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Chapter Text

Glowing darts cut through air, swiftly striking against a bullseye. Each one hissed in a rapid succession, reaching the target with a force that managed to echo softly in the forest. After a moment, they disappeared in a thin breeze, as though wind had swallowed the magic that had given them form. 

Before another round of darts gathered above Bryon’s head, ready to keep attacking, the far call of a bird in the distance distracted him. The focus of his half-casted weapons faded before they could take shape. 

Elona made her presence known with a soft warble, gliding gracefully while approaching. The sentinel offered his arm for her to stand, his hand lifted up to pet her in a wordless greeting. He walked beside his companion, deciding to take a small break from the shooting ranges near the Dusk Camp. 

Assigned missions by the patroller’s side was an usual occurrence by now, especially since Lyca had become Captain. Some of them were still wary —even scared— of his sharp attitude and one-liners, but they eventually warmed up to his personality. 

Sort of. He didn’t expect something different, anyhow. 

Fortunately, they never had an issue with him borrowing a small place inside the practice grounds while no one was using it. When not aiding with scouting, he preferred to practice by the afternoon watch, where most of them were out on patrol or preparing for the night shift.

Despite the havoc caused by the ever-threatening corruption of the Forest, everything had managed to stay fairly controlled. 

However, and despite him not admitting it, Bryon still felt off.

Somehow after Lorsan’s leaving, time felt like ticking slower. Achingly so.

He could still remember how the news had suddenly caught his ears. How they interrupted his early morning, and how the message had left him too stunned to register it quite correctly. He dismissed it as a figment of own imagination at first, but after hearing unusual movement —distinctive voices at an odd time to be up as well— he suspected something was amiss. 

Not that he was alarmed by the prospect, but he resorted to eavesdrop on a small conversation regardless, just to be sure. That gave him enough intel to know where to look. 

He let the wind guide him in his search for Lorsan, and see for himself if what had found out was true.

During their ungainly meeting, their lazy stride until the reach of the gates, it was still difficult for Bryon to believe what he was experiencing was really happening. When the farewell was nigh and against all logic, he wished for the moment to linger. Holding on to it in a way that surprised them both. 

Bryon shook his head subtly in self-reproach. There was no use in dwelling on such a foolish display, was there? It hadn’t been the first time, either. It had never meant anything else than what it was: an indulgent whim.

After the last words they shared, it took him a few days to settle in his new normal. He only hoped, the feeling of numbness that seeped with him could only be acknowledged by Elona, and no one else.

Bryon’s arm raised and let Elona fly up, resuming his practice. His mind remained troubled, however.

The sentinel was used to perceiving and deriving conclusions to what others had to say, so it escaped his mind how the details and clues of Lorsan’s departure had come mostly as a surprise. He couldn’t help but recall how nervous Lorsan sounded, those last weeks before —the young mage had been trying to avoid conversations for once. Naturally, Bryon found it puzzling, but he wouldn’t press on matters like those. There must have been reasons behind his behaviour.

In fact, they were, Bryon thought as he breathed out. 

It surprised him how he couldn’t see past those reactions sooner. How information so critical had been hidden from him so easily. How come he didn’t notice anything before? In hindsight, everything seemed so obvious. 

If he had only known, he would probably make an effort to accept spending more time with Lorsan, when he clumsily offered it at times.

Leafblades weren’t reaching the target properly —Bryon could sense how their sound was different. Some of them landed right, but at other times, they got stamped in the muddy floor instead. His lips tensed at the novice mistake. It was a practiced exercise, were his calculations wrong?  

If Lorsan were there, he would probably be mocking him for his lack of aim. He would probably invite him to do something else. To distract himself.

Distractions would make things worse at this point. 

Bryon’s jaw clenched, focusing on the summoning spell once more. The blades formed and floated in place for a moment before the barrage shot forward. The darts hit the target, but some of them struck in the woods a few feet behind the bullseye. 

The sentinel clicked his tongue, making his magic disappear into the wind with a movement of his hand, breathing out a soft sigh.

The feeling of remorse grew within his heart. He should have followed Lorsan, shouldn’t he?

When it came to Lorsan’s proposals —or any other offer coming from other people— Bryon usually found himself declining them. He was used to doing it as long as he could remember. Other wilders often took offense at it, but there was never an ill attempt behind it. Why did he deprive himself of them? There wasn’t a clear answer, most of the time. He simply enjoyed the safety of routines, the quietude of being only by Elona by his side, surrounded by nature and nothing else. 

Truth be told, he had always thought the company of animals and other creatures made him feel more comfortable. More seen and understood, in a way ‘more intelligent’ wilders could not. 

Bryon had chosen to remain quiet since young, used to it despite his reluctance to complain to certain rules —some of them still illogical in his mind even to that day. 

He soon found out, speaking his mind made others squirm; his choice of words seemed to be seen as inappropriate, perhaps? There came a moment where his words were only met with nervous monosyllables. Conversations escalated into one-sided arguments he hadn’t asked for, often leaving him confused. 

When subtle hints of fear on some voices began to reveal through his training, it didn’t take Bryon long to refrain from engaging altogether. 

Eventually, he got used to the silence; used to detach himself from activities and other happenings in the village, moving through the shadows of the Dark Forest, seeking shelter in its dim corners. It was soothing, and surprisingly addictive. 

Without realizing, the habit became too restrictive; to the point stillness ingrained so seamlessly, it became hard to fight against. 

Purely by chance, Lorsan managed to find a space in Bryon’s routine —and he enjoyed poking at him while doing so, although Bryon couldn’t understand why. He wouldn’t deny it was obnoxious at first: Lorsan would speak in a way so rapid and disperse, it was hard to follow. But his younger self liked Lorsan’s voice clarity; the light quality of its timbre. 

It had a certain cadence to it that Bryon found curious. 

He didn’t need sight to understand Lorsan enjoyed mingling, and so Bryon let him. He liked how familiar Lorsan’s voice sounded whenever he addressed him. Not afraid one bit, despite his own barbed responses in his effort to keep him at arm’s length. He never expected such kindness from Lorsan —or anyone— let alone being treated with normalcy, looking past his dry replies. Few wilders were patient enough. 

Bryon had never disclosed it, but he felt grateful to have been met with such a pleasant, light-hearted voice in his lifetime. A trusted friend he could listen to anytime.

Was there a need to put it into words, truly? 

In hindsight, and now that Lorsan was nowhere to be seen, Bryon thought it probably would have been the best. He wondered how much time would it take until the Forest settled his roots back into his heart again.

Bryon’s aim remained unfocused, making all sorts of subtle, unpleasant screeches every time they stamped incorrectly —at that rate, his practice could potentially harm someone. He surrendered the idea of training for the time being, making the darts disappear with a snap of his fingers. 

Mistaking the movement as a call, Elona appeared from the grove behind him, gracefully grappling herself on the sentinel’s gauntlet. Her shimmer eyes closed for a moment as Bryon greeted her again with a light scratch.

Elona updated him on the brief survey of that day. She told him about how corruption remained controlled, but still latent in some areas closer to the village, to which Bryon nodded in acknowledgement, assuring her he would tell Lyca later. They spoke about their monitoring duties, some messages that needed to be delivered, and how well her hunting had gone. 

When the falcon teased Bryon about him not being on his best performance at training —how she had seen it all it all— he only replied with a subtle smile and a shake of his head. 

Once Elona asked him if he was alright, a small, absent-minded “hm?” escaped him.

He found himself caught off guard, the simple question tugging at him more than it should have. Bryon’s face lowered in reflection, his lips parting and closing in search for the proper answer. What could he say to appease her mind? 

His thoughts got interrupted by the sound of rustling grass and the thud of wood pressed against the ground. 

It made Bryon’s ears twitch in slight displeasure, the reality of his senses mixing with wishful thinking. What a hopeless, unreasonable thought, he told himself as his lips tensed in frustration. Plenty of wilders held staffs or heavy wands, wore crutches to walk… It was foolish to assume Lorsan could be back so promptly. 

With steadier focus, he attuned to the noise once more, recognizing the familiar pattern in its pace once it got closer, and not a minute after.

“You seem distracted, young man,” an old voice called, only to cough a laugh right after.

Bryon turned to meet his teacher, approaching with slow, careful steps; his vine staff acting as a cane as it always had.

“Master Arden,” the sentinel said, a hint of surprise in his tone. “If you needed to see me, you should have simply called through a whisper.”

