scattered from his path as they saw him, guards had tried to stop him once before they recognized him and stepped aside.

When he reached the room where Lionel was set up, Ell was lying in a bed at his side. 

Gabe barely remembered the way she had looked up at him when he entered, not quite frightened, but cautious as if she expected the storm that had just entered the room to turn violent. Her wounded body had almost instinctively shifted towards Lionel. Protective. 

Gabe’s attention had gone straight to Lionel lying pale against the sheets, bandaged and slowly rising from unconsciousness. The sight had sent something sharp through his chest. 

“Who did this?” Gabe had demanded, his words rough, his hands couldn’t stop trembling.

“They’re all dead.” Ell had answered the same time that Lionel said: “I’m okay.” 

For a long moment none of them spoke.

Then Gabe moved closer to the bed, slower this time, his anger cooling into something colder and far more dangerous. Ell had watched him the entire time.

Later she would admit that she had expected many things from the armored stranger who burst into the room that night.

What she didn’t expect was the way his hand had hovered over Lionel’s shoulder, hesitant to touch him. As if he needed to confirm that Lionel was still there. 

Still alive.

After that night she had been careful around him for a while. Respectful, but cautious. But time had a way of softening first impressions.

The attack had reopened wounds Gabe had barely managed to close. Seeing Soren shaken in the aftermath had dragged him back into memories of another war, another loss he had not yet fully recovered from.

But the Glory Hounds were gone now. Their empire collapsed beneath the combined strength of the Northern Alliance and Gabe had stood with them over the ruins of Loflein, sword dripping with blood while the blue banners snapped in the wind above the defeated city.

Old caution long since faded, Ell now met his gaze with a warm smile. 

The children, however, were doing a poor job pretending to behave for their parents. Gabe watched them inch closer to each other, whispering excitedly while failing to remain composed.

The warmth in his chest grew stronger. For a moment he allowed the feeling to settle, before he dropped down onto one knee and opened his arms wide. 

“Alright,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Bring it in.”

The effect was immediate. Whatever little restraint had been clinging to the children vanished as they charged. 

Gabe barely had time to brace for impact before Morric collided with his chest, followed by Helios and Lavina a heartbeat later. Gabe and Thena stood close with matching grins on their faces as small arms wrapped around Gabe’s neck and shoulders and laughter exploded across the courtyard. 

“Careful,” called Lionel from somewhere behind them, though there was no real warning in his voice.

Gabe let himself fall back slightly under the assault, laughing quietly as he caught one child under each arm while another clung to his shoulders. And for a moment the world narrowed to them, the familiar chaos of the Adairn children.

Then he noticed Thena glancing up at the small figure still sitting in the saddle of the second horse.

Meya hadn’t moved since they entered the courtyard. She watched the scene with wide, uncertain eyes, hands gripping the front of the saddle as if she wasn’t sure what was expected of her.

Thena approached slowly, offering the girl a small, reassuring smile. 

“Come on. I’ll help you down,” she said as she held out her hands. There was a moment of hesitation before Meya shifted awkwardly in the saddle and allowed Thena to guide her safely to the ground. 

By then Morric had spotted her. 

“Who’s that?” he whispered, holding onto Gabe’s arm. 

“That is Meya,” Gabe answered. 

Five pairs of curious eyes immediately settled on the girl. 

“I wanted her to meet you all,” Gabe added. “She’ll be staying with us while I’m here.” 

Meya stiffened under the sudden attention, half-turning as if she was considering retreating back onto the horse. Morric, however, saw absolutely no reason to stay shy. 

He hopped to Thena’s side and bowed, formally, like his Mother had taught him. 

“My name’s Morric,” he said proudly. “These are my siblings Thena, Gabe, Helios and Lavina.” 

For a moment Meya stood frozen between the horses and the rest of the children. Lionel and Ell exchanged a glance. 

Then, to Gabe’s surprise a small voice said: “I’m Meya.”  

Morric’s face immediately broke into a grin.

“I can show you where we keep the horses.”

Meya waited only a second before taking the hand Morric had reached out and followed him toward the stables. Thena walked beside them, the reins of Meya’s horse in her hand, her posture relaxing further when she met the approving smile of her father. 

