The room erupted into cheers and thunderous applause as Matthew and Rose were pronounced husband and wife. Joy swelled in every heart as the couple sealed their vows with a tender kiss, their hands clasped tightly as if promising never to let go. Time seemed to pause for a moment—just long enough for everyone present to absorb the beauty of the union they had just witnessed.
With radiant smiles, the newlyweds turned to face their guests, who rose to their feet in a standing ovation. Rose's cheeks were flushed with happiness, and Matthew's grin could have rivaled the sun. Arm in arm, they walked down the aisle beneath a soft cascade of flower petals, showered in well-wishes and laughter. As they stepped into the warm glow of the afternoon light, Rose's baby bump became visible beneath the elegant lines of her fitted ivory gown—a quiet but powerful symbol of the life they were building together.
As the newlyweds stepped into the carriage, Luna swooped overhead with a proud hoot, circling once before perching on the archway above the chapel door. Moren smiled at the familiar sight, giving her companion a brief nod of appreciation. Even Luna seemed to understand the significance of the day.
Outside, a silver-trimmed carriage waited to carry them to the reception, its doors adorned with white lilies and satin ribbons. The gentle clatter of hooves on cobblestones mixed with the lingering cheers of their loved ones, a joyful soundtrack to the start of their next chapter. The sun shone gently down upon them, the sky clear and blue—an absolutely perfect spring day.
Moren had to suppress a laugh as Mika sobbed dramatically into a handkerchief, declaring through hiccupped breaths that her "baby boy was all grown up." Standing beside her, Veska gently patted the Half-Elf woman on the back, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. "He's not moving to another plane, Mika," Veska murmured, her voice laced with teasing affection. "He's just getting married."
"Oh, don't you start with me," Mika sniffled, dabbing at her eyes. "First, he moves out, now he's a husband, and soon he'll be a father! I blinked, and it all just happened!"
Moren smiled fondly at the scene, her heart warmed by the chaos and closeness of her family. These moments—messy, emotional, loud—were the ones that reminded her why she had fought so hard to rebuild her life. The darkness of her past felt a little further away today.
After thanking the cleric for performing the ceremony, she spotted the best man, a "young" Dwarf, Thrain Stonebeard. The Dwarf was Matthews's best friend despite the significant age difference. His black hair was clean and tied back in a dwarven braid. The dwarf was talking to a coworker momentarily before walking towards Moren.
"Ye did well, lass," Thrain began, his voice rough as mountain stone but laced wi' pride. His eyes twinkled beneath his bushy brows. "Color me impressed, Moren. Ye bested a bleedin' wyvern an' still managed ta look like a proper lady fresh from the high courts. Ha! That takes more than just swingin' steel—it takes grit an' grace!"
"Thank you," Moren smiled. "Though couldn't have done this without your help to get Matthew ready for today." She gave the Best man a polite bow of the head. "You helped keep everything running smoothly today." Rose and Matthew were incredibly nervous as they prepared for the big day. It took some comforting words from Moren and Thrain to calm their jitters and get them to the altar.
Thrain let out a deep, hearty laugh that rumbled like thunder in a mine shaft. "Aye, well, a weddin's its own kind o' battle, I s'pose. But I reckon yer more used tae fights that don't end wi' dancin' an' cake," he said, strokin' his thick beard wi' one hand while the other rested atop his round belly.
"A bit, yes," Moren agreed, her tone thoughtful. "But there is something to be said for the battles that end in peace and happiness, isn't there." She remarked as the guests were starting to head to the reception. "We better get to the reception before Rose and Matthew start getting anxious."
"Ye've got a point," Thrain rumbled, jerkin' his thumb toward the door. "Lead the way, lass." He looked up at Moren, his gaze steady and curious. "I'd be keen tae hear some o' yer tales later—'specially the ones wi' monsters, magic, an' mischief."
"We'll see," Moren replied with a wink. "Let's take care of the bride and groom, and then we can talk later."
