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So…I may or may not have written this at the beginning of the month and then forgot to hit “post”? You know. Because my brain is a bag full of over-caffeinated squirrels.

So, for NaNoWriMo 2022, I can honestly say I finished out the month proud of myself and my accomplishments. I am sitting pretty at just under 35,000 words, probably my most productive NaNoWriMo in the 11 years since I started this blog!

My project for this year was a collection of short stories I plan on publishing next year. The stories are set in a new universe, the last I plan on ever creating, as I work on consolidating all of my old ideas into one world. The rewrites for the last two books of the Star Trilogy are still on the to-do list (once I figure out how to get myself out of the Mariana’s Trench of a plot hole I wrote myself into), but most of my publishing goals moving forward will all be part of my reworked Olandris Legacies series.

Originally a homebrew D&D world that I put together that borrowed heavily from my original Olandris Legacies idea, the short story collection focuses on some of the more beloved characters I have used in my game. I know I’ve run across at least one fantasy cliche list warning against writing books based on your D&D games but…too late. I’ve already done it, and I could hardly be happier with how it’s turned out. Plus, it’s been a great way to practice my writing and scrape off some of the proverbial rust. It’s hard to believe, but Prism World turns 10 years old next year, and I haven’t published a book since 2015. My writing skills are really feeling the disuse.

So, what can my readers look forward to next year? The working title for this compilation is “Moments that Define Us.” It’s easy to think of heroes as the people who go out, do famous things, and save the world. But what really defines a hero (or an antihero)? Could it be that the simple moments, the choices made in everyday life, are what really make or break a person’s character and future?

I still have at least one more entry to write before I consider the first draft complete, but below you can get a glimpse at some of the selections I’m looking at including.

---

The Apprentice

Quietly, Aeva closed the door behind her, moving reverently through the small room.

“I’ve never seen so many maps before,” the girl said in awe. “You don’t have any maps of the ocean, do you?”

The old man paused to look up at her, eyebrow cocked.

“The ocean?” he asked, sounding exasperated.

“Mm,” Aeva nodded, turning her attention back to the dusty collection. “I’ve read stories of civilizations that disappeared into the ocean hundreds of years ago because they angered the gods. I’ve always wanted to find them.”

“Those’re just stories, kid,” the old man grumbled. “And I ain’t no bard. Now go home.”

Aeva let out a dramatic sigh at this.

“Home is boring. There’s nothing to do there. I’ve already read all my books at least 10 times, and Mother and Father say they can’t afford to buy me any more right now.”

“Tough luck, kid.”

Aeva pursed her lips as she observed the old man in front of her. He seemed to be doing his absolute best to ignore her at this point, but despite his gruff exterior, his aged, wiry hands moved with a deftness the girl had never seen before as he scrawled line after line of ink over the parchment, creating a map with such detail Aeva thought for sure she could see every tree and gully in the landscape. It was art, but not like her father’s art. Her father was an artist by trade, and he certainly did fine work, but this was an art that even her father, Arun, could not do, or so she was convinced.

“You’re so good at that,” Aeva said in awe, leaning over the table slightly so that she could see what the old man was doing without interfering with his work.

The man let out a frustrated sigh before setting his tools down and turning to the girl with a stern gaze.

“What can I do to make you go away?” he asked gruffly.

Aeva cocked her head, thinking for a moment. She really wasn’t sure why she had come to the cartography shop. It wasn’t as if she had any money. That thought wavered in her mind for a moment before her eyes lit up.

“I know!” she exclaimed. “Can you teach me how to draw maps?!”

12-year-old Aeva has always been far too curious for her own good. With an active imagination, high aspirations, and far too much time on her hands, the young elf finds herself in the back alley shop of an old cartographer “affectionately” called Old Milo. What starts as a mild curiosity becomes a friendship, and while Aeva begins to learn the art of cartography, Old Milo learns the value of allowing at least some people into his life.

---

The Light in Winter

It was the shortest day of the year; fitting, Noelani thought, for the day she became a widow. Daylight faded quickly, and the heavy cloud cover only made a dark night darker. The temperature dropped further, and the snowfall became heavier. It wasn’t a blizzard, but it was enough to obscure vision. The clan took turns resting, Noelani most of all. Akoni, sensitive to his mother’s distress and the general air of tension among the clan members, had become fitful. Noelani dozed in between the moments that her baby cried himself to sleep, and even then, it was little more than a light slumber. The waiting…the not knowing…that was the hardest.