For a moment Meya glanced back, the hesitation in her shoulders had softened. It wasn’t gone entirely, but it was lighter.

Behind them the other children were already turning to Gabe, pulling at his arms and laughing as they demanded stories from the road and tried to inspect the saddlebags for presents. 

Gabe let himself sink into the moment, his heart thudded loudly as warmth settled fully through his chest. When he looked up again, he caught Ell watching him from where she was standing at Lionel’s side. 

There was something thoughtful in her expression, not suspicion like it had been before, but something cautious. She inclined her head slightly towards Lionel whose gaze had followed where Thena, Morric and Meya had disappeared. 

Gabe furrowed his brows in a silent question, about to let the thread of magic form between their minds when Lionel turned his attention back to the elf. 

“I hope the trip wasn’t too unpleasant,” Lionel said. “It’s been a while since you last visited. And with another guest no less.”

“Quiet roads, good weather.” Gabe shrugged as his hand dipped into the saddlebag of his horse and pulled out a little box wrapped in cloth. Helios almost squeaked in excitement when he held it out for the child to grab. 

“And Enya?” 

Gabe hesitated, and Helios took his chance. He snatched the little box and took off, Lavina hot on his heels. Gabriel Adairn huffed a laugh but stayed with the adults. 

Gabe’s thoughts drifted to the dark banners hanging in the elven halls, the quiet faces of his people, the silence that seemed to hang over the forest like a mist.

“Still the same.”

Lionel nodded to himself, as if the answer confirmed what he had already expected.

“It’s been twenty-eight years,” he said then. “Humans would have already rebuilt a kingdom in that time.” 

“Elves don’t measure time that way,” answered Gabe and patted the neck of his horse with a small rueful smile. 

Together they started to walk after the kids to the stables.

“And the girl?” Ell asked, her tone gentle. 

“She needed somewhere safe for a while,” said Gabe. “Some place that wasn’t mourning.”

Ell gave a small nod. 

From the open stable doors they could see the children. Morric was gesturing animatedly, halfway through explaining which horse belongs to whom while Helios was showing off the carved griffin from inside the box Gabe had given him. Lavina stood with Thena leaning against a fence rail and quietly speaking to each other with Meya between them. 

The girl still looked a bit uncertain. But she listened to every word Morric said, and when Morric grinned at her, Gabe saw the corner of her mouth twitch in what might have almost been the beginning of a smile. 

The sight lingered.

For a moment he simply watched them, the younger Gabriel taking the reins from his hands to lead the horse into an empty stall as the rest of the family prepared to head back inside. 

Gabe’s eyes drifted past them, beyond the courtyard walls, towards a small hill. 

His smile softened as a familiar pull started deeper in his chest and without announcing it, Gabe slipped away quietly out of the courtyard and up a path he knew well.

Gravel crunched softly beneath his boots as evening light stretched long shadows across the ground. Up there it was quieter. A breeze stirred the leaves of the trees outside, a bird sang a little song and Gabe smiled as the tune reached his ears. The cold marble of the mausoleum before him had turned yellow with the sunset as Gabe slowed his approach, his hand brushed lightly across the weathered handle of the door before he stepped inside its cool shadow.  

He simply stood for a moment, his eyes drifting over the names on the plates, then he ran his fingers carefully across carved letters of one name.

Thena Adairn.

“She reminds me a little of you,” he said. The bird continued chirping.

After a while footsteps sounded behind him. Gabe didn’t turn around immediately, he already knew who it was. 

A warm hand settled on his shoulder as the familiar presence of Soren stopped at his side. Gabe leaned into the touch in a quiet greeting. 

Time had reshapen the man. Soren had once been taller, a figure Gabe remembered looking up to, literally and otherwise. The years have shortened that distance, Soren’s shoulders stood less rigid and silver now threaded through most of his hair. Still, there was nothing frail about him. Soren’s pride remained in his posture, the strength in his build as steady as ever.

They stood side by side, letting the last rays of sunshine drift over the ground outside of the mausoleum without ever touching them. 

“You always end up here first,” Soren said after a while.

Gabe nodded. 

“How was the road?” 

Soren shifted, turning slightly toward the open door, the gesture an invitation for them to leave the quiet of the dead behind.  