The goat-wilder chuckled again, his figure small and hunched, taking his time while approaching Bryon, who met him halfway in a moment. Bryon wondered what had brought him there, as it was unusual to see him in circumstances different from researching or reading nowadays.

“No need to worry, I simply wanted to have a word with Master Dahnie. It was quite nice,” Arden explained. 

A warm huff left him as he caressed his long braided beard, his eyes squinting as though reading Bryon’s face from beneath his thick, long eyebrows.

“Fighting this strange illness is making us all feel a little worn out,” he added. “So don’t be so hard on yourself.”

The younger wilder reflected on the Sage’s words, realizing he was indeed right. Bryon hadn’t slept properly in weeks, often skipping the night altogether —every small noise distracted him from drifting off to sleep at last, obliged to meditate to regain strength in the middle of his duties. 

Though Bryon couldn’t lay the blame on the corruption alone. 

With confident thuds and and light feet, his teacher went on:

“Despite the numerous efforts, we haven’t been able to make it recede,” he said, his voice remaining calm despite the ominous information. “Good news is, we managed to stop the spreading for a while. It is only a matter of time now.”

“I see,” Bryon said, intently listening to Arden’s words. 

They didn’t come as a surprise. 

Arden’s stroll faltered while he observed the glimpses of muted light that peered through the treetops.

“Any news coming from the outside?” he inquired.

Bryon was taken aback by the question.

“Not yet,” the sentinel replied, his attention back to Elona for a moment, who playfully nipped at his fingers in return.

Suddenly, the thunderbird stopped with her jest and turned her face away, catching Bryon’s attention. He inferred she got distracted with a prospect of a prey near the woods, smiling at her and raising his gauntlet. Elona took flight in a confident and silent glide in the air, disappearing in the shadows close to them. 

“If I may be honest, I’d like to understand why I still haven’t received an answer,” Bryon admitted in a mutter. “To wait for a reply has been…”

He trailed off, choosing his words with caution. Without Elona by his side to ease his nerves, Bryon simply hid his arms beneath his cloak, adding in a low, contemplative tone:

“It feels unsettling, to say the least.”

Arden hummed in understanding, a gesture of reassurance that made the sentinel’s posture relax.

“Just like the forces of nature, Lorsan can be very unpredictable,” the teacher said while nodding, walking next and past Bryon, who carefully turned to follow. “The reasons as to why he has not messaged back will forever be a mystery. We can only deduce.”

Bryon knew Master Arden was right in his statement, but it didn’t stop his troubled thoughts from arising.

“He probably has his reasons not to communicate,” Arden continued, his hunched back bending to get a better look at some fireflies standing in tall grass. “I beg you to be patient with him once more.”

Arden gave his student a fond smile beneath his thick beard that Bryon could clearly sense. It was strangely contagious, making Bryon feel obliged to turn his face away to avoid feeling so exposed. 

Even so, further reflection only led to a web of diffuse questions, lost fragments of Lorsan’s last explanation before his farewell replayed in his mind.

“I have great reasons to do this. Real ones, beyond my will,”  were his words, thinking back to that day. 

Bryon subtly cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Master Arden,” he began, his tone measured. “Since when did you two settle for the agreement?”

Arden’s expression softened into a thoughtful one, watching the fireflies opening their wings to fly, the inner light blending with the glow of the leaves from the willow close to them. Once they got lost in sight, the sage  straightened back to his usual, still hunched posture.

“It was not an easy decision. How I wished to complete the task on my own…” he explained, his eyebrows falling down his eyes in a sad grimace. 

However, Arden’s tone quickly lighted up, a raspy laugh escaping him while remembering.

“After I made my concerns known, Lorsan eagerly offered himself as a volunteer,” he told Bryon, only to add a hushed, “Although he was shaking in fear.”

Bryon let out a breath —a blend between a scoff and a laugh.

“That sounds exactly like him,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.

Master Arden chuckled again, heading to a mossy rock nearby and taking a seat on it. Bryon chose to do the same, kneeling to the grass beneath him and sitting down in place, the long ends of his cloak and blindfold waving to the direction of the wind.

“He also asked me to keep it a secret between us, so I did,” Arden added, supporting himself in his staff while making himself comfortable.

At his words, Bryon’s lips tensed, his hands resting together as he faced down the grass, frowning slightly beneath his perpetual blindfold.

“I can’t really say why he didn’t choose to tell you, but he probably didn’t want to tell anyone, for that matter,” Arden reflected aloud. “He certainly doesn’t like to be a concern to others.”

“Yet he managed to do quite the opposite,” Bryon mused. Despite not carrying anger in them, his words were as sharp as ever.

Arden let out a small laugh that slightly turned into a cough.

“Lorsan’s heart is pure and he always means well despite his antics,” he comforted.

Seeing how the sentinel only gave him a curt nod in acknowledgement, the sage stroked his mustache with calloused fingers, caressing it in idle gestures, his gaze drifting back to the forest surrounding them.

“At the end,” he continued, “I was the one who burdened him with the predicament. You can blame his absence on me.”

Bryon shook his head in disagreement, his voice turning solemn.

“As one of the leaders of the Forest, you must put its well-being above all else,” he stated. “Lorsan agreed on the terms on his own accord; I couldn’t possibly hold resentment towards a decision like that. Besides, he’s highly capable to do so —if he ever happens to properly focus on the mission. I believe he can do it.”

Arden’s expression relaxed, his attention focused on the slithers of light coming from above the treetops.

“I’m happy to hear both my students understand, there are times one must carry responsibilities beyond our full comprehension or desire,” Arden said slowly. “Anyhow, I hope he reaches out soon; we all miss him dearly.”

‘Miss him’ fit well enough, Bryon supposed, letting the silence speak for him. 

Despite the wordless admission, puzzling feelings were still rattling within him, making him feel restless. 

When it came to Lorsan, everything seemed to be out of Bryon’s reach, unable to keep the pace to the speed of his mind and will. Bryon wouldn’t dare interfere or dissuade him into changing his mind about the mission —it wasn’t his place to advise him on the matter, either— but, he would’ve liked to know about it in advance, if only for a few days.

Have the opportunity to help him get ready for the journey, if anything.

Thinking rationally on the matter, he and Lorsan were a little more than acquaintances expected to collaborate due to their occupations. They did share a bond. But he couldn’t help but wonder, how deep was this so-called friendship, really?

At the sound of the barely audible sigh that escaped Bryon, Arden decided to dive deeper.

“A little bird told me you managed to meet him just in time. I’m glad.”

Bryon’s ear twitched in reaction, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly.

“I couldn’t say; the details about that day are diffuse,” he deflected in apparent indifference, facing away and focusing on the sensation of the breeze brushing his face. 

Of course he remembered.

Bryon had already dissected that last conversation in his mind a few times. He lamented himself for his regrettable choice of words, the lack of substance in his speech... 

He was unlikely to hesitate in situations that required it yet, there was so much he wished to say in so little time, everything got stuck in his throat until it was too late. His own sloppiness led to acts of desperation, rather than intent —a pitiful showcase on his part. Clarity was what was needed most, and his performance failed to measure up to the circumstances. 

He could still remember Lorsan’s bickering in the midst of it all:

“If you wanted to tag along so badly, you could’ve just said so,” Bryon recalled, word by word.

In his own nonchalant, teasing manners, he could’ve sworn Lorsan did make an invitation to join in on his journey. 

Instead of considering the quick-witted suggestion, Bryon only let the young mage’s steps fade until they were completely gone. Hiding at a safe distance, surveying from a tall tree near the riverside was the best thing the sentinel could think of.

“What are you thinking so intently about, right now?” Arden prompted, his gaze drifting back to his student. “You seem wistful.”

Bryon shifted in his seat, supporting his arm on one knee. Arden patiently waited for an answer.

He couldn’t quite phrase it but, it was impossible to deny Lorsan had rooted himself a space into his heart. When reflecting on it, Bryon was surprised to notice how the small gestures from his part had meant so much. Bryon could talk hours about him, for better or worse —if he ever felt the urge to speak with anyone at length, which was very unlikely of course. 

He liked to think he knew Lorsan better than anyone, that he was considered a trusted confidant. 

Did that statement hold any truth now? 

Bryon was not trusted enough, he guessed. 

As Arden had previously stated, Lorsan was important to many people. Bryon was only one of them. 