"Aye," Thrain grunted in response as he headed for the waiting carriage.
The reception hall was buzzing with chatter and people searching for their assigned tables when they arrived. Moren was escorted to the head table by Mika, where Rose sat with a beaming grin.
She approached the table, picked up her glass of wine and knife, and tapped the side until everyone went quiet. Moren stood beside Rose, radiant in her wedding gown, and felt a swell of affection for her sister-in-law. Holding her glass aloft, she took a deep breath and began.
"Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate something truly magical—no, not the kind of magic I usually deal with," she said, earning a ripple of laughter from the guests. "But the magic of love, of friendship, and of two souls finding each other in this vast, unpredictable world."
Moren paused, her voice softening. "I've known Rose for a few months now, and I can say without a doubt that she is one of the most kind-hearted and determined people I've ever met. She has this incredible ability to light up any room she walks into, to make you feel like you're the most important person in the world by listening and caring. She's a true friend, a fierce protector, and now, a loving wife."
Moren turned her gaze to Matthew, who sat beside his bride, his eyes full of admiration. "And Matthew, I've seen how much joy you've brought into Rose's life. You've given her the kind of love and partnership that everyone dreams of, and we are all deeply grateful for that. I can see how you look at her and cherish her, and I know she's found her perfect match."
Moren took a moment, letting the weight of her words settle in the room. "Love is a journey, not always easy, but always worth it. And I know that the two of you will face every challenge, every joy, and every moment of this life together with the same strength and grace that has brought you here today."She raised her glass higher, her voice clear and strong. "So, let's raise our glasses to Rose and Matthew. May your lives be filled with endless laughter, unwavering support, and a love that grows deeper with every passing day. To the happy couple!"
The room echoed with the sound of clinking glasses and joyful cheers as Moren sat down, her heart full, knowing she had spoken from the depths of her soul for her new Sister-in-Law, Rose.
From her perch near the rafters, Luna let out a soft hoot, as if punctuating Moren's words with an avian seal of approval. A few guests glanced up, smiling at the noble owl who seemed just as invested in the celebration as the rest of them.
Moren glanced over to see Mika wiping her eyes with a cloth and beaming with motherly pride, sitting next to her Aunt and Uncle. Jace and Heiko nodded in approval, her young niece and nephew clapping loudly and letting out whistles. Jaycen gave her a wink, and Veska gave her a thumbs-up. Moren gave them a smile and sat down as it was now Thrain's turn.
Thrain Stonebeard stood atop his seat, his broad chest puffed out with pride as he looked around the room filled with friends, family, and well-wishers. The wedding feast's clamor quieted as he cleared his throat, raising his tankard in one hand.
"Ladies an' gents, if I could steal yer attention for just a wee moment," Thrain began, his voice rollin' across the room like a drumbeat in a stone hall. "Today, we gather tae celebrate somethin' truly rare—somethin' forged not in the fires of battle or beneath hammer and anvil, but in the quiet strength o' love an' friendship."
He raised his mug slightly, eyes gleamin' beneath his thick brows.
"I've known young Matthew fer many a year now, an' let me tell ye—there's no finer lad tae have at yer side, whether ye're facin' a line o' orcs or just need help patchin' a leaky roof. He's got heart, honor, an the stubbornness only a good man could pass down."
He cast a fond glance at Matthew, who sat beaming beside his radiant bride, Rose.
"Matthew's the kind o' lad who'd give ye the shirt off his back if ye needed it—and the boots too, if ye asked real nice," Thrain said with a chuckle. "He's loyal tae a fault, stubborn as a mountain mule, and got a heart bigger than the mines o' Dwarvenhaven. And let me tell ye—that's rarer than mithril these days."
He paused, eyes glintin' with a mix of mischief and deep affection.