“Ah, just the usual ghosts.” 

“Well the ghosts would have to wait now that you are here. I heard you brought a guest,” said Soren as they began their walk back to the keep. Soren moved with a measured pace of someone hiding stiffness in his joints. Gabe matched it easily without mentioning it. 

His attention drifted as they walked. From there the mausoleum stood framed against the darkening sky, gravestones neatly filed around it in pale stone where flowers had been laid against them. Gabe saw some of their petals move with the wind. 

For a moment he slowed, his gaze lingering as he let the silence press into his thoughts. The dead, the war, the long years since. The way time seemed to stretch differently depending on where he stood. If he had the chance, he might as well sink to his knees right here, process, settle into this feeling until something other than time told him to move on. 

Gabe barely noticed his steps faltering. Soren did.

“Where did you go, Gabe?” he asked calmly.

Gabe blinked, then looked back at him.

“I’m right here.”

Soren gave him a look that said he wasn’t convinced. Gabe sighed.

“You really don’t have to worry about me.” 

“Gabriel.” Soren’s voice remained gentle, but firm.

“I thought humans were supposed to be less perceptive.” Gabe let a bit of petulance dip into his voice, which made the corners of Soren’s mouth twitch slightly.

“You start to notice more after a few decades,” he said, and kept walking, an open invitation to continue the conversation in his voice. 

Gabe looked at the stone walls of Highkeep, the yellow light of the windows and the first lanterns beginning to glow in the city further ahead. 

“It’s nothing new,” he said as he caught up with Soren, who hummed in response.

“It’s only been twenty-eight years and you’ve managed to rebuild when the war left almost nothing but ruins. It reminds how differently your people experience time.”

Soren smiled.

“We usually complain about not having enough of it.” 

“Elves don’t,” Gabe replied. “I’d even say we have too much.” 

For a moment Soren slowed. 

“It’s the reason we are getting nowhere,” Gabe continued. “My people are still standing in the ashes of the Planar Tree as if it was yesterday. When it burned they lost more than a symbol. It was the thing that tied them to the gods, to Corellon, their rituals, their stories, to who they always were and would be.” 

A frown had settled on Soren’s face, but he didn’t interrupt.

“The noble houses still exist, but they don’t seem to know what they exist for. It’s almost like they lost every sense of direction.” 

Gabe rubbed his temples, the dull throbbing of a headache pressing against the back of his head once again.

“The elves of Enya are yet to reunite in anything that is not mourning and I’m just…stuck there.”

He exhaled heavily.

“The world has moved on, and they just let the dust settle on their shoulders and wait. For what, I have no idea.”

“You are grieving,” said Soren, the frown has softened and his eyes understanding in a way Gabe didn’t quite catch yet. 

“Grieving, yes, but it’s paralyzing. The gods are distant, Corellon is silent.” 

Gabe shook his head.

“There’s a vacuum where purpose used to be.” 

Soren looked at Gabe for a long moment, took in the faded scars on his face that magic and time couldn’t quite heal. They were small, easy to miss if you didn’t know where to look. But Soren knew. He remembered a younger elf standing before him, his posture always braced as if expecting an attack, his teeth bared to a world that had never made him any promises.

There were still traces of that man. For someone who claimed to want to move on, Gabe still carried that time like armor he’d never taken off.

“And you believe that vacuum is for you to fill?” 

Gabriel blinked.

“What if that’s what they expect?” he asked, his eyes searching Soren’s.

“Do you?” Soren asked. 

Gabe let out a short, humorless breath.

“As an Aspect it might as well be my duty.” His voice lowered. “Ilmater is the god of endurance. He teaches to endure suffering. To carry pain. To survive it.”

Soren hummed and nodded once.

“But endurance isn’t direction,” Gabe continued. “Ilmater doesn’t guide people forward, he only asks to bear the pain, not to rebuild what comes after it.” 

He looked ahead again at the lights of the keep.

“It was Kharis that believed in that ‘after’. He wanted me to live, not just survive. To find something beyond suffering.”

Soren saw his jaw tighten slightly. 

“But I’m not even sure I belong among them.” 

Gabe stopped. He faced up into the night sky, and Soren thought it was to stop tears from falling but then realized he was wrong. Gabe’s eyes weren’t wet, they were questioning, searching for an answer he thought might finally reveal itself somewhere among the stars.