Perhaps their perception of the time spent around each other simply differed. It was a hard truth to swallow, but it was Bryon who, unexpectedly so, yearned for Lorsan’s absence and not the other way around. Moreover, the hurt —the worry, even anger— he felt from his lack of response was deeply troubling.

Lorsan was used to surrounding himself with people, so Bryon was sure he would be fine. After all, the hare-wilder was really good at distracting himself from bad thoughts and responsibilities. If he hadn’t met anyone by now, Lorsan would find a companion soon. Hopefully someone kind enough to not take advantage of him. 

Despite everything, he hoped for the best outcome for… Someone he held in high regard. His friend. 

A small, wry smirk raised at the thought. Has he ever referred to Lorsan that way? And when speaking of him to others? 

When speaking to himself? 

The word felt foreign, not quite enough of a description. 

“I was simply reflecting about Lorsan, Master,” Bryon said with rueful amusement, still facing away from his teacher. “In my opinion, regardless of what the mission entails, he had always wanted to be elsewhere. Doing something different.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips: He could clearly imagine the excitement of Lorsan’s voice while visiting other places, being amazed by all the foreign customs from the outside, his curiosity overriding his common sense. How he would reach for Bryon’s hand, tugging him along and acting as a self-proclaimed tourist guide. Sharing his insights and knowledge down to the littlest detail, flaunting about all that he had learned while outside—

Bryon’s expression soured; indulging in vivid fantasies was pure nonsense. 

From a very young age, he had promised himself to rely solely on his senses and nothing else, being his way of staying attuned to the world around him. Wondering about the possibilities and what ifs was never a good idea, and he was well-aware of that. Bryon had to think of the present, which was the only thing they truly had. 

It was better to assume Lorsan had simply forgotten to reply back again, and nothing else had happened.

“Being a wanderer suits him,” Bryon admitted at last, the confession half-muffled by a passing breeze.

A dull headache pulsed at his head, wishing to refrain from speaking further. But when Arden simply stood impassive, and out of respect for the sage’s question, he continued. 

“...On the contrary, the notion of wanting to experience the outside realms is difficult for me to grasp,” he muttered, one of his hands brushing at the blueish grass surrounding him. “At least, not in the same way he does.”

The fact that Bryon would struggle beyond the limits of the Dark Forest would be an understatement, and he was not afraid of admitting it. 

He had heard before, there weren’t even enough tall trees to cling for support. Surveillance would be harder to achieve, he’d be at a clear disadvantage when battling, making Lorsan’s prowess weakened by extension. Could Elona fight the same way, even? What would she think of the idea overall? Bryon couldn’t say for certain.

Bryon spent so many years getting accustomed to the miry terrain of the Forest’s roads... Far away from that known territory, he feared he would be almost useless. How could he possibly be of help, in a setting like that? 

A sudden urge crept up his spine, recognizing it as the instinct to move and protect Lorsan, like many times before. 

Helplessness turned into urgency: When will it be the time Lorsan would deign to reach out, to give him a clue about his whereabouts, so Bryon could make some sense in assessing the situation? He was not one to get frustrated over such simple matters, however his patience was certainly wearing thin. 

More so at the realization, the sage had not uttered a sound, silently expecting Bryon to go on. 

“...I can’t help but feel concerned about his safety, Master,” Bryon let out, his calculated words becoming slightly more erratic as he continued. “Despite all my efforts, searching in every breeze and blow of the wind, I can’t find a way to reach him. Are my abilities not enough to breach beyond the gates? Is he simply distracted? I don’t know what could’ve possibly happened… Hasn’t it occurred to him that I– That we…”

Bryon’s voice faltered into a low grunt; his brow furrowed beneath the blindfold as he made a gesture to fix it in place despite not needing to.

“I can’t comprehend it, or him, in the slightest,” he mused under his breath. “I wish I was…”

His voice stumbled subtly, unable to find the proper words for what he wanted to say. Rearranging his scattered thoughts and finding nothing, Bryon sighed softly in resignation, shifting in place to face Arden properly, a dignified posture accompanying his movements.

“It appears that what I wish for remains a mystery, even to myself,” he declared at last. “I apologize. For speaking out of turn.”

Arden stroked his braided beard in slow, idle movements. The soft rasp of hair and fabric helped Bryon’s mind ease, preventing his impending headache from settling.

“You’re wise beyond your years, Bryon. That does not take away the fact, you’re still allowed to feel,”  Arden said with a rough chuckle. “Always so poised, this young man… Even if your words come as rambling to you, they’re not. Nothing the wind carries could ever go to waste.”

The sage’s expression relaxed further, his calloused hands holding onto his staff as he focused on Bryon’s stance, hints of restlessness still showing through his graceful, composed demeanor. A hum of acknowledgment fell from his lips as his brow raised slightly.

“A wish to be different, maybe?” Arden wondered aloud, taking Bryon off guard. “Stronger? Braver?”

Bryon agreed on everything, but the concise words still eluded him.

“Right by Lorsan’s side, perhaps?” Arden ventured. 

The innocent assumption took a bolder turn in Bryon’s eyes, whose chin stood up in a jerk reaction. His metal earrings clashed in a sharp sound, startling him as much as Arden’s words.

“That’s—” Bryon winced, lifting his hands near his ears as if to temper the ringing, his voice coming out airy. “I don’t think I’m suitable for the task.”  

“Why is that?” the Sage asked.

For Bryon, there were many reasons as to why.

The times he had confronted his unresolved feelings about the topic were few. Whenever they surfaced, he concluded that whatever effort he could make to remain by Lorsan’s side felt small in comparison. 

Despite his composed, unbothered attitude, he often struggled with enjoying new experiences without a veil of cynicism shading them. Sudden changes unsettled him deep down, never truly able to embody the spontaneous persona he wished to be. 

If it depended on him, he would rather be alone in a peaceful life, not be bothered by anyone. 

His strength had clear limits as well. He bound his eyesight, sacrificing it in order to sharpen his abilities. Constantly searching for the tallest tree in search of clearer whispers from the wind. He would always be in debt with Elona, supporting him and doing half the lifting for him. 

He was still capable, of course —he made sure not to slack, taking his training in magic and archery with enough rigor so he could play his part. Yet Bryon could easily recognize, he remained average in every aspect.

Lorsan, meanwhile, always moved with ease; through life and people alike. It was only right he chose to go about this important mission alone. 

Unfocused and undisciplined as he was, Lorsan had been a powerful mage from the very start, wielding wind as if it had chosen him as its heir. Over time, he became well versed at both damage and healing.  

What could Bryon offer in return? The day Lorsan surpassed him would eventually come, and when it did, the only thing the sentinel could give with certainty, his strength and hearing abilities, would no longer be of service.

Power was not Lorsan’s strongest asset, however. Not to him, at least.

The young mage’s virtues always managed to shine past his flaws. As far as Bryon could remember, Lorsan had always been a good-natured, kind wilder. 

His way of words was completely different to his own. They were inviting; almost like a friendly nudge. Lorsan’s natural talent with them made his playful charm shine all the brighter —the sound of his gentle, airy voice becoming harder to ignore with every year that passed. 

Bryon could only use words as a weapon, and he was well-aware his laconic demeanor didn’t help in making others feel welcome. His personality had always lacked luster by contrast.

There were countless times when Bryon wondered why Lorsan liked to spend so much time around him, when he could have chosen anything more worthy of his time. The young mage gained nothing by it, yet he still included him in every adventure…

To Bryon, that clumsy man had a way to make an imprint in others. Including him.

Now that he was so far away —who knows for how long— doing exactly what Bryon believed was the right thing, the sentinel felt more curious than he had ever been. Finding himself indulging in possibilities he’d never dared before. Wishing to inquire. To speak up, about nothing and everything all the same.

Quite ironic, isn’t it? Bryon thought with a quiet snicker.

“It’s an answer too extensive, and far too revealing for my liking, Master Arden,” he replied instead, bowing slightly from his seat in a quiet apology.

Arden could only sigh in amusement, knowing all-too-well that convincing Bryon to open up would be a losing battle.

“You certainly took your time inside that head of yours,” Arden jested gently, shaking his head slowly. “Well, if you won’t say more, I’ll proceed to share my own insights on it.”

The sage cleared his throat with a troubled cough, taking a deep, soundless breath before starting with his speech.

“Long before our time in Esperia, all creatures lived in one shared land. Armed conflict was what tore us apart. We wilders, with the merciful guide of Misarte, eventually sought shelter on the quietude of the lakes; the stillness of the trees…” he said, taking his time to pronounce every word. “By choosing seclusion, we forgot part of our exploring nature. I’m certainly guilty of this. Despite my efforts in knowing every corner of our homeland, there are places so isolated that remain unseen, even to my own weary eyes.” 

