Kalren sat upon a carved root bench near the main hall, his frame still marked by weakness though his spirit pushed him to remain upright. His amber eyes carried the fatigue of battles past, but his voice and posture remained steady, determined not to show fragility before the little ones.

"Come closer, little ones," he said with a small wave of his hand, "No shadows will reach you here."

Around him clustered a circle of children, their eyes darting often toward the treeline as if shadows might peel away and step into the light.

"I saw something move out there," one of them whispered nervously.

Another shook their head, hugging their knees, "What if the beetles come back?"

Beside Kalren was Maeryn, a calm and steadfast Murkfen woman whose moss-green cloak trailed softly over the roots.

She leaned in with a smile, weaving reeds deftly into a small crown, "If the beetles return, Kalren and I will chase them off. And until then—see? You shall wear crowns of light to scare them away."

The children giggled weakly as she settled the glowing weave on a boy's head.

"Do I look like a king?" he asked, trying to mask his fear with bravado.

"A king of the Glade," Maeryn assured him warmly.

Kalren cleared his throat, his voice rough but steady.

"Shall I tell you a story?" he asked, letting his gaze sweep across the children.

"Yes! A story!" they chorused, their earlier fear breaking into eager cheers.

One boy tugged at his sleeve, "Make it a long one!" while another girl chimed in, "And let it be about heroes, not beetles!"

Kalren chuckled softly, the sound like gravel underfoot. "Very well. A story of a hunter, then. One my grandpa once knew."

He began, "Long ago, when the mists of the bog were thicker than they are today, he set out alone with nothing but his will. No torch, no companions, no weapons beyond a wooden spear. The elders warned him that the fog devoured the brave as easily as the weak, but he answered only: 'If I do not walk it, who will clear a path for the rest?'"

Beyond them, Glowfen Glade lay subdued beneath its veil of mist. Though it was the same haven of woven roots and glowing moss, the air carried a heavy hush, as if the Glade itself was holding its breath while the others traveled toward the Nest.

A solemn weight hung in the atmosphere, the energy shifting from gentle stillness into something reverent and expectant. Where children's laughter once darted through the branches, silence lingered, broken only by the occasional nervous murmur or the rustle of leaves.

Out of that hush, a figure began to take shape at the edge of the mist.

Her steps were deliberate, the hem of her robe brushing the roots as if the earth itself made way for her. The mist clung to her form, keeping her features uncertain until her voice cut through the stillness—calm, edged with power: "It is truly upsetting to see fear still have its hold here."

Back in the main hall, Kalren had been deep in his story-telling, reaching the climax of his story. He paused, letting the children lean closer, eyes widening as though they too stood at the edge of that mist.

"He walked the bog's mists alone with nothing but courage, and do you know what he found?"

"What?" several children chorused at once, eyes wide.

"Not monsters," Kalren said as he carved carefully into a strip of softened bark, "but a path to guide the lost home. Even in the deepest fog, bravery can light the way."

He finished carving another figurine's rough features, sanding it lightly with the edge of his thumb before holding it up. He had now made one for almost all of the kids.

Though it bore no glow of runes, his tone gave it weight.

"Here," he said, handing one to the nearest child, "Keep it close, and remember the hunter's lesson—bravery itself is the light you carry."

The little ones gasped and clutched their figurines tightly, as though the charms themselves kept the fear at bay. They pressed closer to Kalren and Maeryn, finding in them the guardianship they needed.

Just then, the door to the main hall creaked and then swung open with a drawn-out groan, the sudden sound jolting the children from their fragile calm.

A chorus of gasps rose, their eyes wide, hands clutching their small wooden charms.

For a heartbeat, the air was thick with fear—then, as though a veil had been lifted, a wave of warmth and composure poured through the hall. The tension bled away, replaced by awe and a quiet reverence.

From the misted threshold stepped Elyrra. Her aura pressed softly against every heart, commanding respect without demanding it.

Light shimmered faintly around her form, her staff catching the haze and bending it into thin, pale ribbons that drifted in her wake. Each deliberate step seemed to carry the weight of centuries, as though the Glade itself bowed to her return.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, her gaze steady and patient.

"Peace," she said at last, her voice low but clear, "no harm will touch you here."

The simple words carried such certainty that even the trembling ceased.