"Now, I've seen Matthew in all kinds o' situations—some we'd best not mention in polite company," he added with a knowing wink, drawing a ripple of laughter from the crowd. "But through thick and thin, he's been a man of his word, a true friend, an' a brother in every way but blood. And today—he's proven again he's got more courage than most, marryin' a lass as fierce and strong-willed as our dear Rose."
Turning to Rose, Thrain nodded with genuine respect. "Rose, ye've found yerself a man who'd move mountains for ye—aye, literally, if he had the means. And Matthew, ye've found a woman who'll stand by yer side through storm and shadow. The two of ye together? That's a force even the gods might think twice about crossin'."
Thrain's voice softened as he looked back at Matthew, pride written plain as daylight on his face. "Matthew, it's been an honor standin' with ye today as yer best man—just as it's been an honor callin' ye friend all these years. Ye've found the one who makes yer heart-whole, who brings out the best in ye, and by the stone, I couldn't be happier."
He raised his tankard high, voice booming with warmth and finality. "So here's tae Matthew an' Rose! May yer days be filled wi' joy, yer love as unshakable as the bedrock beneath our feet, and may ye always find strength in each other—no matter what the world throws yer way. And may the gods bless ye with a big ol' house for all the wee lads an' lasses ye're bound tae raise!"
He grinned wide. "To the bride and groom!"
The room erupted in cheers as Thrain clinked his tankard against Matthew's glass, his heart swelling with the warmth of friendship and the joy of seeing his dear friend embark on this new journey.
The tables soon overflowed with food, and the room echoed with the buzz of multiple conversations and laughter. People from all corners of the large hall shared stories and congratulated the Bride and Groom, filling the atmosphere with joy and celebration. Moren indulged in the delectable cuisine while participating in the celebration.
It had been four months since Moren's near-fatal encounter with the wyvern—a brush with death that still haunted her dreams. The break that followed after their return from Kymera was more than welcome. She barely had time to catch her breath before Mika and Heiko descended upon her with fussing and firm words, courtesy of Veska and Jaycen, who had wasted no time in ratting her out.
Ever the pragmatist, Lucius made a hasty retreat, claiming he needed to report the loss of his fellow Hunters to the Order and would return in a few weeks. True to his word, he did.
In the meantime, Moren resumed work at a cautious pace, taking on a few more measured contracts under Lucius's watchful eye. Heiko, ever suspicious and protective, double-checked the information on every job before giving her blessing—or a sarcastic warning. Veska joined most of the missions, too, as backup and as her older sister, silently watching over her like a hawk with a blade.
Jaycen came when he could, balancing their adventures with intense training in combat medicine. He had grown focused—driven, even—committed to earning his place as a field physician, someone who could save lives both with a blade and with a healer's hand.
Upon returning to Ethos, Moren found herself swept up in a whirlwind of wedding preparations. It was an abrupt shift from her recent adventures but one she welcomed with open arms. The change of pace—laughter instead of swordplay, ribbons instead of spellbooks—was a rare comfort. She was enjoying the time with her family, even if the chaos was of a different kind.
Three days before the ceremony, Veska declared—with great fanfare and a raised glass—that the bridal party needed a proper girls' night. "It's tradition," she insisted, draping an arm around Moren's shoulders. "Sacred rite of passage. You don't want the gods mad at us for skipping it, do you?"
That evening, the five women—Moren, Veska, Rose, Mika, and Heiko—gathered at one of Ethos's finer taverns, The Gilded Acorn, known for its spiced lamb, warm bread, and mellow honeywine. The group was dressed to the nines, each of them having taken time to style their hair and don a splash of color, even Moren, who'd traded her usual travel-worn cloak for a deep crimson blouse and fitted black trousers. Veska wore a glittering green jacket over a low-cut vest and slacks tucked into boots, while Heiko opted for a deep blue dress with slits that made it clear she could still pull a knife at any moment.