“I was never truly one of them. Not the way Kharis was.” 

Soren, who had stopped a few steps ahead of Gabe, turned to study him and watched as he wrapped a hand around his wrists where he knew Ilmater’s mark was tattooed into Gabe’s skin. The elf standing on the path had barely changed in the decades since the war. While the constant frown on his face had softened, and the anger in his eyes dulled, his posture was the same. The same traces.

Soren thought of what Gabe had said earlier. 

Elves had too much time. Too much time to remember and grief. 

Humans moved forward because time pushed them along, whether they were ready for it or not. Grief lingers for them as well, but the day where passed loss hurts less may come for them quicker. 

Elves could remain exactly where loss had left them all those years ago. And Soren understood that Gabe, for all his talk about his people refusing to move on, had done much the same.

“Me and Morric, we were the mistake they tolerated, the omen they had to look at because they had to. And somehow I’m the one?” Gabe asked quietly.

Soren stood closer now, close enough to hear Gabe’s next words.

“I want to move forward,” he whispered. “But every time I try, I realize I’m right there, standing in the ashes with them.”

Gabe still said ‘they’, when he spoke of the elves. Not ‘we’. Even after everything, after the war, after the Planar Tree died and left them leaderless, Gabe thought he still stood outside the circle.

Soren exhaled slowly.

“You know,” he said gently, “it’s interesting that you say they are not truly your people when you carry their grief like it is your responsibility.”

Gabe glanced at him and Soren smiled.

“You speak of their future as if it were something you are protecting.”

The words settled in the cool evening air and Gabe didn’t responst immediately, but for the first time since the conversation began, Soren saw something shift in his eyes. So he pushed further.

“You brought a frightened child across the continent because she needed somewhere safe. You have spent years protecting orphans and giving them a home. You have stood beside Lionel and Thena since they were barely older than my grandchildren are now, who you helped raise by the way.” 

“Isn’t that different?” Gabe asked, but the understanding that had begun to root itself made his voice hesitant. 

“Is it?” Soren put a hand on Gabe’s back. “All I know is that you stood at their side until they remembered they were capable of standing on their own again.” 

Soren looked back to the city and even further over the cliff sides, towards the horizon.

“Leadership doesn’t mean always having the answers,” he said and laughed when Gabe raised an eyebrow. 

“It doesn’t. Most of the time it means being the first willing to step forward.” 

Soren wrapped a strong arm around Gabe’s shoulders and together they continued down the path.

“You don’t have to lead them with endurance. Lead them for what comes after,” he said as they stepped through the gates back into the courtyard.  

“The question is whether you are willing to try.” 

Soren gave Gabe’s shoulder a quick squeeze before letting his arm fall away.

The courtyard was brighter now, lanterns burned on the stone walls, warm light spilled from the windows and doors of the keep. The sound of voices drifted out to meet them as they walked down the hallway to the dining room, the overlapping laughter of children, the cluttering of dishes and scrapping of chairs.

“Well,” Soren sighed, “all of that depends if the kids are ever going to let you go back to Enya.” 

Gabe huffed as they stepped inside.

The dining hall was alive with noise. The long wooden table placed in the middle had been claimed entirely by the Adairn household. Plates with food were scattered across the surface, along with mugs and a few loaves of bread, one of which Helios was already tearing into, despite the young Gabriel’s attempts to stop him.

“We’re still not all here!” he protested, trying to grab the bread from Helios’ smaller hands.

“I’m hungry,” argued Helios with a mouth full.

“You need to be patient!”

Morric leaned across the table from Meya, who was slowly getting used to the relentless curiosity of the younger children.

“If you wake up early enough,” Morric was explaining excitedly, “you can watch the griffins being fed!”

Meya’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yea! We’ll have to sneak in though.”

“Dad will catch you,” added Thena dryly from the other side of the table.

Morric pouted. “He won’t.”

“He always does.” Lavina also had a little pout on her face. 

“That’s because you stomp around like a drunk bear.” 

Lionel laughed and Lavina opened her mouth to protest when Helios spotted Gabe and Soren at the door.

“Gabe!”

