The city gleamed in candlelight and gold, a thousand lanterns reflected in the polished river that cut through its heart. Music drifted faintly through the streets — strings, laughter, and the low hum of enchantment that made even the air feel alive.
The carriage bearing the Crimson Dice rattled over the cobblestones and drew to a stop before the Crystal Hall — a structure of pure enchantment and artistry. Its walls were carved glass, faceted like gemstones, and light refracted within it in rippling waves. The grand entrance shone with banners and silks that caught every flicker of torchlight, bathing the plaza in hues of amethyst and gold.
It was, in every sense, breathtaking.
And yet — it paled before the company that stepped from the carriage.
The first to emerge were Vex and Laz, because of course they were.
The Tiefling twins looked as if the night had been made for them. Vex’s gown was a masterpiece of infernal couture — black silk that shimmered red at the seams, her horns adorned with thin gold chains that draped like jewelry. Her crimson tail flicked lazily behind her, each motion deliberate, commanding attention.
Laz, ever the mirror and foil, wore a deep scarlet coat over black, a half-mask of onyx edged with gold. His horns had been polished to a dark gleam, and one curled ring caught the light as he smirked at the gathering crowd.
“Smile, dear brother,” Vex murmured, stepping into the torchlight. “They’re watching.”
“They always are,” Laz replied, bowing with exaggerated grace.
Next came Kaer, towering in his polished black coat and crimson trim, his bearing a blend of soldier and noble guardian. Arden followed, radiant in ivory and gold, her loose hair glowing with divine shimmer that made even nobles stop mid-conversation to stare.
Behind them, Borin and Garruk — one dour, one beaming — made their entrance like reluctant champions dragged into a ballroom. Garruk’s dark green formal coat strained against his shoulders; Borin’s cravat sat crooked, despite Vex’s earlier death glare.
Borin, muttering: “If anyone asks, I’m undercover.”
Garruk: “Aye? You blend in real subtle, friend.”
Borin: “Shut it.”
The nobles turned, whispering. Even the guards at the entrance blinked as they passed, uncertain whether to salute, bow, or prepare for chaos.
Then came Sereth.
When she stepped into the lantern glow, time stopped.
Her midnight gown shimmered like oil over starlight, hugging her form and flowing with impossible grace. The moon caught her hair as she moved, the silver filigree at her hem glowing faintly with runic starlight. Her mask — simple, sleek, and silver — framed eyes bright as tempered flame.
Every head in the courtyard turned. The murmurs rolled through the crowd like ripples on water. Even the orchestra paused, one note hanging in suspension.
Behind her, Elaris followed — black attire embroidered with faint lattice motifs, mask bone-white with mirrored silver veins. The necromancer and the huntress looked like something out of a myth: night and death hand in hand, beautiful and impossibly alive.
And at their side, Elyra — radiant in forest-green silk and soft gold, the runes in her dress faintly aglow with her own magic. She looked utterly mortal and utterly divine, wide-eyed with wonder. To her, it felt like a dream: her first true ball, her first glimpse at life untouched by loss.
Elyra, breathless: “It’s like being inside a star.”
Sereth: “Then shine bright, little hawk.”
Finally came Pancake — stepping out onto the cobblestones in his tuxedo, bowtie perfectly straight, whiskers gleaming with confidence.
A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd. Whispers followed him like a tide:
“Is that—?”
“It’s a weasel.”
“—in formalwear?”
Pancake ignored them all. He lifted his chin (or attempted to), straightened his tiny jacket, and strutted past the astonished guards like royalty.
The nobles parted before him. One bowed. Pancake nodded gravely in return.
Vex, whispering to Laz: “He’s stealing the show.”
Laz: “Let him have it. The bowtie’s flawless.”
Inside, the Crystal Hall was a living prism. The floor reflected the night sky through an open glass dome, each step sparking constellations beneath the dancers’ feet. Chandeliers floated like suspended galaxies, glowing softly in shades of gold and violet.
The air smelled of citrus, wine, and fresh roses. Enchanted music drifted from invisible instruments, a melody that shimmered like magic in motion.
The Crimson Dice entered, and conversation paused for the briefest heartbeat. They were out of place and yet belonged utterly — the scars of heroes hidden beneath finery, laughter carrying more truth than any courtly smile.
Elyra clutched Sereth’s arm, wide-eyed.
Elyra: “This… is amazing.”
Sereth: “Enjoy it, love. You’ve earned it.”
Elyra: “We all have.”
The evening unfolded like a dream made real.
Vex and Laz took to the dance floor first, naturally — spinning through the crowd in a flourish of tails, horns, and infernal grace. Nobles whispered, awed and scandalized.
Kaer stood near the edge, quietly ensuring no one got too close to Elyra, until Arden appeared at his side.
Arden: “You look like a statue, Kaer.”
Kaer: “Statues don’t spill wine on themselves.”
Arden, smiling: “Then prove you’re not one.”
Before he could protest, she pulled him onto the floor — and for the first time in living memory, Kaer danced. It wasn’t graceful, but it was sincere.
Borin and Garruk found the banquet table almost immediately, challenged the palace guard to a drinking contest, and — naturally — won.
Elaris spent a full twenty minutes politely evading a scholarly noble who wanted to debate “necromantic soul transference as divine recursion.” When he finally escaped, he found Sereth standing alone beneath a chandelier.
She turned, and even amid all the grandeur, the sight of her still stilled him.
Elaris: “You’re supposed to be resting, not hunting.”
Sereth: “I am hunting.”
Elaris: “For what?”
Sereth, smiling: “You.”