They sat at a round table near the hearth, a pitcher of fruit-laced wine between them, and laughter rolled from the table in waves. They swapped stories—some heroic, some embarrassing, and some unsuitable for retelling within temple walls. Rose listened with amusement, sipping water and occasionally chiming in with dry observations that made everyone laugh harder. Despite her usual calm, Mika was red-faced after Veska brought up an old story involving a botched healing spell and a very angry goose.
When they made their way to the Bent Wench, the tavern was alive with music and dancing. Lanterns hung from the rafters in colored glass, casting golden and violet hues over the mismatched tables and plush chairs. A bard with a mandolin strummed a lively tune on stage while dancers worked the floor, gathering coin and compliments alike.
Heiko, already two glasses past "confident," tossed back the rest of her drink and slammed her cup down with a grin. "I'll sing if Mika sings."
"I am not—" Mika began, but Heiko dragged her toward the stage.
Cheers erupted as the two climbed up. Heiko twirled dramatically, nearly falling into the bard, while Mika muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience. The song they chose was an old tavern tune about a pirate queen and her string of lovers. Heiko sang loud and proud, hamming it up with flourishes and hip shakes, while Mika—deadpan—harmonized with surprising skill. The contrast between them only made it better.
Back at the table, Moren was laughing so hard she nearly cried, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. She didn't notice the approaching figure until a low, husky voice murmured near her ear, "Care for a private show, gorgeous?"
Moren blinked, startled—then immediately flushed as she turned and found herself looking up at a tall, curvy woman with powerful arms and a confident smirk. Her deep brown skin was adorned with intricate inkwork: vines, wolves, and constellations winding over her shoulders and down one bicep, partially revealed by her sleeveless crimson wrap. Her thick, muscular thighs were visible through slitted pants made for both style and mobility and her eyes—one pale gray and the other hazel—held a teasing glint that sent Moren's thoughts scattering.
Moren shot a bewildered look at Veska, who simply raised her glass with an unrepentant grin. "Just a little thank-you for being alive."
The dancer extended a hand, and Moren, feeling both flustered and flattered, allowed herself to be led to a secluded table in a softly lit corner of the tavern.
Luna, who had loyally followed Moren to the Bent Wench and taken up a spot near the rafters, tilted her head inquisitively as her mistress was led off to a secluded table by the sultry performer. The owl gave a soft hoot, somewhere between concern and curiosity, before resuming her silent vigil—though her eyes never left the pair.
The performance was nothing short of magnetic. The dancer moved with a panther's grace and a brawler's strength—fluid, powerful, and grounded. Every sway of her hips, every deliberate flex of her sculpted arms, made it clear she knew exactly what effect she was having on her audience. She twirled, dipped, and strutted with purpose, teasing without ever crossing into vulgarity, making Moren's face burn hotter by the second.
At the finale, she stepped in close—just shy of touching—and whispered something low in a language Moren didn't recognize but somehow felt, like a purr against her skin. She pressed a kiss to Moren's knuckles, firm and warm, then turned and sauntered away, muscles shifting beneath inked skin with every step.
When Moren rejoined the table, her expression was dazed, and her voice was suspiciously quiet.
"You're welcome," Veska said again, smug as ever.
By morning, only Rose emerged hangover-free. Mika and Moren, both sporting pounding headaches and deeply embarrassed expressions, sheepishly admitted the night had been more fun than either of them expected. Luna, ever the vigilant familiar, hooted disapprovingly at Moren's antics and promptly demanded an excessive number of head pats as penance.
Moren sat quietly at the edge of the table, the din of laughter and clinking glasses fading into a soft blur as her gaze drifted toward the dance floor. Her half-finished wine sat untouched, her fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass. The scent of roasted herbs and candle wax hung in the air, but her mind was far away—back in the warm, amber-lit haze of the Bent Wench. She could still picture the dancer: strong, graceful, tattooed skin moving like poetry, muscles rippling beneath every step, and that soft, teasing smile that lingered far longer than it should have.
A part of her wondered if she'd ever see the woman again.
