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Thalia scarcely had the luxury to revel in the tavern’s exuberance before the first sonorous toll of the bell cleaved through the merriment like a knife through silk.
The shift was instant. Laughter, once abundant, withered on startled lips, and the jubilant hum of conversation fractured into uneasy silence. The bell’s heavy knell curled through the rafters, sinking its weight into the marrow of those who listened. A shiver, unrelated to the chill seeping through the wooden beams, skated down Thalia’s spine. Around her, the tavern itself seemed to exhale, as if the very walls had drawn breath and now braced for what was to come.
Thalia sought out Aldrick, yearning to decipher any glimmer of recognition or comprehension etched upon his features. Being Aurelian as she was, he would intuitively grasp the gravity of the bell’s mournful toll; such peals were not summoned lightly nor without purpose. The palpable tension surged like wildfire among the patrons, their convivial spirits extinguished, replaced by an urgent whispering that coursed through the crowd. While some of the once carefree revellers murmured anxiously, others propelled themselves toward the door, only to be stymied by the guards' imposing figures filtering in to usher them back.
“For your safety, we ask that you shelter in place immediately…”
A lime-haired Blightborn cut through the murmuring patrons, her voice carrying above the mounting din. “Please make way for us to secure the Eye.” The words held no room for argument. The crowd shifted, tables scraping against the floorboards, creating an undulating wave of movement that reverberated through the tavern. Meanwhile, the fluidity with which the inn’s staff converged into their accustomed roles conveyed an unvoiced assurance: They had prepared for this.
Unlike her.
And yet, Thalia remained still.
In a singular, seething instant, the fiery-haired maiden grasped the woeful depths of her unpreparedness. She felt as if she had existed in a cocoon, shielded from the sinister realities that lurked beyond her sheltered existence. At her tranquil home, perils had always been dispatched long before they could cloud the noble ear with their menace. Yet, in the heart of Dawnhaven, the threat was visceral—immediate and relentless—clamouring for urgent reprisal.
And where was her father?
The thought struck like a stone against still water, rippling through Thalia’s mind with chilling clarity. She pivoted, her gaze sweeping across a sea of restless visages, each face reflecting the palpable dread of the moment. Lark—had he remained upstairs? And her father—had he even heard the bells? If something had gone wrong beyond these walls, she couldn’t afford to assume they were safe. Assumption was a luxury, one she no longer possessed.
Before she could second-guess herself, Thalia was moving.
A path carved itself before her—not through hesitation but through sheer purpose. Bodies shifted, and the crowd parted in half-formed recognition as she slipped past Sya and onto the stairs. Her boots barely made a sound against the wood as she took them two at a time.
With a muted thud, her soles struck the landing.
She did not pause to knock.
The door swung wide, propelled by a force that ushered a chilling gust into the cramped chamber, stirring the fire's dying embers.
Lark was already awake.
His shaggy coat bristled, his ears pricked and alert as he stood near the cot, tail low, his entire form taut with unease. His dark eyes met hers, and in them, she found confirmation—something was wrong.
Her father, by contrast, had barely stirred.
He let out a groggy, disgruntled grumble, shifting in the chair without fully lifting his head. “What in the—” His words slurred slightly, the deep grooves of exhaustion making him seem older in the dim firelight. He scrubbed a hand down his face, blinking blearily at her. “Damn bells. Thought I dreamt ‘em.”
Thalia scarcely registered his words, urgency propelling her across the room to Lark, who stood poised between instinct and training. She pressed a hand against his side, feeling the tremors that rippled beneath his coat. His ears flicked toward the window, nose twitching with anxiety. If the cacophony of alarms had not unsettled him, then surely something more sinister lurked beyond their temporary abode.
Regardless, Thalia turned back toward her father, jaw tightening. “You didn’t dream them,” she said. “There’s been an attack near the outskirts. The guards are locking down the square.”
The severity of her words roused him from his stupor, and he sat up straighter, expelling a sharp breath as his fingers traced soothing circles at his temple. “Shit.”
Lark let out a low whine.
Thalia cast a wary glance at the window, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The flickering lanterns outside illuminated shifting figures—guards moving swiftly, voices carrying commands. Doors were being barred, windows shuttered. The entire town was curling in on itself, bracing for something unseen.
She turned back to her father. “We should stay inside. They’re telling everyone to shelter in place.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, running a hand through his graying locks.“No point arguing with the town guard, then.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, yet a steely focus began to infiltrate his tone. “Damn shame. Just when I found my comfort.”
Thalia didn’t respond, her mind already cycling through the possibilities of what was unfolding outside. Her fingers twitched at her sides, restless.
Dawnhaven was prepared for this.
But was she?
With a determined shake, she cast aside her doubts and stepped back toward the door, her hand firm against the frame. The churning uncertainty within her was a sentiment she would rather dispel, for one truth remained steadfast in her heart.