Bryon was surprised by the confession, but he did not dare to interrupt.

“One can only imagine the vastness of the world outside, don’t you agree? It makes me wonder what defines us as wilders, in comparison to other people living in this world,” Arden continued. “In my opinion, we hold a lot of power within our peaceful appearance. We cannot deny the force the graceful waterfall has within; nor the strength of quiet tides the river will carry, pursuing its course without hesitation.”

Arden took the floating sphere out of his staff into his bare hand with ease. Unlike when Lorsan handled it, the orb did not stir in his teacher’s hand, humming gently as though electricity felt comfortable resting in his palm.

“Lorsan had always been different from the common wilder,” the sage went on, his voice never afraid from spilling emotion. “I firmly believe he will only get stronger —and hopefully wiser— by experiencing the world beyond the gates, just as our ancestors did at the dawn of time.” 

The sentinel nodded slowly, wholeheartedly agreeing with the sentiment. It had always been clear to him, Lorsan’s path could not be confined to societal norms or other people’s expectations. 

Windwhisperers were often told to yield to the flow, but it was a lesson Lorsan didn’t need to learn, embodying without complications. Dauntless, yet diligent and warm in his approach… 

All traits Bryon deeply admired.

However, it was a thought far too dramatic to voice aloud. Besides, the idea of unnecessarily stroking Lorsan’s ego was one he refused to entertain.

“Even so…” Arden continued, snapping Bryon out of his thoughts, “Stillness is what helps us appreciate what we have at reach. It's a different kind of wonder on its own.”

Bryon must have looked perplexed, for Arden hummed, absent-mindedly caressing his braid as he searched for examples.

“Think about the strength of the deep tree roots holding the land beneath our feet; their imperceptible, ever-growing branches and leaves giving us shelter when the rain comes. Taking notice of the subtleties of nature is also a powerful ability, Bryon.”

The sentinel lifted his hand to his chin in a pensive gesture. That hadn’t really occurred to him, but surprisingly, it made quite a lot of sense. 

Master Arden noticed his pupil’s subtle tilt of the head, and laughed heartily.

“The deafening roar of thunder cannot exist without the strike of silent lightning,” he said. “Windwhisperers must embrace both aspects of nature in order to thrive. You and Lorsan are clear examples of it despite your differences, don’t you agree?”

With some difficulty, Arden rose from the stone to his feet. The sentinel followed his movements with diligence from his place.

“That being said, there is a reason I did not tell you of the mission,” he admitted, his voice carrying authority and warmth. “Your presence is needed here.”

Despite his initial disbelief, Bryon made the effort to take the sage’s statement at face value –Master Arden wasn’t one who would waste words for nothing. They carried weight, and he was unexpectedly moved by them.

If he had understood correctly, where Lorsan symbolized freeform energy, Bryon was more akin to that grounding force. 

He wanted to believe he was as steadfast as Arden had described him just now, but he doubted it: Bryon viewed himself as a barely standing sapling, easily swept by the gale. Naturally, there was wisdom only age and experience could possibly bring, and he lacked both. Moreover, sardonic and elusive as he was, it was hard to believe that he could represent a source of support for anyone. 

But in that regard, it was not his place to decide. 

With so many changes in the Dark Forest, there was little action to be taken until new information came in. In the meantime, if Bryon needed to adapt, he would do so. He would trust the determination of his own actions, letting others rely on him. The same way he trusted the strength of his comrades and companions, Lorsan included.

Bryon reminded himself that he was, after all, one of the few reliable links to the outside his kin could count on for now. He had to keep improving and carry on, attending his duty with enough precision so he could set it aside eventually.   

Without making a sound, Bryon stood up in a swift movement and gave Arden a small head bow. 

“I trust your judgment,” he finally conceded.

Arden smiled in contentment while giving him some pats on the back, mumbling some complaints before quietly retreating with the same heavy thuds of his staff against the ground. 

The sage was almost gone when Bryon took a step in his direction, his voice caught in his throat.

“Before you go, Master Arden,” he whispered.

“Yes, Bryon?” 

Arden turned to face him, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Is there any… further advice on handling this situation?” Bryon inquired, his arms hiding beneath his back in self-reassurance. “Should I simply leave him be?”

Arden’s brow tensed, noticing Bryon’s hint of hesitation. Then, his expression completely relaxed.

“Listen to the wind and trust your own perspective. Allow yourself to flow —at your own pace, of course,” he said in a light tone, turning his back again and resuming his path.

The words were coming from afar now, but Bryon could still hear them. 

“The answers you seek will eventually reveal themselves to you.”

Bryon nodded in understanding. Although he knew Master Arden was right in his reasoning, he still felt unfulfilled by the uncertainty of it all.

“Also, be sure to get some proper sleep,” Arden reminded him, before his voice and steps faded completely into the murmur of the forest.

“I will,” Bryon said with a small smile, straightening his posture and bowing fully toward the voice.

The long ends of his blindfold and heavy cloak accompanied his movement as he murmured a quiet “thank you” before making his way back to the village. Elona quickly followed, emerging from the same shade she had first disappeared, perching on Bryon’s gauntlet in a practiced motion.

The sentinel’s resolve settled on rest, despite the lingering urge to remain at the Dusk Camp.

Chapter Text

A thrilling, low melody echoed in the forest, the breeze and constant rustling of leaves and animals muffling its source. The cloaked figure that made the intriguing sound passed through the grass at an unhurried pace, idling through the tune without much thought. One of the sentinel’s hands rested comfortably at his back, while the other acted as a branch for the falcon at his side. 

The bird trilled at the tune, then murmured something to the man. The comment made Bryon snicker, shaking his head in subtle amusement. 

“I do remember, Elona. Thank you for your patience,” he replied, his tone laced with dry humor.

The falcon liked to remind him how long he spent learning how to imitate her, and other sounds of nature. How he struggled to make his hands work at the proper vibration, the blow of wind escaping from his fingers... Until the day he succeeded —barely— with the whistling. 

It was impressive how the motion still carried a calming effect on him. 

Whistling with his lips alone was something he did from time to time. It was simpler, reserved for the times of boredom and peace of mind, mostly. When no one was around. 

After a while, Elona murmured to Bryon’s ear in their secret language, eliciting a light scoff from him.

“Really, now? Don’t remind me,” he mused, slightly mortified by what the falcon told him.

She also loved to tease him about those times when he followed a certain lute sound that poked at him from a distance, joining in with a rhythm of its own. 

“We were quite naïve, indeed,” Bryon mused. “Well —have we really changed?”

Bryon recalled the countless times he was seemingly alone, yet could clearly sense Lorsan peering with curiosity at him, afraid of interrupting. How he liked to wait for Bryon to pause before inquiring about something —or blurting whatever he had in mind, for that matter. 

Other times, Lorsan stood in silence, not wanting to be spotted at all. Bryon simply let him; whistling along that hurried heartbeat of his was entertaining enough. He often wondered if his own could be heard in kind. At the time, he thought the effort to reveal himself was useless, never expecting more than it was: two sounds making each other company in a conversation, a tale as old as nature itself. 

Bryon never disclosed it, but he was also guilty of his fair share of eavesdropping.

What he enjoyed the most was listening to Lorsan soft humming. Hearing him sing old and new melodies he caught on the wind. It was like a thread of air that bound Bryon to place, drawing him back each time. 

Without realizing, he had grown fond of his singing voice. A quiet, secret comfort.

Now closer to their usual spot at the shooting ranges, Elona chirped about those times again, making him tilt his head subtly at her.

“Far from it,” Bryon whispered, his voice almost a grumble.

He would not describe it as ‘cute’ whatsoever.

When Lorsan asked him to reveal himself, Bryon thought of it as something redundant. Hadn’t Lorsan noticed who he was from the very beginning? He took a moment too long to react: Lorsan was gone from the scene before he could reach out. Bryon heard his heavy stomps in the rain getting further away —perhaps in self-reproach. In shame, maybe.

Naturally, Bryon could have reached regardless, and Lorsan would have listened. Yet, he refrained from doing so. He wondered why, sometimes.

After that unfortunate exchange, that friendly lute sound didn’t make a presence in the forest ever again. 