Gabe barely had time to step forward before Helios had already crossed the room to wrap both arms around his waist.

“You disappeared,” the boy accused. Gabe was pretty sure he had some mushed bread squashed against his coat now. 

“I just went for a walk,” he said, one hand on Helios’ head.

“That was a long walk!”

Gabe ruffled his hair. 

“I’m sorry. I had some things to think about.” 

“That’s what adults say when they talk about boring stuff.” Lavina had come over to give her grandfather a hug. 

“You will understand when you’re older,” Soren said with a little wink towards Gabe who smiled in response.

“Come sit!” called Lionel from the head of the table. He was leaning back in his chair, a grin on his face and one hand holding Ells’ who sat at his side. She nudged Thena with her elbow and the girl relaxed with a sigh. Morric stuck his tongue out at her, which made Thena snap her eyes back at him and Meya jumped in her chair. Thena threw an apologetic smile her way. 

“You survived dad’s lecture, I hope.” 

“Not really a lecture. He does give good advice though,” Gabe replied as he moved to sit opposite to Ell and Lavina sat with her grandfather at the other end of the table. 

“Well now it’s time for good food. Let’s begin before Helios eats everything.”

“Am not-” Helios froze mid-bite as Lionel raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t,” he finished weakly. The whole table laughed, before starting to fill their plates with warm food.

For a while the noise of the family swallowed everything else. Bread and dishes passed from hand to hand, someone argued about how many griffin chicks had already hatched this year, the kids Morric and Gabriel nearly knocked over a cup while trying to prove something to Gabe that no one else really understood.

Meya remained quiet, but Gabe noticed the way she watched the other children with cautious fascination. A smile had started to grow on her face. Just a small one at first, but it was something.

Across the table Ell reached over to refill his cup, laughing softly at something Thena had said. It was the kind of scene that Gabe now associated with the warmth of Highkeep. It was loud, alive, chaotic in a way that made the world feel steady again.

But as the conversation shifted and the plates slowly emptied, Gabe noticed something else. 

Lionel and Soren were quieter than usual. Further apart than they normally were on evenings like these. Lionel spoke easily with his children, lovingly teased Ell about a shared memory or two and traded jokes with Gabe, but every now and then his eyes drifted to his father.

Soren, for his part, had fallen into a thoughtful silence, eating slowly, listening more than speaking. Once or twice their eyes met above the table. Not long, but enough for Gabe to see that there was something unspoken between them.

He noticed the tension. The kind that started to twist the longer a conversation hadn’t happened yet.

Gabe leaned back slightly in his chair and watched them both. His eyes met Ell’s who followed his gaze and sighed softly to herself. She squeezed Lionel’s hand to her right and her husband caught Gabe looking. 

For a second his expression tightened, the easy humor slipping for just a fraction of a moment. 

When Gabe reached out with his mind, carefully nudging against Lionel’s thoughts he heard only one word: Later. 

The dinner continued for a while, but now that Gabe was aware something was going on, it was difficult to ignore the sense of unease settling in the back of his mind. He reached down and touched the tattoos of Ilmater’s marks at his wrists, rubbing them absent mindedly as he started to brace himself for what the conversation might reveal.

He was sunken in his thoughts, until Morric’s voice cut through the overlapping chatter in the room.

The boy was leaning over the table towards Meya again.

“Did you know it was Gabe and his party that defeated A’odon?” he said, loudly enough for half the table to hear.

“A’odon?” Meya looked up from her plate.

“The Beast of the North,” said the young Gabriel, his voice raised importantly. “He was a god.”

“A primordial!” Morric grinned, kneeling on his chair as he spread his arms wide, “that’s what Dad said. It was huge, bigger than the watchtower.” 

“Even bigger,” muttered Lionel into his mug. Gabe rolled his eyes at him.

“They hunted it down on a frozen lake,” the younger Gabriel continued for his brother. “It was so heavy that the ice cracked where it stood.”

Meya’s eyes widened. 

“They almost didn’t make it.” Gabriel scooted closer on his chair as if the story required their full attention. “But they had a trump card. The god of dragons had given them the ability to shapeshift,” he said in a hushed, dramatic tone.

“Every single one became a dragon to defeat the great beast. And they won!”

