Mira, ever the saint, had prepared for the inevitable fallout. The hearth was roaring, the tables were set with bread, cheese, and water pitchers that steamed faintly with mint. And upstairs, the heroes of Thornmere were beginning to stir.
Borin was the first to make noise — a low, pained groan that could have been mistaken for an avalanche.
Borin: “Who put anvils in me skull?”
Garruk (half-buried under a blanket on the floor): “You challenged me to a drinkin’ duel, remember?”
Borin: “Aye… who won?”
Garruk: “Nobody.”
Borin: “Then call it a tie and fetch me water.”
From the next room came a loud crash, followed by Vex’s voice — perfectly awake, perfectly unimpressed.
Vex: “Lazandros, if you ever tell me again that glitter is an acceptable breakfast condiment, I will personally sew your tail to your coat.”
Laz (groggy): “In my defense, it was festive.”
Vex: “So is your funeral, if I have my way.”
Her tail flicked past the doorway as she emerged, still radiant even in disarray — hair slightly mussed, dress replaced with a crimson dressing robe, horns polished to defiant perfection. She surveyed the room, sighed dramatically, and announced:
“The company survives yet another battle. Barely.”
At the far table, Arden sat with her hair loose, robe soft and luminous in the morning light. She sipped tea that glowed faintly with healing magic and looked, annoyingly, completely composed.
Arden: “You all look dreadful.”
Vex: “We call it post-victory fatigue, darling.”
Arden: “I call it divine retribution for hubris and tequila.”
Across from her, Kaer sat impeccably straight, already cleaned and dressed — not because he hadn’t drunk, but because years of legion discipline refused to let him look anything less than composed.
Kaer: “You’re all children.”
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Borin (half-asleep at the table): “Aye, but happy ones.”
Elyra bounded down the stairs next, radiant as the morning itself. The faint gold runes from her gown still shimmered across her hair like leftover starlight.
Elyra: “Good morning!”
(Half the table groaned.)
Elyra (smirking): “You all look like you fought a troll.”
Vex: “Worse — nobles.”
Elyra giggled and slid into the seat beside Sereth, who had only just emerged — barefoot, hair loose, still wearing the faintest trace of last night’s silver perfume.
Even in her fatigue, she looked impossibly graceful — the huntress in repose, softer but no less commanding.
Elyra grinned. “You still look like the prettiest person in the world.”
Sereth (smiling): “Flattery will get you breakfast.”
Elaris followed soon after, sleeves rolled up, his composure restored but eyes softer than usual. He moved with quiet ease, pouring himself tea and surveying the room with a smile that was all warmth, no duty.
Elaris: “I see the heroes of Thornmere survived their night of peace.”
Vex: “Barely. If there’s another toast in my lifetime, I’m smiting whoever proposes it.”
Laz: “I propose a toast.”
Vex: “Die.”
Pancake appeared atop the bar with the dramatic timing of a seasoned performer, tuxedo slightly rumpled, bowtie askew, fur shimmering faintly violet in the sun. He yawned, stretched, and looked around as if expecting applause.
Mira set down a saucer of honeyed milk beside him. “Your majesty’s usual?”
The purple weasel sniffed regally and began drinking, tail flicking with pride.
Kaer, deadpan: “He’s still smug about last night.”
Elyra (giggling): “He beat you fair and square.”
Kaer: “He’s a weasel.”
Vex: “And yet somehow more fashionable than you.”
Kaer: “I’m reconsidering my career choices.”
Later that morning, when the laughter faded to quiet chatter, Sereth and Elaris stepped outside with their mugs of tea. The air was crisp, sunlight warming the rooftops, the smell of bread and chimney smoke rising through the streets.
They stood in silence for a while — the kind that needed no words.
Sereth: “Feels strange, doesn’t it?”
Elaris: “What does?”
Sereth: “Waking up without the world ending.”
He looked at her, then out at the town — the laughter drifting faintly from inside, the sunlight painting everything gold.
Elaris: “I could get used to it.”
Sereth: “Careful. The gods might hear you.”
Elaris: “Let them.”
She smiled softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “If this is the calm before the next storm, I’ll take it.”
He rested his hand over hers. “So will I.”
Inside, Elyra’s laughter rang out again — bright, alive, unstoppable.
The others joined in, one by one.
And for a rare, perfect morning, Thornmere was a home filled with warmth instead of worry.
Heroes, for once, not as legends or saviors — just family.
The fire crackled. The day began. And for now, the world was kind enough to let them rest.