It was a shared embarrassment, he concluded after a while, for his throat felt tight from mentioning it all, his own secrecy getting in the midst of genuine complicity. 

During their time as young apprentices, Lorsan addressed the whistling not once: despite Bryon making himself known through the sound now and then, only for Lorsan to listen, the hare-wilder was probably afraid of Bryon stopping altogether if he dared to mention it —and the sentinel conceded, Lorsan had valid reasons to think so. 

Instead, Lorsan seemed to prefer treating it like a secret he wouldn’t let out in the open, feigning total ignorance to others. The clumsy, yet thoughtful gesture was quite endearing, in Bryon’s eyes. 

With a subtle smirk, he made sure to protect this shared memory with the same care, playing along with the charade.

It was certainly not the best approach, but it worked for them, nonetheless. A sense of rapport Bryon rarely felt for anyone; as if their contrasting differences could be reconciled just with a simple, complicit quip.

“Do you think he’ll ever say anything by now?” Bryon asked Elona, his tone contemplative. 

Could a simple, sharp word directed at Lorsan change the course of the circumstances? Why was he ever holding back, even now?

Bryon always concluded it was safer to keep it that way.

A rueful scoff escaped him as he could almost hear Lorsan poking at him, as he did when they finally spoke about the barely-concealed secret: 

“...Why do you like to hide so much? You’re awfully shy under that mask, is that it?”

Memories felt too vivid to recall, lately. 

Fortunately, with Elona at his side, and the wind itself ever present, he found his place in nature –as he was used to doing. But there was no point in denying Lorsan’s absence was noticeable. 

The seeming silence weighed heavier than before.

He was, in a way, relieved to have Captain Lyca near, making him company when her duties allowed her. Bryon assumed they both needed the support at such exhausting times. He was bad at it, but Lyca seemed to appreciate his quiet listening or his acute advice regardless. 

Bryon didn’t like to talk about Lorsan with others: he often found himself falling mute at other’s inquiries about it. But it was easy to trust Lyca. She was navigating it the same way as him, after all. 

That day was no different, standing under the canopy of the training grounds, speaking about life in the camp and upcoming mission —about Master Dahnie’s leadership advice and Damian’s new inventions, as well as her astral reading. She had asked the stars for guidance; about the corruption and his brother.

“So, any news from him?” Lyca pressed gently, her words filled with hope as her hands tensing into fists.

Bryon shrugged and shook his head, his mind somewhere else.

“From Lorsan? I mean,” he said, “aside from the usual missed replies, no.” 

Bryon was ready to make a witty remark about the pathetic state of Lorsan’s communicative skills, but he quickly got interrupted by Lyca’s flaring temper, making space for her fuming.

Lyca’s ears twitched in anger as she firmly thumped into the ground, impatience in every gesture.

“For crying out loud! I swear I’ll grab him by the ears as soon as he gets back...” 

Then, her ears drooped down as she added a low, “if he ever does.”

“He will,” Bryon assured her.

“Aren’t you even a little worried?” Lyca asked, her eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“I am,” Bryon replied, giving her a small nod in acknowledgement. “But he is a great mage —and a great person. He’ll manage.”

Lyca snorted, her anger slowly melting. 

“He’d be so smug, hearing such praise coming from you,” Lyca mused, retrieving Starfall from her quiver.  

“I’d advise you not to ever disclose it,” Bryon muttered. “Ever.”

“I wouldn’t throw you to the wolves,” Lyca reassured him with a small grin.

However, her free hand went up to her temple as her expression knitted, letting out a displeased sigh.

“It’s strange for me to feel this agitated,” she said. “I’ve lived through this quite a few times already.”

Bryon sensed Lyca’s hand tensing around her wooden bow. Her other hand retrieved an arrow from the case at her hip, examining it with precision.

“Kaz left. Eironn comes and goes…” Lyca mused, and then she snickered softly. “Although I won’t complain about him; he sends me letters when he gets the chance.” 

Lyca’ expression softened at a distant thought, her expression hardening as she tested the sharpness of the arrow. “And Parisa… I barely see her, now that we’ve become captains.”

“You’re forgetting Florabelle,” Bryon added.

“Misarte above, I can’t believe we’re even mentioning her…” Lyca winced only to laugh right after. “Anyhow, the point still stands.”

She had endured loss many times in her life. Bryon, by contrast, had never let himself dwell in this kind of absence. His hand drifted to Elona’s feathers. He was certainly not used to longing for someone. The mere thought made him annoyed at himself.

Lyca turned to face Bryon while preparing her bow to shoot. 

“You and I are close, aren’t we?” she asked, her confident tone betraying a certain hesitation. 

“Yes,” Bryon agreed, giving her a small nod.

“Then I hope you’re not planning to leave soon!” Lyca teased; a light but wry remark.

“Not in the foreseeable future,” the sentinel replied, a smirk escaping from his lips despite all.

Lyca let out a breath and turned to face the target at a distance. She assumed her position, drawing the magical bowstring of Starfall taut, humming with power as her gloved hands held the arrow in place. The sound of wood creaking and magic gathering kept Bryon alert out of habit, while Lyca continued with her musings, knowing her friend was listening all the same.

“You know, Lorsan’s very different from all of them,” she said. “He’s so reckless, so gullible and disperse…  I wish I could be with him right now, just to be sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to. Knock some sense out of him, if needed.”

Her arms straightened in position, her eyes never leaving the bullseye. “You understand what I mean, right?”

“I do,” Bryon said. “But I insist you should give him far more credit. He’s more cunning than Eironn, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Really, Bryon? Defending him?” Lyca retorted in amusement, only to brush off the gentle jab. “I know… Anger’s blinding my senses.” 

The hold of the glowing string in her fingers remained still, her eyes fighting the urge to narrow into a blink. 

“How can he be so inconsiderate—”

Lyca let go of the string. The arrow flew forward with a swift sound, cutting through air right before striking the target. She finally breathed free; her posture relaxed and the hold on Starfall eased.

“Impressive,” Bryon praised, assessing the strength of the shot by sound alone.

“Thank you; it’s the closest to the center as of now,” she replied, her voice filled with sudden enthusiasm. 

 She got closer to the bullseye and firmly retrieved each one of the arrows, storing them in her case again.

“Want to give it a try? There’s a bow and quiver at the camp’s tent,” She shouted in the distance. “We’re both marksmen after all. It should come easily to you.”

Bryon shook his head, declining politely. 

“I long forgot how to use physical weaponry,” Bryon explained, stretching his hand as though recalling the sensation. “I was decent at daggers when younger, but I usually ended up cutting myself —my eyesight never really helped.”

“Really? How come I didn’t know?” Lyca asked, getting closer to the tent. “I’ve seen you train a fair amount over the years.”

“It was before meeting you two. Basic survival skills,” Bryon replied.

Bryon was grateful for learning how to use magic. He never had to look back ever since. 

“You should definitely show me,” Lyca encouraged as she approached, handing a scabbarded dagger to him.

The sentinel declined with clearer intent, not taking the weapon.

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself,” he said, his answer as honest as ever.

“You’re right, I’d probably laugh,” Lyca joked, placing the knife back into her belt. “And here I was, imagining you could use it as a way to impress Lorsan, when he finally comes back.”

A faint scoff escaped Bryon, mildly offended.

“Don’t,” he muttered, his voice barely a thread.

“I won’t say a thing, I promise,” Lyca teased, rolling her eyes in amusement. “You guys are painful to look at.”

Much to Bryon’s dismay, Lyca  went on about clever ways to impress Lorsan, the topic eventually drifting to other much more important matters. She kept shooting arrows as she unwound, her aim much more relaxed, until the presence of Lyca’s doe companion signaled it was finally time for her to rest. She sheathed Starfall with practiced ease, greeting the doe with a smile and some scratches. 

Then, Elona seized the opportunity to complain about being hungry.

“Hadn’t you just eaten?” Bryon quipped in a low voice, caressing her feathers. 

He conceded the favor either way.  

Being a natural hunter, Elona had always enjoyed working for her food, so he often played sleight-of-hand tricks with her snacks to deceive her. She quickly saw through the illusion, eagerly searching until she found the food. As soon as Bryon threw the prize upwards for Elona to catch it, she went up and down in the air before clinging back to the falconry glove, eating with a pleased trill. 

At his side, Lyca gently offered some fruit to her doe, leaving it on the grass for her to sniff it with curious eyes. Lyca and the doe sat on the grass while Bryon did the same, crossing his legs with Elona still on his arm, who flapped her wings slightly to maintain her balance for a moment. 