“Barely,” said Gabe dryly, earning a soft nudge from Lionel.

“Dad said he can still turn into a dragon.” Lavina said. Gabe almost spit out his drink, snapping his eyes to Lionel. The man just grinned back.

“And that’s not even the best one,” said Morric quickly. “Tell her the story of the Spire!”

“Yes!” Helios chimed in immediately. “The one where he defeated the demon king!”

“I wasn’t alone and it wasn’t a king-” Gabe started.

“It had claws!” Morric insisted.

“And big red eyes.” Lavina added with a smirk at her lips when Gabe frowned at her.

“And horns!” Helios said triumphantly.

The young Gabriel leaned close to Meya, lowering his voice like he was sharing something extremely important.

“He was one of the heroes that saved the world.”

Meya blinked, her gaze drifting to where Gabe was sitting. He didn’t look different from when she had first met him a few weeks ago, leaning slightly back in his chair, one hand wrapped loosely around his cup, and a slight frown on his face that didn’t quite look angry, but mildly exasperated. 

“Don’t scare her.” Gabe muttered. The young Gabriel only grinned wider.

“He can also cast magic,” said Thena from across the table.

“And his sword can teleport,” Lavina added.

Meya tilted her head slightly as she studied Gabe again.

“You don’t look like a hero,” she said, her voice quiet, almost shy. 

Lionel burst out laughing. Gabe just smiled at her.

“But he is!” Morric exclaimed. “He saved Dad!” 

Meya’s curiosity only grew. 

“What happened?” she asked.

“That,” Young Gabriel began, “is a long story.”

“Not one for tonight,” interrupted Ell gently as she pushed her chair back from the table. The collective groan for the children was immediate.

“We just started!” protested Morric, Helios pouting at his side.

“We haven’t even gotten to the good parts.”

“Good, then you can save all of that for tomorrow,” Ell replied calmly. Thena had already stood with her mother, guiding the younger ones towards the door. 

Morric lingered beside Gabe a moment longer.

“Will you tell us the story tomorrow?”

Gabe opened his arms for a hug. “Tomorrow.” 

Morric grinned and hurried after the others.

Meya stood a little slower, clearly still thinking about everything she had just heard. Her eyes drifted to Gabe, this time closer to wonder than uncertainty. He gave her a small nod.

“Go rest.”

A yawn escaped her before she could stop it. 

Ell smiled knowingly.

“Yes,” she said gently, guiding her after the other kids, “you too.”

“I’ll make sure they actually go to bed.” Ell said as she exchanged a brief glance with Lionel. He nodded. 

The children’s voices faded down the hallway and the dining room grew quiet again. For a while the room was still, three men remained at the table. 

Soren slowly twirled the wine in his glass. Lionel leaned back in his chair, his eyes resting on the table in front of him. Then he looked at Gabe.

“I suppose we should talk.”

There it was. 

Gabe straightened his back. Soren stopped turning the wine and set it down. For a moment Lionel let all of them gather, let the worlds settle in the space between them and prepare. 

Then he rubbed a hand over his face.

“I didn’t want to bring this up tonight, right now,” he admitted. “Not when it has been so long since we’ve all had a peaceful evening together.” 

“Lionel,” Soren said mildly. Lionel glanced at him.

“I already heard what you had to say.” 

Soren’s expression tightened. 

“Then you know delaying the conversation will not make it disappear.” 

“I know that,” snapped Lionel. Gabe watched the two of them. 

“I just wanted to enjoy us being here like this again,” he said quietly, his eyes drifting briefly towards the doorway where the children had disappeared to. “Without the rest of the world knocking on the doors again.”

“That stopped the moment you pretended the decision was already made, son.” 

Lionel’s head snapped back to Soren.

“I’m not pretending anything. I am the head of this house.”

Soren raised an eyebrow.

“And I am still your father.”

Lionel let out a short breath through his nose. 

“Technically you retired. You should be resting.” 

“There it is.” Soren sighed. 

Lionel frowned. Gabe thought he could see his patience slowly growing thinner, but he didn’t interrupt yet. 

“You’re not some young commander anymore.” Lionel’s voice turned sharp. “You’ve done your part. Let me do mine now.”

Soren’s eyes hardened.

“And what part is that?” 