Some time in the dead of night, however, a shout echoed out from the watch set up around the camp.

“Morgrim!”

The shout was like a trigger. Noelani sat bolt upright, reaching out for Akoni and gathering him up in her arms. Her mother and several of the other women who were also sleeping in the wagon, sharing each other’s warmth, also bounded to their feet. Some grabbed for weapons and shields; others, staffs or religious icons. And in a moment, Noelani found herself at the center of the camp, the campfire’s light seemingly darkened by an eerie, shadowed aura, as the sound of combat rang past the circle of wagons providing a barrier between the camp and the dangers beyond.

Ezra, who was perched atop one of the wagons and firing off into the night, yelled back to Noelani, “We need light!”

It was time.

Clutching Akoni tightly to her chest, Noelani closed her eyes, focusing on the necklace that she had found in Bidziil’s pouch.

One last time, my love, let us defend our people together.

A young Sinti woman named Noelani finds herself widowed in the dead of winter with a month-old baby to care for and the monstrous morgrim on her clan’s doorstep. In a moment when many people would break under the weight of fear and grief, Noelani uses her late husband’s final gift to give hope and aid to those she wishes to protect.

---

A Moment Worth Treasuring

Julia giggled, a sound that turned Nereus’ attention back to the present situation.

“I don’t mean any offense,” the girl mused, tipping her head curiously at the young man seated across from her, “but…I never thought a noble would take any interest in people like us. Is this something you do regularly or are we special somehow?”

Nereus shrugged, making as though to reply until a waiter arrived with their food. The young man remained quiet and stoic until the waiter had exited back into the main establishment. Then he turned to look at Julia.

“As a knight, I work side-by-side with people from all walks of life. You just seemed like someone who needed a hand. Even as a noble, I can’t save the world, but I can make a difference in the part of the world that I touch.”

Julia glanced down at the exquisite array of food laid out before her, holding her hands out next to it all and staring at the stains and callouses there. How strange it all felt, this moment in which the fates had deemed that two very different worlds should collide.

“All of Xanom would be a different place if there were more nobles like you…if there were more who were actually…noble,” she mused, letting out a sigh.

Nereus leaned back in his seat, casting his gaze up to the sky.

“There are some, but…yes. The world would look very different.” He snorted then, casting a somewhat playful glance in Julia’s direction. “As long as they didn’t all look like me.” He took a bite of his food and glanced away again, muttering, “Scare off all the pigeons.”

As if to emphasize his otherwise random comment, he tossed a crumb in the direction of a bird hopping about the garden nearby. Kitty giggled, and Julia couldn’t help but laugh along with her. She still wasn’t sure how she had gotten to this point or what it all meant. It was hard to know if she would ever see Nereus again after this. But still…for this moment, she was happy. Whether he meant it or not, this stranger had made her feel like a princess, and that was a moment worth treasuring.

Life for 16-year-old Julia and her 8-year-old sister, Kitty, has never been easy. With the death of their parents and Julia’s weak heart to deal with, that life has become even harder. When a chance encounter places Julia in the path of Nereus, heir to House Lex, both of their lives are bound to be changed forever.

---

When the Tree Falls

“Tell me, Ty. Whose place would you take in that last battle?”

The young man gave a start of surprise, his eyes snapping open to look at the woman in front of him, but before he could get a good look at her face, Abey reached out, placing a hand over his eyes so that all he could see was darkness once more.

“Whose place, Ty? Who do you want to die for?”

Ty swallowed hard, unsure how to distinguish between the panic of his memories and the panic of the soft, feminine presence so close in front of him. His answer came in a hoarse whisper.

“Dion. Dion Aegis.”

Abey let out a sound akin to a hum of approval, and Ty almost wished he had remained silent a moment longer as the woman slid her hand away from him. Something about that touch was mesmerizing, and he suddenly felt so much more alone with its absence.

“Alright,” came Abey’s voice. “You’ve died, Ty. You took Dion’s place in that battle. He’s alive. You’re not. But you can still hear him from the Sea of Stars. What do you think he is saying?”

Ty paused again, unsure where Abey was going with this imagined scenario.

“Thank you?” he offered hesitantly.