Lyca took her own meal and ate, offering some to Bryon. He courtly refused, saying he would eat at a later time —truth be told, he was still not used to eating while others watched. Lyca didn’t take offense by it, simply carrying on with the conversation while the sentinel listened.

Bryon slowly began to understand the meaning behind Master Arden’s words: the heavy silence grew lighter in company. Perhaps his presence was needed, indeed. 

“...Bryon?” Lyca called out after a longer pause, a hint of nervousness showing through her curious question.

Bryon simply waited for her to continue, and so she did.

“Could I use your help once more? I wrote this message for him…” 

The soft sound of parchment paper in Lyca’s hand caught Bryon’s attention. Lyca stumbled slightly on her words before continuing. “It’s rather lengthy… you can adjust it to your liking. Carrying a message this long over so much distance must be tiring.”

“Are you sure?” Bryon inquired.

“Of course! There’s nothing strictly personal about it so you can use it as a framing. I trust you’ll do a good job in editing it,” Lyca replied, holding the parchment closer with both hands.

She hesitated, but went on regardless, adding with a too-quick: “You can add your own insight to it, if you so want.”

Bryon repeated the last sentence in his mind, perplexed.

“Your thoughts, I mean. Whatever you want to say to Lorsan,” she explained, averting Bryon’s face at first, only to slowly look at him with expectation. 

Bryon lifted his hand to fix his blindfold, dusting off his cloak after.

“I shall remain objective while delivering messages,” Byron said, his voice slightly strained. “Otherwise, it could be misinterpreted. It’s ground level windwhispering.”

“And I understand, however…” Lyca retorted, her expression exuding determination. “I think you should open up about… whatever you have on your mind.”

As the suggestion was met with deafening silence, Lyca gave Bryon a tough, worried look. 

“Look, I know you don’t like to talk about these things at all,” she began, her arms hugging her legs as she chose her words carefully. “But how have you been? Six months have passed already.”

Bryon’s golden earrings made a small, tingling sound as his body reacted in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to him to count on the time until that very moment. He was asked to share news with Lorsan with such frequency, it was hard to believe so much time had gone through. 

It was also difficult to admit how the responsibility of reaching out each time in the hopes of hearing his voice, if only for a fleeting moment, burdened him. 

An obligation he wore with reluctance and a heavy heart.

“Hard to explain,” he simply said after a little while, not wishing to go deep nor dismissing it, either.

“If you can’t tell me, maybe you can send the message away,” Lyca advised as she petted her doe companion, the letter still on one of her hands, “It’s very healing, and I think Lorsan would like that despite… you know, not really telling us.” 

Bryon wondered what other things Lorsan was not saying, but there was no point in it —those questions would never be resolved. 

What could Lorsan be thinking about at that moment, after months of scarce contact? The sentinel tried to detach himself from disappointment or discouragement, but at that point, he doubted the messages were reaching him. If they did, and Lorsan didn’t reply on purpose… He’d rather not pursue the thought, afraid it’d stir his temper.

He tried not to harbor ill feelings towards this regard, but the gut-wrenching sensation in the pit of his stomach was a clear sign it was easier said than done. 

How could Lyca be so certain Lorsan was actually listening, and not using his messages as a placeholder, viewing them as just another tiresome chore he ought to attend to, but chose not to?

“Tell me you’ll at least think about it, yes?” Lyca pleaded, finally handing the letter to him.

Her brow furrowed as a small smile pursed her lips. “Thank you for not refusing. It must be painful…”

Bryon took the letter with both hands, feeling the leather string around the rolled paper; the imprint of a wax seal attached, keeping the information concealed.  

“I appreciate your concerns,” Bryon said, his serious expression changing into a smirk while giving the letter to Elona, who secured it in her beak. “But, in essence, this is only a part of my duties, after all.”

“I mean it! I’m telling you this as a friend.” Lyca complained.

Bryon could hear the pout in Lyca’s voice, which made him snicker.

“No problem,” he conceded, letting Elona soar to the sky once more, carrying the letter with her. “The truth is, I refuse to give up just yet.”

Whenever not urgent, Bryon preferred the quietude of the night to rehearse his windwhispering techniques. Especially at times when he had to rely on his eyesight again —it always behaved better with less stimuli around. He carefully left his blindfold at hand’s reach and opened the letter Elona had placed on a small table, taking a seat at the chair beside it. He slightly rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, and began reading, blinking and furrowing with a severe expression.

Bryon had realized vision became harder to use each time. He didn’t really miss it, but there were moments where it was still necessary, much against his will.

He felt thankful for Lyca’s writing being so neat and polished, also big enough to easily decipher it.

It was a simple letter, and despite the choleric remarks she made from time to time, he could sense the heartfelt sorrow behind her thoughts. How would Bryon choose the correct words to properly transmit this message for Lyca? It was a shame he had to butcher it.

He breathed out as he took ink and quill from the desk, the hand holding the quill moving in an uncomfortable gesture. When he got accustomed, Bryon transcribed the letter, crossing out and highlighting the text written with small, imprecise strokes.

Windwhispering had to be easy to the ears: it was better to be as concise and straightforward as possible, an effort that helped to convey the proper message and tone to the receiver. Bryon was good enough at achieving it, but he had always been better at memorizing and recalling, rather than editing from other sources. 

He jotted short summaries with scratchy, messy handwriting. He struggled with it, but in order to make this whisper sound more natural to his own speech and nuances, it was a must. 

Elona was curiously glancing at him and the paper, probably surprised to see the sentinel taking a quill after such a long time. It had been a while since he had actually written, let alone so thoroughly –the very few occasions where it was needed, it was usually Lorsan who offered to help. 

Lyca’s words crept into his mind at sudden speed, his jotting coming to a halt. 

Should he take her offer? 

Bryon always made sure to remain detached when it came to whispering to Lorsan. He assumed the role of a messenger, updating with useful information about the state of the forest, and nothing more. Involving private matters in something so important would be a mistake on his part. Obviously, he made some exceptions for certain people —just like in this case— but he had to be careful when delivering them. Getting too personal could lead to discrepancies.

Once finished with summarizing the letter, Bryon brought a hand to his lips in a thoughtful gesture. 

Should he try to add something personal to the recitation? Did he have anything at all? He reminded himself he still had to keep the message short: getting half the words lost in the air would be unfortunate. 

Despite Bryon’s efforts in scribbling a few lines here and there, he couldn’t come up with anything worth mentioning, preferring to simply discard every sentence he had come up with.

He rehearsed the message in a silent mutter, trying to correctly memorize everything important without worrying too much about the outcome, as words rarely took the exact shape of the rehearsal.

Bryon sighed, his focus drifting back to the environment as he mentally prepared to conjure the message. 

The glow of an already worn-out candle and the moonlight were the only light sources in sight. Bryon did not dare to look up to the window; his ears were fighting the urge to flicker at sudden images of silver shining in dark, indigo colors that his eyes gave him without warning. 

The scenery resembled Lorsan’s color scheme, in a way; the one he remembered, in the few moments he allowed himself to observe.

Bryon closed his eyes and cursed himself over the ridiculous thought. Taking his blindfold off always came with unforeseen difficulties.

He tried to empty his mind, regulating his breathing, reaching for his blindfold and attaching it again. Now ready, he cleared his throat slightly and focused on the usual spell. His hands glowed as wind cupped in his palms, accumulating and dancing around, filling every space in the room. 

With a measured sigh, Bryon let the whisper take form:

“Lorsan,

How have you been? May these words find you in good spirits.”

Bryon never forgot formalities when it came to addressing someone.

“The Dark Forest remains safe enough. We have managed well, despite all.” 

The expected update about the current state of their home was something he never omitted. The air in the room seemed to thicken as he went deeper into the message, the spell already wanting to escape through the window.

“I’m reaching out on Lyca’s behalf. She wants me to remind you, it’s been six months since your journey started. 

She hopes you’re taking proper care of yourself.”

Bryon took a short moment to regain his breath. He went on, seemingly unfazed. 

“She states she’s very upset at you for not communicating in all of this time, but still advises you to be aware of strangers —and of your food choices, as well.”

Bryon’s lips tensed slightly, giving place to hesitation. His voice didn’t tremble, however.

“She hopes you’re in good company, and wants you to tell her about the places you’ve visited. When you make time for it, of course.”

He could feel his voice getting heavier with every sentence; the whirlwind in his hands, too. He was running out of time, but there was little left to add. 