Lionel gestured vaguely towards the sea. 

“Protecting this family.”

Soren leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. 

“A father should stay with his children,” he said. Gabe kept an eye on him, the tension in the room clearly about to snap.

“Dad-”

“Because that is what fathers do.”

Lionel’s back snapped straight.

“You didn’t.” He looked like he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Soren froze. The moment hung in the room like a drawn blade and suddenly the rafters appeared darker again.

“That’s enough,” Gabe said finally. 

Both men dropped their gazes to the ground. Gabe waited a breath or two for the silence to settle, rather than snap. 

“We’re not going to do this like that.” Another breath as Gabe tried to find Lionel’s eyes. When he did, he waited for Lionel to nod and only then he looked to Soren. 

The older man had gone very still. The words had clearly landed, but Soren gathered himself with the quiet discipline Gabe had seen in him countless times before. After a moment he stood, moved around the table to sit opposite to Gabe in the seat Ell had left empty. 

“Explain,” Gabe said then.

Lionel drew in a slow breath. 

“The Northern Alliance intends to go to war against Ascil. Leadership has asked me to join them as Head Admiral.” 

Gabe didn’t move, the words settling in his mind the way cold water settles against skin. The first wave is the worst, sharp and shocking. But Gabe knew the feeling well enough by now. 

He let the second wave come more slowly. The body adjusted, even though the cold didn’t lessen. It dulled into something steadier, something that could be endured.

Another war. 

Gabe could almost feel the shoreline beneath his feet, the pull of water around his ankles, the sand shifting slowly under his weight. Every wave dragged a little more ground away from beneath him. He could either step back onto solid land, or let the tide pull him in further.

Gabe laced his fingers together, his expression remained calm despite the tightening knot in his chest.

“When?”

Lionel watched him. 

“Soon,” he said. “The Alliance believes Ascil is preparing to move first.”

Gabe nodded and let the third wave roll in. Colder, stronger. He let it pass.

“And they want you.” 

“They want someone,” said Soren. “Lionel shouldn’t go.” 

“You shouldn’t either.” Fear slipped into Lionel’s voice. “You’re 64 years old. You already fought too many wars.”

Gabe was sure that Soren saw the worry in his son’s eyes but pride spoke first. 

“I’m still capable.” 

Lionel huffed, frustration building again. 

“I know that you are,” he said exasperated, “but I can’t let you go. I just…I can’t.” 

Silence fell over the table. Gabe felt the weight of it pressing into his ribs. The tide pulled at his ankles again, pulling him further and further into the cold. There was a time when he might have tried to take a step back right here. To avoid the moment and leave the decision to someone else.

But that was not the kind of man he had become.

He exhaled slowly.

“You should go,” Gabe said.

Soren’s eyes snapped to him, but Gabe only held Lionel’s gaze. 

“You are the Admiral,” he continued calmly. “You know their fleets, their commanders, their strategies. You have been trained to fight and come out the other side alive. They asked for you because they trust you to lead it.” 

Gabe then met Soren’s eyes. “And we should too.” 

Lionel didn’t answer immediately, but for a moment he looked almost relieved. 

“Lionel is right, Soren. You should be able to understand this decision the best.” 

Soren’s jaw tightened.

“And what if he doesn’t come back?”

The question wasn’t an accusation, but it might as well turn into one. 

Gabe rested his arms on the table.

“Then we face it if it comes,” he said quietly. 

“That is not an answer.” Soren’s voice was dipped in fear. Old, heavy, familiar fear. The kind Gabe knew too well. 

“It’s not.” He paused, then he glanced back at Lionel.

“Promise me one thing,” he said and put a hand on Lionel’s shoulder. He squeezed to hide the slight tremble. “If the war turns, send for me.” 

Lionel blinked.

“I’ll send a mage with you. I won’t command your fleet, I won’t interfere with your campaign, but if the Alliance pushes further than expected, if something, anything goes wrong,” Gabe’s voice remained calm, but there was steel beneath it, “I’ll be there.” 

Soren studied him carefully.

“You would have to leave Enya for that.” 

Gabe gave a faint smile and a nod, his eyes meeting Lionel’s once again, who leaned back slowly in his chair, absorbing the words.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.” 