"Moren." A bump at her arm broke the reverie. Heiko's voice was quiet, but her eyes carried a knowing glint. "Don't drift too far."
Moren gave a sheepish smile, cheeks warm. "Just... thinking." Luna glided down from her perch and landed gently on the back of an empty chair beside Moren. The owl let out a quiet trill, nudging her arm with a feathery head, gently bringing her back to the present. Moren chuckled and gave her a scratch behind the head. "Thanks, Luna. I'm still here."
Before Heiko could reply, the lights dimmed slightly, and a familiar voice rang out from the stage.
"All right, all right, eyes over here!" Veska stood confidently under the glow of the chandeliers, flashing a grin as she signaled the band. The string players began to shift into a slower melody meant for hearts rather than heels.
"It's time for the bride and groom to share their first dance of the evenin'," Veska declared, her voice clear and proud. "Let's kick off this part o' the night with a proper romantic tune—sweet enough to make even the toughest warrior melt."
The music swelled, and a ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd as Rose and Matthew rose from their seats, hands clasped tightly together.
Moren straightened, her focus returning fully as she watched her brother lead his new wife to the dance floor. She let herself smile, truly smile, as they moved together beneath the soft golden lights. For now, the memories could wait.
Moren smiled as Matthew and Rose made their way to the dance floor and held each other close. Veska began singing, and the new couple started swaying to the music.
She watched Rose and Matthew sway across the floor, moving with a gentle rhythm only love could teach. Their smiles were soft, private things—meant only for each other—and the room faded away for a moment.
Moren's thoughts drifted, not back to battles or missions, but to Rylan.
Their time together had never crossed the threshold of romance, but that never diminished its meaning. Rylan had been a kindred spirit—someone who truly listened when Moren spoke about magic, monsters, and messy feelings she didn't always know how to name. She had a way of looking at Moren like she was more than just a warlock or a Ravenheart, more than blades and bargains and expectations. With Rylan, Moren had felt seen. Special.
And then, of course, there was her—the dancer with silver tattoos and a gaze like moonlight on steel. That night had been brief and fleeting, but it still lingered like a whisper in her mind. Moren hadn't seen her again, but something about that encounter had branded itself into her memory. Maybe it was the timing, the connection, the way it made her feel bold, beautiful, and wanted—all at once.
She hadn't been with anyone since. Not truly. Not beyond flirtations or fleeting looks. Part of her wondered if she was waiting for something... or someone.
Moren exhaled softly, pulled from her thoughts as the song ended, and the room erupted into cheers. She clapped along with the others, a smile returning to her lips—quieter now, touched with something a little wistful.
Moren had enjoyed a dance with her Uncle and laughed when her Aunt Heiko playfully cut in. She couldn't contain her amusement as she watched Tiele ask Veska for a dance, and the poor boy blushed like a ripe tomato. She danced a few more times before Thrain asked her to join him, and she happily obliged.
Moren awkwardly excused herself from the dance floor after her dance with Thrain, feeling slightly out of place despite the festive atmosphere when all the couples started dancing together. She found a quiet spot near the edge of the room where she could observe the ongoing celebration without being in the spotlight. The laughter and music filled the air, but Moren felt a sense of distance, her mind still lingering on the conversation with Rylan and the weight of the night's events.
She was lost in thought when she noticed Heiko and Mika approaching her a short time later, each with a knowing smile. "Moren, we'd like you to meet someone," Heiko said, her tone light and mischievous.
Before Moren could respond, an Elven woman stepped forward, gracefully emerging from the crowd like a shadow slipping between trees. She moved with effortless poise, each step quiet and deliberate, yet her posture had an unmistakable air of confidence. Her attire—an impeccably tailored forest-green tunic embroidered with delicate silver threads—glimmered subtly in the light, evoking the dappled shimmer of moonlight through leaves. The matching pants hugged her form without hindering movement, clearly designed with both ceremony and combat in mind.