“She concludes by saying—” 

Bryon’s voice got breathy, quiet emotion betraying his tone. 

“She doesn’t expect a gift when you come back. Hearing from you soon is more than enough.”

The small halt in Bryon’s speech led to a fond smile; laughter slipping through his words.

“That last part... She took the words right out of my mouth.”

He swallowed once, right before wrapping up the message with a dry and formal:

“Kind regards, Bryon.”

As Bryon breathed out the last sentence, he opened his hand to let the wind flow away from it, carrying itself towards its destination.  

As it drifted away, Bryon realized he had, in fact, mixed personal opinions onto his delivery right at the very end. 

It was a subtle remark, something that could easily go unnoticed, yet it still managed to send his heart into a race. What was that careless display about? 

Bryon’s fingers intertwined into a loose fist, bringing them up to his forehead and resting his head in them, his blindfold sliding slightly up. His breathing came out slowly, almost in a sigh. 

The letter was already sent and there was no point in dwelling on it. That didn’t change the fact he’d given a choppy delivery, wrapped in the crudest of ways. The work of a novice, really.

For once, Bryon felt grateful for the great distance between them: the message would take some time to travel, and Lorsan would probably overlook it, acting as if it didn’t happen at all. Just like he did with all the whispers addressed to him. 

But Bryon couldn’t help but wonder, would that foolish miscalculation wake Lorsan up into answering back? 

He didn’t know which was the better outcome. His feelings regarding Lorsan weren’t simple in the slightest. 

However, he conceded at last, Lyca was right: the mistake did make his chest feel lighter. He hadn’t realized how much those few words had lightened his spirit until now.    

The sentinel stood up, taking the original letter to pass it to Elona. The falcon took it in her beak and went out to find Lyca. Bryon didn’t have the energy to let Lyca know how things went through a whisper, deciding it’d be best to add a short comment about it when they met again in the morning. 

He felt surprisingly drained, yet restless all the same. Despite his weariness and Arden’s constant advice, Bryon decided to stay up a bit longer.

Finding a secluded spot, concealed in the foliage of the tallest tree available, he joined his hands and whistled with them, the soothing sound echoing back to the forest. A ritual that always seemed to ease his worries away. 

After Lorsan’s departure, festivities became more difficult to endure than before. 

Not that he disliked them, nor awaited for them with any strong enthusiasm. Revelry has its place: important dates, reminders worthy of celebration… Yet they always came with an effusiveness he had never quite grown accustomed to. In those instances, he preferred solitude, almost forgetting the gatherings altogether. Instead, he preferred to enjoy the quiet that settled in other parts of the forest.

But since Eironn couldn’t always make it on time, and Lorsan was still nowhere to be seen, Lyca made sure to invite him to every special occasion so Bryon could spend time with everyone. As usual, he was quick to decline. However, there came a moment where he felt obliged to attend, reluctantly complying if only for a little while. 

Despite the clamor, he often had his fair share of enjoyment out of lounging with everyone. He would drink in comfortable silence, listening to lively conversations and old and young wilders mingling at a distance. 

Lyca and Master Dahnie put  great effort into every party, trying to ensure the scars and imprints corruption had left upon people faded. Forgotten, even if for a moment. Celebrations served as a needed distraction from helplessness and an awaited respite from work, and Bryon showed his appreciation by turning up despite his seemingly aloof replies. Revelry was important for everyone, and he could tell.

He often wondered how they carried their sorrow with such ease. Master Dahnie, who had seen practically everyone in the village grow old, always welcomed each of them as dear members of her closest family, no distinctions whatsoever —unless you truly deserved it. Perhaps it was this same quality, her being used to seeing her children grow and part from her shelter, what made her understand loss in a way few people could?

Lyca too seemed accustomed to the feeling, though in a different way from Master Dahnie. She held a quiet confidence that people who departed still shared the same starry sky, still sharing a thought with them despite the lack of words, as she sometimes told him. 

Bryon only knew of permanent loss; learning to live with the in-betweens and the uncertainty, was a lesson he still struggled to grasp.

It was clear, the eternal delay was beginning to take a toll on him.

When sunset came and almost like clockwork, Bryon and Elona excused themselves, making their way back home as silently as they had arrived. The quiet forest embraced them, the sound of celebration muffled as he moved deeper into the woods, replaced by the ringing of crickets and cicadas. Through his mask, Bryon perceived the faint glimmer of vegetation and fireflies. 

Motivated by the stillness —everyone’s attention elsewhere— the sentinel raised his free hand, wind gathering slowly in it as he walked through the mossy paths, the smell of fresh rain lingering in every turn.

The one-sided report back to Lorsan had by now become part of his routine. At dates like those, full of warmth and music, the dull ache that came with them stung all the more, much to his frustration. This time was no different, his steps slowly faltering as he pondered sending a message. 

Wind danced on his palm, the magic sliding off his fingers and slowly fading into the breeze. He should surrender the idea of establishing contact, he thought, his hand letting go of the remnants of the whispering conjure. No one was asking him to reach out. 

No responsibilities involved, no excuses nor greater reasons to do so, except to know. 

To greet. 

His hand glowed again as wind swirled back into his palm, refusing to let second-guessing cloud his resolve. With measured breathing and Elona by his side, Bryon let out an almost inaudible whisper into the air: 

“Lorsan?

I hope this message finds you well. 

You might not remember, but the Emberlight Festival starts today. 

Fortunately, I’ll be able to find shelter before fireworks begin —as you know, their noise can be a harsh companion. 

Do people from the outside celebrate it? 

May the winds remain forever gentle and guide you through hardships, 

Bryon.”

Feeling his farewell didn’t suffice, he attached a dainty whisper at the end, a fragile thread of magic purposefully weak so it might get lost.

“Postscript,” he added softly, trying to empty his mind and not think about the superfluous comment he was about to make. 

“Today Damian got into trouble once again; his antics never cease to amaze me. 

It reminded me of…”

His words stumbled. Should he dare say it?

“Calmer times.”

The sentinel closed the spell, the whisper going its way through the faint drizzle. Both droplets and his own words echoed deeply in Bryon’s ears as he resumed his path in silence.

He knew it was a bad idea to get so attached to the solace the breeze granted him, but as time passed and other festivals came, he found himself letting his questions slip out with an unusual frequency. Despite his taciturn demeanor lingering in every word, the secret eagerness to communicate was so uncharacteristic, it surprised him. Bryon supposed, he wasn’t as impassive as people believed. 

Bryon didn’t know he could be as persistent, either. Much to his bewilderment, he got used to adding small inquiries or comments to the messages he carried. The unfamiliar sensation of initiating conversations was something he never expected to get accustomed to; he even learned to deal with the silent rejection, too. 

Now knowing how it felt, he regretted treating Lorsan with such indifference, back in their younger days. 

With time, Bryon found the nerve to send short messages without any important reason behind it –out of curiosity, mostly.

“Lorsan,” he whispered one day.

“Winter Carnival is around the corner. The yuletide tree smells calming as ever; tall and adorned, I suppose.

Lyca and I were wondering…” 

Bryon usually mentioned Lyca in the messages, but it was only half true: Lyca stopped asking him for updates after the year of silence came. However, it was easier to lie about it —that way, Bryon wouldn’t look as curious. 

“How different is it celebrated from where you are staying? Will you weave a floral wreath this year? Do hexaflowers grow on that part of the land?

Will you teach your acquaintances about our customs, perhaps finding someone to lock eyes with beneath the garland?”

A small pause formed as Bryon’s lips tensed in subtle discomfort, finding the idea of Lorsan under the moonlight with someone else strangely unsettling. He chastised himself over the childish thought and carried on, a newfound persistence in the meaning of his letter. 

For better or worse, some of Lorsan’s stubbornness had rubbed off on him after all these years, he supposed.

“Postscript,” he added in a thread of voice, realizing mid-sentence that he was forgetting formalities. 

The sentinel letting his thoughts roam free, as though not being recorded. A secret told to the wind, struggling between wishing to be found or getting lost in the rustling.

“Remember when we… stumbled upon one, a few years ago? 

Despite you not saying a word, I noticed —by the sound of your voice, hurried and uneven. By the scent of mistletoe right above us. 

Should we have honored that tradition ourselves, back then?

…Would it ever count, if my eyes are always covered? I’ll let you decide.”