Across the table Soren exhaled. It wasn’t in agreement, but there wasn’t resistance either. 

Somewhere deeper in the keep a door closed, followed by echoing footsteps getting closer. A moment later Ell opened the door. Gabe wondered if she would be disappointed with him letting Lionel go, but that conversation would have to come later.

Seeing Ell, Lionel slid his hands over the table, then pushed his chair back.

“We’ll speak more tomorrow,” he said as he stood. He walked past Gabe, putting a hand on his shoulder with a firm grip, grateful but heavy with the knowledge of what lay before them.

Soren only nodded. 

Gabe rose as well. The conversation had reached a kind of ending where nothing more useful would be said tonight. And he was tired. 

The keep had fallen mostly silent. The light of the lanterns stretched long shadows along the stone walls as Gabe made his way through the familiar halls to the guest chambers. The quiet felt almost surreal after the weight of the conversation. 

From the open window in his room, he could see the lights of the city below and the night air was cold enough to sting his lungs. He welcomed it. It kept his thoughts from spiraling too far ahead, from doubting himself on the decision he had made. 

Gabe sat in front of the window and closed his eyes. His mind drifted from the warm blanket beneath him to smooth marble and red cloth. He let his breathing slow, let the world around him loosen its hold on him until he was somewhere else. And not.

He stood in a vast hall that seemed both endless and intimate at the same time. Deep red cloth hung from tall pillars, and a pond waited in the middle. Yet, somewhere at the edge of his consciousness he could still feel the cold air on his face, the slow rise and fall of his chest where his body was still sitting by the window in Highkeep. 

It always felt slightly wrong, being at two places at once and Gabe flexed his toes and fingers to ground himself in the strange overlap of sensations.

“You are here,” said a voice gently. 

Gabe turned.

The figure by the pond in simple crimson robes watched him with the same calm patience as always. Ilmater’s presence filled the hall without ever feeling oppressing. 

Gabe ran a thumb over the tattoos at his wrists.

“I told Soren he should let Lionel go,” he said then. 

“You did,” replied Ilmater.

“And I meant it.” 

“I know.” The calm certainty in the god’s voice made Gabe sigh.

“I might have made things complicated again tonight.” 

Ilmater regarded him calmly and patted the space at his side. Gabe stepped closer and sat. The surface of the water in the pond was unmoving, clean like a mirror.

“You offered to stand beside someone you care for.”

“And I told Soren I’d help the elves rebuild.” 

Ilmater hummed. Gabe had often tried to hear judgement in those hums, but he had failed so far. 

“You’re not going to say anything about it?”

“What would you have me say?” 

Gabe shook his head faintly. Ilmater was silent for a moment.

“The candle burns brightly when lit from both ends.”

The surface of the pond rippled.

“You wish to guide the elves forward,” Ilmater continued. “And still stand beside those you love when danger arises.”

“Yes.” 

“Both demand much from you.” The gods’ presence shifted, thoughtful rather than judgemental.

“What if one calls you away from the other?”

Another ripple in the water as Gabe’s fingers tightened against the marble stone. He thought of the elves standing in the ashes of the Planar Tree, he thought of Lionel standing at the head of a fleet sailing towards war.

“I’ve always walked this road,” he said quietly.

“And you have also paid dearly for it.”

Gabe smiled, the water reflecting his face back to him.

“Isn’t that why you chose me?” 

The god didn’t answer and Gabe straightened a little.

“I won’t abandon them,” he said, his voice steady. “I won’t lead the elves by turning my back on the people who matter to me.” 

“You believe there is a path between those two duties.” Ilmater said softly, then paused for a long moment.

“What if it does not exist yet?”

Gabe looked out onto the surface of the water. It had calmed again.

“Then I’ll make one.”

For a moment the presence beside him warmed, the red cloth in the hall stirred softly in unseen winds, and something like quiet approval settled in the air.

“Endurance alone is not why I think you worthy of this path,” Ilmater said. 

Gabe tilted his head slightly. 

“Hope,” the god continued, “is often born in the refusal to accept that only one path exists.” 

The cold air from the window in Highkeep brushed faintly against his awareness again. But here, in the quiet halls of Ilmater’s dominion, between two worlds, between two tides, he felt steady.