Kalrek, startled, pushed himself to his feet, nearly toppling as his weakened legs betrayed him.

"L-Lady Elyrra…" he stammered, dipping into a shaky bow.

One by one, others in the hall rose as well, bending their heads, their movements hushed as though they stood before a sacred figure.

Elyrra's lips curved into a gentle smile. She lifted a hand slightly, her expression soft.

"Please," she said warmly, "do not be so formal with me. You honor me enough by standing strong in my absence, Kalren."

Kalren suddenly beamed, pride swelling in his chest.

'She… she knows my name,' he thought, hardly believing it himself.

He asked, "Lady Elyrra… you spoke my name. How is it you know me?"

Elyrra's eyes softened.

"Tholn speaks of you often, Kalren," she said gently, "He speaks of your talent and your bravery."

The hall murmured, and she turned her gaze to the others.

"He speaks of all of you," she continued, voice carrying warmth, "Of Maeryn's steady hands and kindness. Of Rhavri's motherly aura in taking care of the glade, even when sick. Of the children, and their laughter that steadies his heart."

A quiet silence followed, heavy and meaningful, as if her words had settled into every corner of the hall. Kalren's chest swelled with pride, though he kept his hands folded tightly in his lap. Maeryn lowered her eyes, touched that her quiet kindness had been noticed. Even the children seemed changed, their small faces glowing with a mix of awe and shy happiness, as if they too mattered in ways they had never imagined.

Maeryn, flustered and eager to show her respect, bustled forward, "My lady, forgive us—we have little to offer, but perhaps a drink, a morsel—"

Elyrra shook her head, stopping her with a graceful gesture, "Another time, Maeryn. You are kind, but I did not come for rest."

Her tone grew more solemn as her eyes searched the chamber, "I made Tholn a promise—that I would see Druven healed so I came personally, there are also some things I want to ask him too."

The hall grew still again, her words striking deeper than any formal greeting. A hush fell that felt almost sacred.

All of them were touched, not only by Elyrra's presence, but by Tholn's concern for the Glade—that even in his duties, he thought often of them and carried their names upon his tongue.

Kalren's pride gave way to a deeper reverence, his heart swelling with gratitude.

Maeryn bit her lip, eyes shimmering, torn between the instinct to serve her and the recognition that Elyrra's presence was already service enough.

Kalrek steadied himself on the bench, voice rough as he spoke, "He will be glad to know you have come…"

Elyrra's gaze softened, the strength in her presence tempered by compassion. She inclined her head slightly, her eyes moving across each face as if weighing their burdens and finding them worthy, "Well then, there is no time to lose… Tholn and Ash along with a few others are on their way to the Nest as we speak so I cannot dilly dally for too long."

"Tell me," she asked, her voice steady yet gentle, "where is Druven now?"

Wasting no time, Kalrek drew in a breath and answered hoarsely, "He is still in his room, being tended to by Rhavri."

He turned slightly, nudging Maeryn with his elbow.

"Go with Lady Elyrra," he urged, "and guide her to him. I'll mind the children here. Just… return as soon as she is settled with Druven."

Maeryn hesitated, torn, but his firm tone left little room for protest. She drew in a slow breath, her hands fidgeting with the reeds still clutched in her fingers.

Elyrra, watching quietly, stepped closer and laid a gentle hand on Kalrek's shoulder. Her touch was light, yet her presence seemed to steady him like an anchor.

"You are brave to take on this burden despite your wounds," she said softly, her words carrying both respect and encouragement.

Kalrek's throat tightened, and he lowered his head, humbled.

As she said that, a gentle green glow began to shimmer from the crown of her head, cascading slowly downward like flowing water until it reached her hands.

Nature's Repose!

When she laid her palm upon Kalren's shoulder, the light seeped into him with a soothing warmth.

In that instant, he felt his injuries ease, the ache in his bones softening, his breath deepening—almost as though the weight of his wounds had been lifted away.

A shocked expression appeared on his face as his gaze hurriedly lifted to meet Elyrra's with a face full of gratitude.

"It is no small thing to guard hope," Elyrra spoke again, a smile gracing her face as her gaze swept towards the children before returning to him.

Kalrek managed a faint smile, forcing strength into his voice, "Then I will do so with all I have, my lady."

Elyrra inclined her head in acknowledgement, her expression one of quiet pride, "That is all I ask."

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