“No,” the woman replied, her voice soft. “He is saying, ‘Why me? Why did you die and not me? Why am I alive and not you?’”

Ty felt his breath catch in his throat as he heard his own words spoken back to him. For a moment, Abey remained quiet, then she continued.

“For this moment, you can reply to him from the Sea of Stars. What do you want to say to him as you hear those questions?”

Reflexively, Ty clenched his hands into fists on his knees, working his jaw as he fought back the emotions that churned inside him. He flinched when he felt Abey’s hands come to rest on his, a gentle, reassuring touch amidst the turmoil.

“Let it out, Ty,” came her gentle voice. “Cry. Scream if you need to. You’re in a place where no one will harm you or criticize you for who you are or what you feel. Tell Dion, Ty. Tell him what you feel. Answer his question. Why was he allowed to live when you were not?”

As Abey’s voice reached Ty’s ears, it felt as though something inside him cracked. His voice came out in a tremor as tears began to slide down his face like the waterfalls that cascaded down the mountain and through the village below.

“Don’t…” Ty sobbed, bowing his head under the weight of the emotions that were flooding out of him. “Don’t do that to me. I only ever wanted you to have a future. My friend, you had so much life ahead of you. You deserved that chance. I would give my life a thousand times over to give you the future you deserved. So please…don’t waste your life mourning for me. Don’t throw away the chance I wanted to give you.”

His voice felt distant, and for a moment, Ty didn’t even realize it had been him speaking. But as his own words settled in his ears, his eyes blinked open, and he looked up into Abey’s face. She gave him a soft, reassuring smile before leaning forward, until all Ty could see was a pair of doe-like brown eyes.

“If Dion could speak to you now, don’t you think he would say the same?”

Ty’s head felt as heavy as his heart, and without thinking, he let his forehead come to rest against Abey’s shoulder.

“I miss them,” he choked out. “I miss them so much. And their families…their families are alone because I wasn’t strong enough to bring them home. How am I supposed to face that? How am I supposed to face me?”

Gently, Abey slid her arms around Ty’s back, resting her chin against his shoulder.

“In the forest,” she said softly, “when a great tree falls, its loss is acutely felt. It leaves behind a gap in the forest, but in its loss, the animals may find refuge, a seed may find sunlight, and the weak but foolishly lucky tree may find the nutrients it needs to become strong and carry on the legacy of its companion. But no seed naturally sprouts overnight, nor do wounds heal quickly of their own accord. You don’t have to find all your answers right now. My only question to you is this: are you willing to become something new?”

The trauma of a battle gone horribly wrong has left ex-knight Typhon Landelius haunted by nightmares and wracked with guilt over the friends he couldn’t save. Leaving behind the rigid, emotion-repressing culture of his homeland, “Ty” finds himself in the Sinti citadel of Veshiri where he befriends a young woman named Abey who helps him look at the tragedies of his past from a different perspective.

---

A Shield for Xanom

“Sir, I would like to request a brief reprieve from duties today,” Percy said, keeping his shoulders straight and attempting an air of calm confidence. “I have updated information on the situation with Mrs. Callia Aegis, down in the Lower Ward.”

The lieutenant’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Mrs. Aegis?”

The officer seemed to be thinking for a moment before he flipped through his list. He paused several pages in, then glanced up at Percy.

“You know that Commander Rolan has already left to deal with that situation, right?”

Percy could feel his heart drop at the mention of Commander Rolan, and he found his feet moving long before his mind caught up with them.

“Sorry, Lieutenant!” the young knight exclaimed, racing for the gate leading out of the training yard. “I won’t be gone long!”

The clip of his boots striking the cobblestone street echoed like war drums in Percy’s ears as he dashed toward the ramp leading down from the Military District to the Lower Ward. All the while, his heart raced. He had to stop Commander Rolan before he got to Callia’s house. Of all the people to send after an old woman, why had they sent Commander Rolan?

Commander Rolan was a member of House Avram, a family known for their combat skills and no-nonsense personalities. But Rolan Avram was worse. The man had no compassion to speak of, and he did not have a reputation for being gentle.

The image of Callia Aegis’s frail form in the hands of someone as gruff as Rolan Avram reignited the fury that Percy had felt the day before, and his legs burned beneath him as he charged down into the Lower Ward.

