“Now,” he called, “who’s ready for a tale worth the walk?”
Laughter rippled through the night.
Children gathered at Amerei’s feet, a few familiar from the fountain, their eyes wide. She looked up as Viktor came, kissed her hair, and sat beside her.
All eyes turned to Gabriel, haloed by firelight.
“My name is Gabriel Feindoran,” he said, voice carrying.
“And yes—I am an elf.”
Laughter again, lighter.
Gabriel let it fade, his grin sharpening.
“But tonight, I’m only the teller of the tale. The man you came to see—the name that walked this road—is here.”
He lifted a hand toward Viktor.
“High-Captain Viktor Seraphim. Your kinsman. Your defender. The one who walked through fire and carried it home.”
The crowd shifted, murmurs rustling like wind in grass.
Viktor kept his eyes on the flames, as though deaf to it—but Amerei felt the squeeze of his hand on her knee.
“I met him at enlistment,” Gabriel said. “A day’s ride from here. No human would spar with me. But Tory Seraphim? He wasn't afraid.”
A smirk tugged at Viktor’s mouth.
“Some of you think you’ve seen Tory fight. But until you’ve watched him charge a dragon with a princess at his back—” Gabriel paused, firelight flickering on eager faces “—you’ve seen nothing.”
Amerei lowered her gaze, a smile touching her lips.
“The usurper queen invoked Vykenraven,” Gabriel said, voice dropping. “A spell to twist the mind. She trapped us in Castle Rhidian’s Grand Hall. Doors locked. Torches out. No weapons. Not a prayer.”
He let silence stretch. The crowd leaned closer.
“Strange magic. Offerings to forgotten gods. And then—Zeporah summoned a dragon.”
Gasps stirred. A child pressed into his mother’s skirts.
Amerei’s fingers tightened over Viktor’s, memory of smoke rising in her chest.
“Only Tory Seraphim could save us,” Gabriel said, firelight reflected in his hazel eyes. “He let his Endowment rise. Faced the beast. Tore down the wall. Rocks fell, fire seared his skin—and still he stood.”
A hush fell over the crowd, the night holding its breath.
“I’ll never forget his screams when the flesh tore from his back,” Gabriel went on, quieter now. “Tory didn’t want to live. Until… he saw her. Amerei. Princess of Casqadia.”
The villagers hushed, eyes flicking between them.
A murmur passed. She met their gazes unflinching.
“Their love survived the Vykenraven,” Gabriel continued, “and it will endure the battle to come. Remember this—Tory Seraphim, son of Aerdania, husband to the Casqadian queen. Ruakite guardian—Endowed to avenge his people.”
The yard stilled. Whispers swelled, then cheers, until the hill rang with it.
Issachar watched from his stone seat, eyes shining as the crowd roared. Pride and worry warred in his gaze, but he did not look away.
