No, Mira.I chastise myself. Letting out a heavy sigh, I try to remember what is really true. Unknown dangers, yes—but also family and love. Home.
Why is it that every parting leaves me so morose?
Leaning against the desk in the library, I want to hold on to the very walls and not let go.
When I left the village, I knew I’d never go back. When we rode through the night and the forest dwelling grew distant, it was clear—even if I did return, things wouldn’t be the same.
I look around the suite. The ancient carved wood of the bookcase, the rich tapestries in the bedchamber, the unwavering love of this place. I hold on to the comfort and tell myself:You will return.
Taking time to cherish the near-permanence of the manor, I make my way outside to the near edge of the valley. Not far off the manor property, I wander through the trees. I’d let Vale know I would be taking a little time for myself as preparations continued inside the residence.
There among the fallen trunks and freshly grown greenery, the cyclical nature—both fleeting and unmoving—is clearer than ever. Flowers may bloom and wilt, but the stones hold strong. Seasons change, but life goes on.
I had thought a walk along the edge of these woods might give me peace, but I cannot shake the restlessness. Shaking out my limbs does little to quell the sensation.
Any hints of magic are fainter now. My own muddled thoughts cloud the connection. I still feel a trace—more than I did before these changes—but the whispers of doubt stifle the song.
The mood carries through dinner. Ace’s eyes linger on me longer after he speaks. Be it sincere or comedic, he seems to be trying to hone in on how I react to each line with greater care. Soria appears to be reaching as well. When running through the preparations completed and those still remaining for morning, she quickly pivots to lighter matters, and I cannot help but believe it is for my sake.
It pains me that I do not seem to meet her effort the way she may hope. Sitting deflated, I cannot help but feel responsible for everyone’s mood. On our last night together at the manor, this is not how I want it to end.
“You know what we haven’t done in ages?” Vale speaks across the table. He directs it toward Soria and Ace, but the added performance in his voice makes it clear it’s intended for me. Our companions look to him expectantly.
“Poppy’s Pyre.”
Ace lights up so brightly at the mention that he rises, only to sink back into his chair as if melting. “Yes,” he draws out the word slowly, exaggerated.
Even Soria perks up, raising a cautious brow in Vale’s direction. “I think that may well be exactly what we need.” She lets out half a laugh and raises her glass. “To Poppy.”
The men join in, and I find myself asking the question only I don’t know the answer to.
“Who’s Poppy?”
Poppy, it turns out, was the runt of the litter—a pup that a young Soria grew particularly attached to in her youth. As Ace and Vale gather wood for the fire, I sit beside her while she shares the story.
“My mother scolded me when she caught me sneaking scraps to the poor thing. Its brothers and sisters kept pushing it out of the way when they fed. I pleaded that if not for me, it might die.” She looks down at the mug of ale in her hands, holding it—and the memory—tight. “She wasn’t unkind. Just… pragmatic. She told me that was the way things were sometimes.”
I watch her shake her head, her voice tugging me back to a time when so many were still stitching together a life from what the war had torn apart.
“But you know me,” she adds with a soft smile. “I get things done. Always have. And that pup, Poppy, turned out to be one of the best guardians we ever had.”
Emotion pools in her eyes before she looks away. “I was still a girl when we lost her. She died protecting the rabbits from a predator. Took a hit she never recovered from.” She lets out a heavy sigh at the memory, laced with pain and pride alike. “I was devastated.”
Ace sets down a large bundle of sticks to be stacked atop the heavier logs. “It broke my heart, seeing her like that,” he says, glancing at Vale. “We had to do something.”
“And that is why two grown men held a funeral for a dog,” Soria adds, smiling toward them. “For the love of a sister they claimed as their own.”
I can see it then—how far back their bond stretches. Not forged in palaces, but in backyards and sorrow and stubborn devotion.
“I was ready to hold a proper funeral in the yard,” Soria continues. “Gather flowers, say some words. My mother discouraged it. Said there was enough to mourn without shedding tears over an animal.” She swallows hard. “She wasn’t wrong. But still. I grew up in the shadow of grief… and in the glimmer of hope, alongside Aurienne.”
Vale and Ace begin piling the sticks into a tall peak. When Soria’s voice falters, Ace picks up the thread. “So we did what any big not-actually-brothers would do: we built the first Poppy Pyre. Gave her a sendoff with flair.”
“The first of many?” I ask, the idea of more losses sending a flicker of unease through me.
Vale answers gently. “The rest were ceremonial. We needed it, too, that night. Ace and I were older—young men trying to find our way in the aftermath of war. So every time we were all here at the manor together, we lit a pyre. A reminder to show up for each other, no matter what the world throws our way.”
I feel the warmth surround me long before the fire is ever lit. No wonder they said this was exactly what we needed.