Up ahead, Percy could see the lonely little cottage surrounded by empty fields. Callia was sitting in her rickety old chair, head in her gnarled, bony hands as though waiting for the end to come. Percy could see, too, the rigid form of Commander Rolan leading a company of knights and debt collectors down the path toward the cottage. Callia glanced up at the sound of people approaching, and when she spotted Commander Rolan, the old woman seemed to shrink into herself. Even from this distance, Percy could see the terror in her face. No one wanted to cross paths with Rolan Avram; not a knight, and definitely not a frail old woman.

As he ran, Percy’s eyes scanned the surrounding area. He had to get to Callia before Commander Rolan, but the only way to do that would be to cut across the fields. He was guaranteed to get muddy, but it couldn’t be helped. He sprinted through the muddy fields, ignoring the feeling of mud spraying up the back of his uniform with each step. Reaching the cottage just ahead of Commander Rolan, Percy skidded to a stop between the officer and the old woman, throwing his arms open as though to shield Callia from the cruelty that had been headed her way.

Newly knighted Persius “Percy” Lex has always had a strong sense of justice, but when a chance encounter with an old widow down on her luck puts Percy on a collision course with the infamous Commander Rolan, the people of the Lower Ward get to see firsthand what it means to be noble.

---

Ruin

A rumbling behind Harz told him that he was not alone, that the monster hunting him was still on his heels. Still bleeding, his head reeling, Harz made a dash for the gaps in the barrier, stumbling through only a breath of a moment before the arcane symbols reorganized themselves, again sealing the Vale and its darkness away.

The man paused, blinking at his surroundings. The world around him was dark and grey, just beginning to shift with the light of dawn that would be crossing the sky beyond the angry storm clouds above. Harz glanced up, the sting of cold rain striking his throbbing head. It was a welcome relief, and the man fell into a fit of maniacal laughter along with it.

A pained groan caught his ear then, and the man turned in the direction of the sound. It was then that he realized that he was surrounded by bodies. He cocked his head. At first, it was difficult to tell who the people here had once been, as torn up as most of the bodies were.

Harz crossed the distance between himself and the source of the groaning. It looked to be a young woman, lying face-down in a pool of her own blood. He tucked the tip of his boot under her, using it to roll her onto her back, and he watched in wonder as a silvery radiance began to shimmer out from a gaping wound in her gut. Her dark brown hair began to shift, turning white, with only a trace of the darkness that had once been there.

The glint of metal caught Harz’s eye then. A signet ring and a medallion. He knelt on one knee, examining the icons cast into the metallic objects. He wasn’t sure about the signet ring, but he recognized the medallion. Xanomes knights? What were Xanomes knights doing so close to the Vale?

All of a sudden, the dark, arcane burn on his right side began to pulse, the mysterious voice again echoing inside his head.

Kill her! it snarled. Don’t let her open her eyes! Look at that ring. What did she do to deserve it? Kill her, and take it as a trophy!

Harz grimaced, holding the side of his head with one hand and shaking it.

I’m not a killer. I’m a bad man, but I’m not a killer.

But you want to try it. You thirst for it. For vengeance…and power…against a world that has done nothing but wrong you.

As the voice hissed inside his mind, Harz felt his right arm begin to burn, forcing him to reach outward against his will. At the same time, the silver mask inside his satchel pulsed. The burn subsided before growing in strength again. Shadow seemed to coalesce in Harz’s outstretched hand, the form of that jagged black spear materializing from it.

Take the girl’s life. Feed me her soul, and I will give you a gift you could only dream of.

As the voice spoke, Harz reached his free hand into his satchel, fishing around for the mask. The resistance had been only slight, practically imperceptible, but it was there. And what little reason was left inside the man’s mind knew he only had one chance.

Harz let out a cackle as he stared at the menacing weapon in his hand.

“So that’s what happened! Who knew a spear could have so much power?”

Of course, I have power! I have more power than you will ever know!

“Tell me then,” Harz smirked. “Whom do I serve?”

A menacing chuckle echoed through the man’s mind.

I am chaos. I am storm. I am fury. I am war. Those who see me call me Ruin.

“Ruin…”

Harz yanked the mask from his satchel, pressing it up against the dark burn on his face. The voice in his head screeched.

What are you doing?!

