Ela listened with wide-eyed wonder, gasping at all the right moments and cheering Aerovind's victories. Her new wolf cub lay curled at her feet, gnawing contentedly on a massive beef bone.
As the night wore on, the mood in the hall grew rowdier. Drinking songs were bellowed at top volume, arm-wrestling matches broke out at every table, and more than a few good-natured brawls erupted.
Ordeon, his face flushed with ale and good cheer, threw an arm around Zellrid's shoulders. "It's good to have you back, old friend," he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
Zellrid stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the embrace. "It's good to be back," he admitted, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Aerovind, watching the exchange, raised his tankard in a silent toast. For all his jests and smirks, there was a warmth in his yellow eyes that spoke of a deep affection for his companions.
As the feast began to wind down, Ordeon stood, swaying only slightly. "Tomorrow," he boomed, his voice carrying over the din, "we face our greatest challenge yet. But tonight, we are family. We are Umbra. And we fear nothing!"
The roar that followed shook the very foundations of the stronghold. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and loyalty of his fellow Nightstalkers, even Zellrid felt a flicker of hope.
Aerovind leaned in close, his voice pitched low so only Zellrid could hear. "You know," he said, a hint of wonder in his tone, "I think I might actually like it here."
Zellrid nodded, his single eye scanning the boisterous crowd. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Me too."
As the night deepened and the revelry continued, the shadows that had been gathering on the horizon seemed, for a moment, to recede. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for now, in this hall filled with laughter and camaraderie, all was right with the world.
Little did they know, far to the north, in a chamber of ice and shadow, a figure sat upon a throne. His eyes, colder than the deepest night, fixed upon a flickering image of the Umbra stronghold.
"Soon," he whispered, his voice like the crack of glaciers. "Soon, my son, we will be reunited. And all will tremble before the might of Thorgar."
The image shattered, and darkness fell once more.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window of Zellrid's chamber, painting the stone walls with a pale golden hue. Zellrid stirred, his single eye fluttering open, only to find his vision obscured by a cascade of chestnut hair. Lyra clung to him, her body wracked with silent sobs.
"Lyra." Zellrid's voice was a low rumble, tinged with sleep and concern. He ran a calloused hand through her silken tresses. "What's wrong?"
Lyra raised her head, her emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The Purging Games," she whispered, her voice catching. "I... I fear I may never see you again."
Zellrid's face remained impassive, but his eye softened. "Hmm. Been through worse."
"But this is different!" Lyra protested, her fingers digging into his shirt. "The other schools, the challenges... it's too dangerous!"
A rare, small smile tugged at Zellrid's lips. "Danger's my trade, Lyra. Like a butcher with meat."
His dry humor drew a watery chuckle from Lyra. "You're impossible," she murmured, pressing her forehead against his.
"So I've been told," Zellrid replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow before disentangling himself from her embrace.
Rising from the bed, Zellrid began his preparations with the methodical precision of a seasoned warrior. First came the black coat, a piece of armor in its own right, lined with hidden pockets and reinforced with flexible steel. As he donned it, Lyra watched from the bed, her eyes never leaving him.
"The coat suits you," she said softly. "A shadow among shadows."
Zellrid grunted in acknowledgment as he continued his preparations. From a locked chest, he retrieved a collection of potions, their contents swirling with barely contained power. These he secured in the coat's inner pockets, within easy reach.
Next came his weapons. The chained sword, a deadly dance of steel and skill, was sheathed at his hip. His obsidian blade, as dark as a moonless night, found its place on his back. Lastly, a wickedly sharp dagger disappeared into his boot.
As Zellrid turned to the mirror, adjusting his eyepatch, he paused. His hair, once an even mix of black and white, had shifted. The darkness now dominated, with only a few stubborn strands of white remaining.
"Your hair," Lyra noted, moving to stand beside him. "It's changed."
"Hmm. Good omen, some say."
Lyra managed a small smile. "Since when do you believe in omens?"
Zellrid shrugged. "Don't. But it can't hurt."
Their banter continued as Zellrid finished his preparations, a dance of words both tender and teasing. When at last it was time for him to depart, Lyra threw her arms around him, holding him fiercely.
"Return to me," she whispered fiercely. "Promise me."
Zellrid's embrace tightened. "Always," he vowed, his usual gruffness giving way to genuine emotion.
With a final kiss that tasted of salt and promises, Zellrid stepped out into the cool morning air. The Nightstalker courtyard bustled with activity, a hive of dark-clad figures training. Amidst the controlled chaos, a familiar scene caught Zellrid's eye.
Aerovind stood near the great gates, his yellow eyes flashing with exasperation. Before him, little Ela stomped her foot, her face a storm of childish fury. At her side, a wolf pup barely larger than a cat growled in what it likely thought was a menacing manner.
"But I want to go!" Ela wailed, her voice carrying across the yard. "I can help! I'm strong now!"
Aerovind ran a hand through his hair, his flamboyant personality at odds with his current predicament. "Listen, bunny," he said, crouching down to her level, "this shindig is a bit too spicy for you. We're talking 'dance with death' levels of hot, and I'd rather not have you while I am fighting psychopaths."
"I'm not a bunny!" Ela protested, even as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm a Nightstalker! And Fang will protect me!" The wolf pup yipped in agreement, somewhat undermining its own argument.
Zellrid approached, allowing himself a moment of amusement at his friend's predicament. "Trouble in paradise?" he asked, his voice dry as desert sand.
Aerovind shot him a look of mock betrayal. "Ah, the one-eyed wonder arrives! Care to lend a hand? Or should I say, an eye?" He winked, his humor undimmed by the situation.
Zellrid ignored the jab, focusing instead on Ela. "Listen well, little wolf," he said, his gruff voice softening slightly. "Your task is more important than ours. Guard Umbra. Who else can we trust with such a vital mission?"
Ela's eyes widened, her tears forgotten in the face of this new responsibility. "Really?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder. "I can protect everyone?"
Zellrid nodded solemnly. "Indeed. And when we return, we'll need a full report of your adventures." He glanced at the wolf pup, who was now chewing on the hem of Ela's tunic. "You and Fang both."
The girl's face split into a beaming smile. She threw her arms around Zellrid's neck, then Aerovind's legs. "I won't let you down!" she declared before scampering off, Fang tumbling after her.