The days that followed the village hearth gathering were marked by resilience and warmth, the fabric of Suntails Hollow slowly weaving itself back together. In the early mornings, Gorlan Highspire worked alongside other farmers in the fields, exchanging gruff but encouraging words as they replanted crops.
At home, Elira hummed softly as she hung linens to dry, the melody blending with the chirping of birds. Dorian sat nearby, repairing a small crate. "Mama," he said suddenly, his expression thoughtful, "did it bother you when the knights called us peasants?"
She paused, glancing back at him with a knowing smile. "Words only bother you if you let them, Dorian. We know our worth, don't we?"
"Right," Dorian said with a small smile, a spark of pride warming his chest.
Laughter returned to the streets as children chased one another through the dirt paths, and songs could once again be heard drifting from kitchen windows as meals were prepared. Though the royal knights' sudden requisition had shaken Dorian deeply, watching the village come back to life stirred something unshakable within him.
"They just kept going," he muttered to himself, staring at the horizon. He clutched his pendant tightly, his green eyes glinting with resolve. "If they can move on after all that, so can I."
"Dorian," Elira called, waving him over as he unloaded a wagon of tools. "Meryth's coming by later to trade flour for some eggs. Be polite, won't you?"
"Always am, Mama," Dorian replied cheekily, grinning as he hoisted the basket of eggs.
"Mmhmm," she murmured knowingly, squinting at him with mock skepticism.
Not long after, Meryth Emberfall—a regal-looking tiefling with long crimson hair and an air of quiet wisdom—strolled into the yard. Dressed in practical traveling clothes with embroidery that hinted at her sharp taste, she greeted Elira warmly.
"Good morning, Elira," Meryth said in her smooth, musical voice. "Here for the flour, as promised." Her glowing eyes flicked to Dorian, who was setting the eggs down carefully. "And I see your son continues to be the brightest ember in the Hollow."
"Oh, stop!" Elira said with a chuckle, shooing her gently. "You spoil him."
Dorian grinned, though his cheeks reddened slightly. "Thank you, Mistress Emberfall. Is Ryssa coming later?"
"She's off chasing chickens or something equally undignified," Meryth replied wryly, the corners of her lips quirking into a sly smile. "She said to tell you she'll 'beat you at anything you try today,' whatever that means."
Dorian snorted, shaking his head. Running off to do his daily meditation under the great oak tree.
Meanwhile, Gresham, the gnome farmer, waddled by, shaking his head. "Every morning, Dorian out there, like he's summoning the sunrise itself."
"Just wait," Gorlan rumbled from the field. "One day, the sun will rise on his terms."
Dorian's morning meditation had been part of his routine for years, but ever since the night of the hearth gathering, something had shifted. Beneath the great oak tree, he held the silver pendant in his hands as always, its hollow center gleaming faintly in the early light. He steadied his breathing and closed his eyes.
This time, a faint warmth pulsed against his palms.
Dorian's heart raced. The warmth grew steadily, spreading up his arms and through his chest. It wasn't like touching sunlight or holding his breath too long—it felt alive, resonating deep within him.
Is this what the bard meant?
His fingers trembled slightly, though he didn't stop. The feeling stirred an ache of excitement in his chest, almost too much to bear. "It's happening," he murmured aloud, though no one else was there to hear him. "It's finally happening!"
The energy lingered even after he finished his session, filling him with restless exhilaration.
In the weeks that followed, Dorian's focus deepened. While meditating, he could feel a gentle current flowing through him—soft as a whisper but steady as the tide. The emptiness of the pendant's hollow circle began to feel less daunting, replaced by a growing sense that change was near.
As Dorian's practice deepened, the bond between him and his pendant felt stronger than ever. However, it didn't deter his friends—and the other neighborhood kids—from making their usual mischief during his sessions.
One sunny morning, Ryssa plopped down near the oak tree with dramatic flair. "Look at him—so serious," she remarked loudly, pointing at Dorian. "Practically a statue."