The fury with which the sentient spear reacted was enough to make Harz’s head spin and his vision nearly go dark. Instead, however, he steeled himself, turning his back on the Xanomes knight who was beginning to stir. The darkness burned into his flesh clawed at him, as though beckoning him to turn around and run the girl through, but instead he took off at a sprint down the road.

I don’t know what you are. I don’t know why you demand what you do. But while even a fraction of me exists…if it’s war you want…this is a war I will wage…

No job involving the Nightwind Vale was meant to be easy, but Harz and his team quickly realize that they sorely underestimated their odds. Faced with certain death, Harz heeds the call of a sentient weapon that craves souls. Despite the dark influence already creeping through his mind, Harz makes a choice that defines who he is at his core.

---

The Black Cat

“Give us the cat, or get out.”

Just then, the sound of Loki’s voice echoed through Ehren’s mind.

It’s fine. You need your people. I’ll leave so I don’t cause any more trouble. I know when I’m not wanted.

A melancholy smile crossed Ehren’s lips. He didn’t know how the cat was speaking into his mind, but it was certainly more convenient than baring his soul in front of the whole assembly.

That won’t be necessary. We make quite the team, don’t you think? What do you say? Just two loners on the open road, seeing what adventure awaits us.

The man who had been after Loki frowned further at Ehren’s smile.

“What’s so amusing, bard?”

After a short pause, Ehren heard Loki’s voice in his head again.

Really? You really want to travel with me?

Why not?

One more pause, then, I…would really like to not be alone anymore. I guess you’ll do.

Ehren laughed audibly at the feigned disinterest. Quietly, he turned, sheathing his weapons and gathering his belongings before offering a hand to Loki, who jumped up lightly to perch on the top of his rucksack. Then Ehren turned to face the other members of the caravan.

“Well,” he said, offering them a smile, though he could feel the disdain lingering in it, “I suppose we’ll be off then. It’s nice to know the kind of people I’ve been traveling with. May the gods treat you as you have treated us.”

Several in the crowd shifted uncomfortably at the bard’s words but he paid them no further mind. With a flourishing bow, the half-elf did an about-face, continuing on down the road in the direction the caravan had been traveling that day.

When at last they were out of earshot, Loki at last spoke aloud again.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“What if…I really am bad luck?”

Ehren glanced over his shoulder at the little black feline perched atop his pack, then laughed openly.

“Well,” the half-elf answered, turning his eyes back to the dark road ahead of them, “then we can be bad luck together. It will be nice to not be alone in that endeavor.”

A night camping on the road to Xanom takes an interesting turn for the bard named Ehren in the form of a little black cat with a voice and an attitude. When faced with prejudice and a choice, Ehren chooses to stand up for what he believes in rather than stay in the safety of his companions.

---

The Kid (Part 1 of the Xerxes and Weiss stories)

“Oh, this?” he motioned up and down his body. “No, this is a…shall we say, a magical mishap? I’m actually 28.” He held his gauntleted hand out toward the mayor. “I’m Xerxes from the Crystal Archives.”

Madra narrowed her eyes suspiciously but bit back a grin at the air of nonchalant confidence the child was exuding amidst the angry mob and the disbelieving stares.

No way in hell that’s a grown man, the half-elf thought. This little shit is crazy. I like him.

All at once, the mob’s protests started up again, no doubt wanting something to be done to punish the boy for his transgressions, and Madra squared her shoulders, marching forward.

Kid is gonna get himself killed. Can’t have that. Fuck these gnomes.

Madra took Xerxes by the shoulder, shoving him behind her and using herself as a shield between him and the angry mob. The sight of the six-foot-tall half-elf looming over them with a glare that could kill was enough to silence the vast majority.

“Leave the kid alone and no one gets hurt,” she snarled, baring her teeth in an almost animalistic fashion.

“Well, I’m not actually…okay…” Xerxes began to say from behind her, though one look from Madra silenced his protests entirely.

The mob gathered around grumbled discontentedly between each other but, with an encouraging word from the mayor, they did at last disburse. With that settled, Madra did an about-face to take another look at her new charge. The boy visibly flinched, eyebrows knitting in concern as though he was expecting her to stab him in the process. When she didn’t, however, he cocked his head curiously up at her, that same look of innocent curiosity playing across his face and again reminding Madra of a puppy.

“Thanks for the help,” the boy said, holding his gauntleted hand out toward her. “I’m Xerxes. What’s your name?”