The woman's olive-toned skin held a sun-kissed warmth, and her dark auburn hair was swept into a practical braid that hung over one shoulder. Sharp, symmetrical features gave her the look of a seasoned warrior-scholar, someone as likely to quote ancient poetry as to strike down an enemy with precision. A ceremonial dagger rested against her hip, its hilt wrapped in leather etched with vines.
Moren straightened instinctively, curiosity piqued. The Wood Elf's gaze flicked toward her—cool, assessing—but with the glint of a smirk at the corner of her lips. Whoever she was, she hadn't just come to watch the wedding.
Mika's eyes sparkled as she gestured to the stunning woman beside her. "I want you to meet someone special," she said with a sly grin. "This is Sylara, all the way from Sylvaen'thil. She's been eager to make your acquaintance."
Moren noted that Sylara's attire accentuated her fighter's build, with toned muscles that spoke of a life spent in training and combat. Despite her powerful presence, Sylara was noticeably shorter than Moren, standing at about 5'7", but she carried herself with such confidence and poise that her height seemed inconsequential.
Mika's eyes sparkled as she gestured to the stunning woman beside her. "I want you to meet someone special," she said with a sly grin. "This is Sylara, all the way from the Elven lands. She's been eager to make your acquaintance."
Sylara smiled, her gaze locking onto Moren's with an intensity that made Moren's heart skip a beat. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Moren Ravenheart," she said, her voice smooth and confident. "But I must say, their stories don't quite do you justice."
Moren felt a flush rise to her cheeks, caught off guard by the directness of the compliment. "I'm not sure about that," she replied, trying to find her footing in the conversation. "But it's a pleasure to meet you, Sylara."
"The pleasure is mine," Sylara responded, her hazel eyes twinkling with a playful challenge. "Would you do me the honor of a dance? I promise I'm a better partner than a certain dwarf we both know."
Moren couldn't help but chuckle at the remark, her initial awkwardness beginning to melt away. "I suppose I could give it another try," she said, feeling a spark of intrigue.
Without waiting for a second invitation, Sylara gently took Moren's hand, her touch firm yet soft. Despite the height difference, Sylara led Moren back onto the dance floor with the grace of someone accustomed to leading. The music had shifted to a slower, more intimate tune, and Sylara moved with the elegance of a seasoned warrior, her steps confident and fluid. Moren found herself quickly falling into rhythm with her.
As they twirled around the dance floor, Sylara playfully kept the conversation going. Her words were a mix of flirtation and charm, keeping Moren on her toes. "You're quite an enigma, Moren," Sylara said with a mischievous glint in her eye. She never took her gaze off of Moren's face. "Strong, gorgeous, and with a reputation that precedes you. I have to confess, I find that combination utterly irresistible."
Moren felt the warmth of Sylara's words and the closeness of their dance, a mix of excitement and curiosity blooming in her chest. "You're not so easy to read yourself," she replied, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect to meet someone like you tonight."
Sylara leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Isn't this the best part of these parties? You never know who might show up or what kind of trouble we could get into." She gestured towards the crowd, a mischievous glint in her eye.
The music continued to play, and Moren felt herself relaxing into the dance, enjoying the unexpected connection she was forming with Sylara. The night, which had started with farewells and awkward encounters, was now taking a turn she hadn't anticipated—and for the first time in a while, she found herself looking forward to what might come next.
As the dance between Moren and Sylara continued, the music seemed to slow, creating an intimate bubble around them. Moren found herself increasingly drawn to the Elven woman's confidence and charm, a connection building between them that was both exciting and unexpected. Sylara's light touches and flirtatious words had drawn Moren out of her earlier melancholy, replacing it with a sense of anticipation and warmth.
As the melody of the waltz wound toward its final notes, Sylara's eyes swept the room with casual ease. Her gaze briefly caught Veska's—standing off to the side with a small cluster of Moren's family. Their expressions ranged from amused to downright stunned. Veska arched a brow, her lips twitching as if fighting back a smirk.