Lucas wandered over with a grin. "You know what statues need?" he asked, picking up a stick and holding it like a sword. "Guardians. I'll keep him safe from marauding sheep."
"Try marauding chickens," Bogo muttered, sharpening a small blade nearby.
"Maybe if we sing off-key, we'll throw off his magic rhythm!" Lucas said, cupping his hands over his mouth and belting out an exaggeratedly terrible tune.
Dorian didn't flinch, his eyes closed and his breathing steady.
"Still nothing, huh?" Ryssa teased, sitting cross-legged nearby. She snapped her fingers dramatically. "Come on, magic! Show yourself!"
Bogo smirked, lounging against the oak. "Let him be. If anything happens, you know Dorian will brag about it immediately."
Dorian cracked one eye open. "I don't brag. I share my achievements—there's a difference."
Lucas snorted. "Sure. You've been sharing that you'll be a bard for three years now."
Dorian rolled his eyes, muttering, "You just wait."
The teasing continued until a cluster of other children arrived: Mara and Doren, two halfling siblings known for their mischievous streaks, and Kaela Tulls, Yara's gangly dragonborn daughter, whose copper scales caught the morning light.
"Dorian!" Mara called. "We're starting a game down in the meadow. You in?"
Dorian cracked open one eye. "Maybe later," he said, his voice calm but firm.
"Oh, come on," Kaela whined, her tail flicking in impatience.
"Laaaater," Lucas teased in a singsong voice, poking Mara with the stick. "He's busy being magical, clearly."
The other kids lingered, eventually settling around Dorian in a loose circle. Though they didn't understand what he was doing, they stayed with him anyway, the atmosphere turning calm as his meditative focus almost seemed to radiate outward.
…
One crisp morning, during one of Dorian's usual meditations, Lucas lounged nearby, chewing on a blade of grass. As he glanced over, something unusual caught his eye.
"Uh... Dorian," Lucas said, sitting up straighter. "Is it just me, or is your hair changing color?"
"What?" Dorian asked, his eyes snapping open.
Lucas pointed at Dorian's head. "Your roots. They're red."
"What are you talking about?" Dorian brushed his fingers through his hair, frowning.
"Lucas is right," Bogo said, leaning closer to examine. "It's not much, but your new hair is definitely red." He crossed his arms. "When were you planning to tell us you started dyeing it, Dorian?"
"I didn't! That's not—what are you talking about?" Dorian stammered, running his fingers through his hair.
Ryssa cocked her head, tapping a finger on her chin. "It is the same color as my family's hair. …You sure you don't have secrets to share?" Her glowing eyes narrowed mischievously.
Lucas pounced on the opportunity with a wide grin. "Oh, no. Mister Gorlan and Mistress Meryth—Highspire and Emberfall! Forbidden romance!"
Before he could finish, Ryssa and Dorian both smacked him simultaneously on the back of the head, drawing laughter from the group.
"All right, all right!" Lucas said, rubbing his head. "I'm just saying, it's suspicious. Emberfall family's the only one with red hair around here, you know!"
When the roughhousing ended, Dorian sat up, brushing grass from his pants, his tone suddenly quiet. "Guys… I think this is because of my magic."
The words hung in the air.
Ryssa stared at him, her tail flicking slowly. "You mean that pendant thing? It's actually doing something?"
Dorian nodded. "Ever since the night of the hearth, I've felt it. Something's changed. I think it's real—I think my magic is starting to awaken."
Lucas dropped his teasing, his expression serious for once. "You're not joking?"
Dorian shook his head. "This isn't something I'd joke about, Lucas."
Ryssa tapped her horn thoughtfully. "If that's true, then the pendant might be connected. I've read about magical artifacts affecting people, but… I don't know. My grandpa might. I'll ask tonight and let you know."
Bogo clapped Dorian on the shoulder, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Well, whatever it is, you're lucky. Just don't blow up the village trying to figure it out."