Those careless, novice mistakes —not greeting, not addressing himself, the level of intimacy raising with every question— Everything made Bryon feel embarrassed. It seemed too desperate, too emotionally involved with what he asked.

He muffled a sigh after finishing the recording, his hand curling around the whisper in his hand, knowing for a fact, there was nothing he could do to stop the wind from carrying his message now.  His hand fell in surrender, the breeze doing its part as Bryon pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his blindfold, rising slightly. 

Bryon hoped Lorsan would say nothing about the changes. Or did he? He couldn’t tell anymore. 

If Lorsan did pick up on them, perhaps he’d seize the excuse to talk again and pester him about it…

The sentinel cut himself off from it, frustrated enough as is.

Another year passed, and messages directed to the young mage became curt, perhaps irritated, under Bryon’s seriousness —every amount of patience would wear thin, after such a long time without a proper response back. At moments where that extreme sharpness arose, he made sure to remain isolated, sitting at the tallest tree he could find. He reduced his voice to a raspy thread, his words as thin as possible, carrying a bite he barely showed nowadays:

“Lorsan,

Is this never-ending silence of yours some kind of revenge, for the way I spoke to you in the past? 

 If it is, be straightforward about it. 

Don’t take it out on others, you’re making everyone worried.

Couldn’t you just say something? One word, for that matter?

May storm follow you everywhere you step—”

The barely-together spell broke in Bryon’s hand, vanishing in dewy mist. Every word was repeated into the sentinel’s ears, making him lower his head slightly in visible self-reproach. He groaned softly, trying to compose himself. Perhaps it was for the best the whisper broke —a sign from the wind he would take as a warning. 

Upon further reflection, he wouldn’t want Lorsan to hear him in such a prickly mood.

He stood in silence, resting his head against the bark as he listened to the rustle of leaves, seeking to regain his composure. Then, one of Lorsan’s quips echoed in his thoughts again:

“Too afraid to say you’ll miss me, aren’t you?” he teased that day, his voice playful and warm.

His words ever so simple. No pretense behind them.

That moment lingered in his mind more than Bryon would care to admit.

He was well-aware of how much information his messages conveyed; how much Lorsan could infer just from the tone or the pauses in his voice. Lorsan excelled at perceiving nuances in the wind, after all. Bryon knew how to stay composed, but lately, it had become harder to keep his emotions tempered. They slipped through his speeches, formal or not, like a subtle gesture waiting to be noticed —seeking to be found, in a way.

It was a bit pathetic to find such obvious answers so late. 

Bryon could always inform Lorsan of this new piece of knowledge, but what was really the point? He’d gain nothing by doing so. He should know better.

Instead, he stood there in silence, letting the thin rays of afternoon light warm up his face, feeling them through the blindfold as he listened to the forest surrounding him. He caught the sound of chirping high up on a tall tree branch. 

A rare smile tugged at his lips as he brought his hand together, leaving a hollow space in between. He blew air through them, making a trilling sound. The birds answered eagerly, and soon enough, they were talking back and forth. 

The echo of his whistling blending in the depths of the forest had a soothing effect on him. But this time, it also brought back vivid memories of shared melodies with bright, lute notes.

Bryon found himself missing the meaningless chatter, the witty banter, the never-ending bickering… even the overshared thoughts, to the point it ached. Everything felt heavy in his mind. He called to the birds again, hoping to clear his thoughts, but it was all useless; the whistle came off-key, struggling to settle in his palms.

He longed for Lorsan to say anything at all. He truly did.

Breaking the hand position, Bryon conjured the wind again. Air swirled into his hand, making the leaves and the end of his blindfold rustle with its force. There was no way the message would get lost in the wind this time; he had to choose his words carefully. 

His voice was soft but clear while casting the spell:

“Lorsan…

Do you ever get lonely, wherever you are? 

I certainly do. 

Sincerely, Bryon.”

The boldness he summoned faded as soon as he processed what he had said out loud. There was far too much honesty in the message. The mere thought of Lorsan’s reaction made him click his tongue in frustration.

“That’s not right at all…” he muttered without thinking, clearing his throat softly. “Should I try this again?”

A dry, startled sound escaped Bryon, raising his free hand to press his fingers up to his lips. Heat rose to his neck: he had been so focused on getting the words out, he forgot the spell was still active. 

The wind was still intently listening —and recording— every reaction that slipped from him.

He rushed to add something to fix the situation. The long pause, though brief to him, must have seemed awkward; only the rustling of leaves and metal chiming filling the space in the meantime. 

Bryon’s chest rose slightly as he prepared to close the spell. He tried to remain confident his words would sound calm and collected. 

They came out clumsy and jumbled instead.

“Postscript: 

I, uh… am I bothering you with all these questions? 

I know I was the one who bound myself to hearing your words. Wisely, you never compromised.

…Would you rather be alone? 

Let me know when you have the time.”

He should have put much, much more thought into this…

Bryon held the whirlwind in his hands as long as he could. His lips tensed as a barely audible hiss escaped him out of reflex. His wrist trembled as the air fought to escape, slipping through the corners of his fingers. The wind would break free either way, so he opened his hand, surrendering. 

As the strength of the conjure ruffled his hair up, the sentinel’s head went to rest on the tree bark with a soft thud, his mind replaying his own cursed words. 

‘One must honor the vows spoken to the wind’ he thought with mock reverence, a scoff escaping him at the refrain. 

Truly ironic.

Was this what Master Arden meant by ‘allowing oneself to flow’? He was full of it.

And Lorsan, too. That damned bunny—

Sensing Bryon’s agitation, Elona quickly approached closer. Bryon noticed her presence and reacted, in a practiced motion, offered his gloved arm for support. Once stable in position, she tilted her head to the side for a moment, as if asking a question. Bryon gave her a gentle smile in return.  

“Did you listen to the great speech I delivered just now?” Bryon asked in a doleful mutter, his voice full of sarcasm. Though his smile lingered in place.

Elona blinked at him, trilling softly. Bryon made a gesture with his hand, asking for permission to pet her. She got closer to him as if granting it. 

A year and a half have gone by and he still couldn’t read the meaning beneath the silence. Was all this his fault? He doubted Lorsan would hold a grudge against him, but he couldn’t say for certain. Bryon’s ears twitched slightly at the thought.

Suddenly and without warning, he grew scared of growing apart. 

“What do you think I should do, Elona?” Bryon mused as he gently stroked her feathers. 

Elona responded with a small cry, flapping her wings with energy. The gesture drew a short, airy laugh from Bryon. 

“You make it sound so easy,” Bryon said, his mood lightening. “Wouldn’t that make it harder on him? Well, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it...”

As Bryon kept petting her, Elona’s head lowered to meet his companion’s. Together, they tried to leave the sourness behind, both remaining high on the branch, resting under the canopy.

“Bryon, wait!

Acknowledged!”

Lorsan’s whisper rang in Bryon’s ears, loud and scrambled and somehow, like a distant echo all the same. 

“I do listen.” 

A not-so-subtle hint of fondness could be heard through his words.

“I just—”

Then, interference came by, dragging the message away, getting lost completely.

Bryon’s lips parted slightly in surprise. They quickly formed a thin line, his pace slowing down as words slowly registered. Lyca, walking by his side, turned back and gave him a curious gaze. Her doe noticed and changed directions.

“Everything alright?” she asked, adjusting herself in her mount.

“Yes,” he lied, his free hand going behind his back, straightening his posture. “I heard —Master Arden needs my assistance.”

“You sound a bit constrained, is something wrong? Shall we go together?” Lyca offered.

Bryon pressured himself to speak, before his ear feathers chose to start ruffling.

“No need,” he said at last.

“I see,” Lyca said, breathing out in relief. “Send him my regards, then!” 

“I will,” Bryon muttered, giving  Lyca a small nod.

Lyca waved goodbye and resumed her patrol. 

As Bryon took a step backward, turning to walk in the opposite direction, his hand went up, scratching the  bridge of his nose in self-reassurance, his blindfold getting crooked for a moment. He was lucky only Elona was around, where no one else could see the fluster on his face as sudden memories of his last message had resurfaced. 

Lorsan was listening, then. 

…Exactly how much had he heard? 

“I think… I’ll stop with these messages for the time being,” Bryon informed the falcon, his voice coming out with a slight waver. “Otherwise I’ll end up dead one of these days…”

Elona chirped something at him, warbling right at the end.

She was right —he didn’t sound so convinced. It felt like a flimsy statement. 

One that the wind would also recognize as a half true.