Sylara's eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked back at Moren, who was still wrapped in the rhythm of their dance, blissfully unaware of the audience they'd drawn. Moren's cheeks were flushed, but whether from exertion or something else entirely, Sylara couldn't quite tell.
Leaning in just enough to brush her lips near Moren's ear, Sylara whispered, "You do realize half the room's watching us, right?"
The Wood Elf closed the space between them with a sudden, fluid motion. Moren barely had time to register the movement before Sylara's lips pressed against hers—soft but sure, a kiss that carried the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they wanted. Moren's eyes widened in shock, her breath catching, but her body betrayed her hesitation as she melted into the kiss, responding before reason could intervene.
In the shadows above, Luna ruffled her feathers dramatically, as if in scandalized protest at the boldness unfolding below. A couple of younger guests noticed and giggled at the expressive owl, who promptly turned away, fluffing up like a proper chaperone.
It only lasted a heartbeat, maybe two, but the world felt momentarily still when they parted. Moren blinked up at Sylara, her pulse racing. Her lips tingled, her thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in the wind. What lingered in her gaze now wasn't just surprise—it was a spark. A flicker of something dangerous. Something new.
Sylara's lips curled into a sly, knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief and pride. "Just wanted to see if the stories lived up to the reality," she whispered, voice low and warm.
A gasp somewhere behind them broke the silence. Moren turned to find Veska standing frozen, mouth slightly agape. Mika had a hand to her chest, scandalized but clearly intrigued. Jaycen looked like he didn't know whether to draw a sword or laugh. A few other guests exchanged glances, some smirking, others raising eyebrows as if a bet had just been won.
Veska was the first to recover, her expression shifting to one of amused disbelief. "Well, Moren, I didn't expect to see that tonight," she called out, her tone teasing but with an undercurrent of genuine surprise.
Moren slowly turned to face Veska, her lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss. She searched for the right words as a rush of emotions flooded her. "I-I didn't expect that," she stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of surprise and excitement. Her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, matching the butterflies in her stomach.
Sylara, ever the confident one, didn't miss a beat. "I thought it was the perfect way to end our dance," she said, her voice smooth and unapologetic. She glanced back at Veska and the others, a playful challenge in her eyes. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Veska chuckled, her head shaking in disbelief. "I'm with you on that one. I just hope Moren is prepared for the onslaught of questions she's about to receive."
Moren chuckled despite herself, the initial shock giving way to a bubbling sense of exhilaration. She glanced at Sylara, watching her with an almost predatory amusement, and then back at Veska and her family.
"Let them ask," Moren said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "I'm more concerned with getting to know this one a little better."
Sylara's lips parted in a wide, teasing grin as she squeezed Moren's hand gently. Her touch was warm—grounding—yet something electric was in it, like the hum of a spell about to be cast.
"Let's explore the night together," she whispered, her voice low and laced with promises—of laughter, discovery, something thrilling just beneath the surface.
Moren's breath caught. She met Sylara's gaze, caught between hesitation and a pull she didn't quite understand yet. The sparkle in the Elf's eyes was infectious, magnetic. There was no pressure in her tone, only invitation. The kind that could lead to a walk under the stars or a stolen kiss in the moonlight—or something more.
A flicker of nervous excitement stirred in Moren's chest, but she managed a small smile and nodded. "Lead the way," she said, her voice soft but steady.
As they stepped away from the dance floor, the soft glow of lanterns overhead seemed to dim, giving the illusion that the night was stretching out just for them—full of secrets waiting to be shared.
They moved in unison, their intertwined fingers swaying to the beat of the music as they made their way off the dance floor. As they passed by Veska and the rest of her family, they couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph and excitement for whatever was to come. The air was charged with anticipation as they disappeared into the crowd, leaving a stunned and amused audience behind. Moren's heart raced with exhilaration at the unknown possibilities that lay ahead.