Patience, she realized, had never been her virtue.
The shift was instant. Laughter, once abundant, withered on startled lips, and the jubilant hum of conversation fractured into uneasy silence. The bell’s heavy knell curled through the rafters, sinking its weight into the marrow of those who listened. A shiver, unrelated to the chill seeping through the wooden beams, skated down Thalia’s spine. Around her, the tavern itself seemed to exhale, as if the very walls had drawn breath and now braced for what was to come.
Thalia sought out Aldrick, yearning to decipher any glimmer of recognition or comprehension etched upon his features. Being Aurelian as she was, he would intuitively grasp the gravity of the bell’s mournful toll; such peals were not summoned lightly nor without purpose. The palpable tension surged like wildfire among the patrons, their convivial spirits extinguished, replaced by an urgent whispering that coursed through the crowd. While some of the once carefree revellers murmured anxiously, others propelled themselves toward the door, only to be stymied by the guards' imposing figures filtering in to usher them back.
“For your safety, we ask that you shelter in place immediately…”
A lime-haired Blightborn cut through the murmuring patrons, her voice carrying above the mounting din. “Please make way for us to secure the Eye.” The words held no room for argument. The crowd shifted, tables scraping against the floorboards, creating an undulating wave of movement that reverberated through the tavern. Meanwhile, the fluidity with which the inn’s staff converged into their accustomed roles conveyed an unvoiced assurance: They had prepared for this.
Unlike her.
And yet, Thalia remained still.
In a singular, seething instant, the fiery-haired maiden grasped the woeful depths of her unpreparedness. She felt as if she had existed in a cocoon, shielded from the sinister realities that lurked beyond her sheltered existence. At her tranquil home, perils had always been dispatched long before they could cloud the noble ear with their menace. Yet, in the heart of Dawnhaven, the threat was visceral—immediate and relentless—clamouring for urgent reprisal.
And where was her father?
The thought struck like a stone against still water, rippling through Thalia’s mind with chilling clarity. She pivoted, her gaze sweeping across a sea of restless visages, each face reflecting the palpable dread of the moment. Lark—had he remained upstairs? And her father—had he even heard the bells? If something had gone wrong beyond these walls, she couldn’t afford to assume they were safe. Assumption was a luxury, one she no longer possessed.
Before she could second-guess herself, Thalia was moving.
A path carved itself before her—not through hesitation but through sheer purpose. Bodies shifted, and the crowd parted in half-formed recognition as she slipped past Sya and onto the stairs. Her boots barely made a sound against the wood as she took them two at a time.
With a muted thud, her soles struck the landing.
She did not pause to knock.
The door swung wide, propelled by a force that ushered a chilling gust into the cramped chamber, stirring the fire's dying embers.
Lark was already awake.
His shaggy coat bristled, his ears pricked and alert as he stood near the cot, tail low, his entire form taut with unease. His dark eyes met hers, and in them, she found confirmation—something was wrong.
Her father, by contrast, had barely stirred.
He let out a groggy, disgruntled grumble, shifting in the chair without fully lifting his head. “What in the—” His words slurred slightly, the deep grooves of exhaustion making him seem older in the dim firelight. He scrubbed a hand down his face, blinking blearily at her. “Damn bells. Thought I dreamt ‘em.”
Thalia scarcely registered his words, urgency propelling her across the room to Lark, who stood poised between instinct and training. She pressed a hand against his side, feeling the tremors that rippled beneath his coat. His ears flicked toward the window, nose twitching with anxiety. If the cacophony of alarms had not unsettled him, then surely something more sinister lurked beyond their temporary abode.
Regardless, Thalia turned back toward her father, jaw tightening. “You didn’t dream them,” she said. “There’s been an attack near the outskirts. The guards are locking down the square.”
The severity of her words roused him from his stupor, and he sat up straighter, expelling a sharp breath as his fingers traced soothing circles at his temple. “Shit.”
Lark let out a low whine.
Thalia cast a wary glance at the window, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The flickering lanterns outside illuminated shifting figures—guards moving swiftly, voices carrying commands. Doors were being barred, windows shuttered. The entire town was curling in on itself, bracing for something unseen.
She turned back to her father. “We should stay inside. They’re telling everyone to shelter in place.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, running a hand through his graying locks.“No point arguing with the town guard, then.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, yet a steely focus began to infiltrate his tone. “Damn shame. Just when I found my comfort.”
Thalia didn’t respond, her mind already cycling through the possibilities of what was unfolding outside. Her fingers twitched at her sides, restless.
Dawnhaven was prepared for this.
But was she?
With a determined shake, she cast aside her doubts and stepped back toward the door, her hand firm against the frame. The churning uncertainty within her was a sentiment she would rather dispel, for one truth remained steadfast in her heart.
Patience, she realized, had never been her virtue.