“That’s Madra,” the dwarf of the group noted as he walked by, clearly headed to the tavern. “Give it a minute and you’ll meet Weiss next.”

Xerxes turned in the direction the dwarf was headed, visibly confused.

“What do you mean?”

The dwarf laughed over his shoulder.

“Come hang out with us for a bit and you’ll figure it out.”

Madra didn’t take the boy’s hand, and she didn’t bother offering any kind of response to the dwarf’s quip. Weiss and Hope were safe, and she had fulfilled her duty to protect the innocent around her. She still wasn’t sure what to make of this boy named Xerxes. She definitely wasn’t sure that she believed he was an adult in a child’s body. But there was one thing she did take note of, and that was the innocent look of curiosity that glimmered in the boy’s bright teal eyes.

She had seen that look once, a long time ago…back before the tragedy that took away her family…back before she, Madra, came into being…back when they were whole. And it was for this reason she couldn’t help herself. She had to protect this crazy human child. She had to protect that little glimmer of hope and life she so rarely saw in a world torn apart by the horrors of the morgrim. She’d be damned if she let anyone, or anything, hurt this kid.

Nothing ever seems to go right for arcane inventor Xerxes, a man-turned-boy thanks to a magical mishap. When yet another endeavor goes comically wrong, Xerxes finds himself at the mercy of a mob of angry gnomes and a group of curious adventurers, namely one not-so-typical Sinti warrioress.

---

Trials of Khul

A wail of rage and anguish broke through the still night air, followed by a loud crack, and Xerxes glanced up to see Madra standing in front of the door leading into the pyramid, fisted hand pressed against the stony surface and bleeding from the impact of her strike. Her eyes held the fire of fury, but tears streamed down her sand-caked face.

“Why?” the half-elf fumed. “I tried. I tried so hard. But again…”

Xerxes glanced down at the now inert crystal in his hand and sighed before pocketing it and trotting up to where Madra stood. He reached up, taking her bloodied hand and pulling it away from the pyramid door as he activated his gauntlet. For a moment, the pair stood in silence as the last of the healing magic stored in Xerxes’ gauntlet washed through Madra’s wounds. Then, the woman’s legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to her knees in the cold sand. The hard edges of her face softened as her tears flowed freely down her face, dark amethyst eyes staring blankly in front of her.

“We…did everything we could. We finally gave it our all. But it still wasn’t enough…”

Her voice was soft and distant, like a child lost in the dark. Quietly, Xerxes squatted down in front of her.

“Weiss?” he questioned.

The woman turned toward his voice, her eyes refocusing to make contact with his.

“Yes?”

Xerxes offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Welcome back,” he said, holding a hand out toward her. “How about we get out of here, yeah?”

The half-elf hesitated, then slowly reached out, placing her hand in his and allowing him to help her back up. She nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

The Wailing Desert. It is a region known for its mystery…and its danger. When one of Xerxes’ and Weiss/Madra’s companions wanders into the legendary Pyramid of Khul, Weiss is forced to face the guilt of her past and the reality that not everything can be changed just by being stronger or braver.

---

Reforged

For a moment, the woman glanced back toward the forge where Xerxes had created her gauntlets. As she turned, some of the cooling embers snapped, sending bright sparks arching upward. The motion triggered something deep inside of her, casting her back into a familiar, foggy void. This time, however, she watched the sparks.

The tiny orbs of light danced through the darkness, leaving faint trails of light in their wake, and as they moved, Weiss noticed the vortex around her begin to still and the fog begin to retreat. Like fireflies on a clear summer night…or had the sparks actually become fireflies?…the light bobbed its way toward a half-elf woman and a child of identical appearance protecting the flame of a tiny candle. Madra…and Hope…

Weiss watched the sparks encircle the flame, and Madra and Hope stood back as the fire lept forward, the candle transforming into a warm campfire in front of them. With the fog now gone, the trio found themselves standing in a quiet forest. No longer did the trees look dead, gnarled, and menacing. No longer did an angry wind howl. No longer did the fog place an impenetrable veil between them.

Hope let out a giggle of glee, chasing after the sparks that had become fireflies amidst the peaceful forest. Nearby, Madra took a step back, resting one hand on the hilt of her rapier as she cast her gaze skyward. Weiss followed her gaze, up to a bright night sky blanketed with stars.

“Hey,” Madra’s voice called to her, breaking through the stillness. “You find it? What you were looking for.”

Weiss turned to her, blinking. Then she glanced down at the gauntlets on her hands and she smiled.

“I think…I did,” she responded at length. “For the first time in so long, I feel…whole.”

Madra grunted.

“What does that mean?”

Weiss contemplated the question before pressing her hands to her chest, closing her eyes as she processed the emotions swirling inside and around her. She could feel the rhythm of her own heartbeat there, but one hand felt warmer than the other, and when she opened her eyes again, she found herself blinking in early morning light, hand-in-hand with Xerxes as he prattled on about the Crystal Archives. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Weiss could still feel the presence of Madra and Hope. Perhaps they would always be there, but she no longer felt lost and disoriented because of it.

So many people had asked her to change, had tried to “fix” her in her brokenness. But here was Xerxes, happily inviting her into his life, not asking her to change, just offering to share the journey with her as they looked forward to what the future might have to offer.

Weiss smiled, then laughed slightly.

What did it mean to feel whole? It meant knowing she was broken and yet also understanding that by her side was a person who could look at the broken things and see all the potential they had in store. It was the most peace she had felt in years, and in this moment, the future had never felt so bright.

The loss of a comrade in the Pyramid of Khul has left Weiss reeling but, with it, the lingering realization that no matter how hard she fights, not everyone can be saved. When Weiss is at her lowest, hope is rekindled as Xerxes invites her to be part of his work and join him in the illustrious Crystal City of Sati.

---

Cavalier Romance

It took a moment for Oriel’s mind to process what had just happened, but when the dust cleared, he found himself staring up at Adonia, one boot pressed to his chest and the tip of her sword pressed into the tender flesh beneath his chin. She grinned broadly, hazel eyes dancing with amusement.

The roar of the crowd in the stands was deafening, even from this distance, and Oriel couldn’t help but accept the truth. He had been squarely beaten by Adonia Kallis.

Sword still pressed to his throat, Oriel watched as Adonia leaned forward, resting the elbow of her shield arm against her knee. She stared at him curiously for a moment. Then she said the absolute last thing the young knight expected to come out of the girl’s mouth.

“You’re cute,” she said, her grin broadening. “How about drinks after this?”

Oriel blinked back up at her, for a moment absolutely dumbfounded. Then, he started to laugh. It was the most heartfelt laugh he had experienced in a very long time. He raised an eyebrow at her and glanced between her face, her sword, and the boot still pressed to his chest.

“Can I at least get out of the dirt first?” he asked.

Now it was Adonia’s turn to blink back at him for a moment.

“Oh! Right! Sorry.”

Oriel relaxed slightly as the girl’s boot lifted from his chest and the sword moved away from his throat. He sat up, bruised and covered in sand but also highly amused by the girl who stood unabashed in front of him. Meanwhile, the shouts of the crowd had eased into an excited hum, and a quick glance through the crowd revealed more than one blushing face as girls giggled between each other. Off in the seats next to the men’s dressing room, Oriel could see his companions talking excitedly amongst themselves and sending him teasing glances. He could only imagine how that must have looked.

“Hey.”

Oriel glanced up at the sound of Adonia’s voice, and he turned to find her hand outstretched, offering to pull him up off the ground. He smiled, grateful for the assistance under the weight of his armor and the disorienting impact he had just endured.

“I think I’m going to have sand in my armor ’til I retire,” Oriel laughed sheepishly, rolling his shoulders and listening amusedly to the hiss of sand raining down his back.

Adonia laughed in return, a rich, open laugh that made the earlier defeat feel less chafing.

“You’re welcome for the souvenir,” the girl said, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder and leaning into him slightly. “Something to remember me by.”

She gave him a flirtatious wink, then stepped back as a referee came to fetch her, motioning for him to follow her to a dais set up above the arena to accept her reward as the winner of the tournament. As Adonia turned to walk away, however, she called over her shoulder, “Crimson Shield at sunset!”

Oriel smiled back and nodded.

“I’ll be there!”

For an orphan from the Lower Ward of Xanom, to become a knight was one of Oriel Shiloh’s greatest accomplishments. What starts as a simple competition to pass a day off ends in a date with the last girl Oriel ever imagined befriending: Adonia Kallis, a descendant of one of the most famous knights and lords of the Xanomes Kingdom.