He took her hand. Together, they joined the dance. The world blurred — no war, no queen, no grief. Just rhythm and light.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Across the room, Pancake had drawn a crowd of admirers. Children and nobles alike gathered as he performed a series of twirls that could generously be described as “interpretive dance.”
Kaer watched, unimpressed.
Kaer: “He’s mocking me.”
Arden: “He’s dancing.”
Kaer: “He’s winning.”
When the nobles began to cheer, Kaer sighed, rolled his shoulders, and stepped onto the dance floor. The crowd erupted again as the half-orc barbarian and the purple weasel engaged in what would later be known as The Duel of Grace and Paw.
Pancake won by spinning between Kaer’s boots and dramatically collapsing onto his back in a bow. The applause was thunderous.
Kaer, muttering: “I let him win.”
Vex: “Of course you did, darling.”
The night grew older, but no one cared.
Elyra danced with Garruk (who was surprisingly light on his feet), then with Borin, then even with Laz, whose every step was perfectly theatrical. She laughed until tears glimmered in her eyes, until the ache in her chest was replaced with warmth.
Arden leaned against a pillar, watching, her golden eyes soft. “It’s been a long time since laughter sounded like that,” she murmured.
Sereth smiled. “Too long.”
And then, the orchestra swelled. The chandeliers dimmed. Lord Aurelthane himself — tall, graceful, all silver hair and ageless smile — stepped onto the dais with a glass of crystalline wine raised high.
“Friends, heroes, and legends!” he called, voice carrying through the hall. “To the Crimson Dice — the brave, the bold, the beautifully unpredictable! May your courage remind us that even in ruin, there can be joy.”
Applause thundered.
He waited for the cheers to fade — and then added, voice full of mischief:
“And to Sereth and Elaris — whose recent engagement was far too humble an affair for heroes of your stature!”
Gasps. Laughter. Cheers.
Elaris blinked. Sereth froze, eyes wide — then flushed scarlet.
Elyra clapped her hands and laughed so hard she nearly cried.
Borin and Garruk roared approval, pounding the table. Vex squealed. Pancake raised his glass of punch in solemn toast.
Sereth buried her face in her hands.
Elaris, laughing quietly: “Well. There goes subtlety.”
Sereth: “I am going to kill him.”
Elaris: “After the dance, love.”
He drew her close. The orchestra shifted into a slow, soft melody, and the crowd parted as they began to move — two shadows turned to light beneath the stars.
Somewhere near the banquet table, Pancake sighed dramatically and clinked his glass against Kaer’s.
Pancake (translated by Arden): “Honestly, they make this look easy.”
Kaer: “You’re still not the best dancer here.”
Pancake: “Debatable.”
Laughter filled the air again.
And for that one rare night, the Crimson Dice didn’t have to save the world.
They just had to dance in it.
The music faded slowly, as if the instruments themselves were reluctant to stop.
The chandeliers above dimmed to a soft amber glow, casting the Crystal Hall in warmth rather than splendor. The nobles were drifting toward the terrace now, laughter muted, the scent of champagne and roses mixing with cool midnight air.
The night had reached that rarest of hours — when celebration gives way to contentment.
At the edge of the grand terrace, Elyra leaned against the railing, eyes tilted toward the stars. The runes in her gown shimmered faintly like constellations answering back. Below her, the city glittered — lights mirrored in the slow bend of the river, a quiet current whispering through the dark.
She felt someone approach before she heard them.
Elaris, softly: “Couldn’t sleep?”
Elyra: “Couldn’t stop smiling.”
He smiled at that, leaning beside her. “Good. I was beginning to think we’d forgotten how.”
Elyra turned, studying his face — the faint lines, the shadow of exhaustion that even a celebration couldn’t erase. “You look… happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”
“Then tonight did its job.”
They stood there for a moment, in silence, the world still.
Elyra: “You and Sereth looked… perfect out there.”
Elaris: “She made me look good.”
Elyra: “She makes you laugh.”
He turned to her, brow arched. “You’re very observant.”
“I’m your daughter,” she said with a grin. “I know what you sound like when you’re pretending everything’s fine.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’ve been spending too much time with Arden.”
“Someone has to keep you honest.”
They shared a quiet smile, the kind that bridged lifetimes. Above them, the stars burned quietly — endless, forgiving.
Inside, Sereth stood near the banquet table, watching the last of the crowd drift away. Her heels were kicked off beside her; she’d surrendered to comfort, her dress now dusted with a fine sheen of starlight and wine.
Arden, approaching with two glasses: “Here. Something sweet before the night ends.”
Sereth, accepting one: “Bless you.”
Arden: “Not my department tonight.”
They drank in companionable silence.
Sereth: “When was the last time we weren’t covered in mud or blood?”
Arden: “I vaguely remember a picnic that went wrong.”
Sereth: “Right. The cursed ducks.”
They laughed softly — tired, genuine.
Arden: “You look radiant, Sereth.”
Sereth: “You look like a goddess.”
Arden: “That’s the lighting.”
Sereth: “No, that’s you.”
For a moment, there were no titles — no Ranger, no Cleric, no savior, no survivor. Just two women who had walked through hell and finally found a moment of stillness.
Near the center of the hall, Vex and Laz were still entertaining what remained of the crowd — performing what could only be described as an “improvised interpretive retelling of the Queen’s defeat” using scarves, exaggerated poses, and very unhelpful sound effects.
Vex: “And then I heroically stole the mirror.”
Laz: “Correction — we heroically stole the mirror while you screamed at a spider.”
Vex: “Artistic license, brother.”
Kaer, leaning against a column, muttered to Borin, “If the Queen ever sees this, she’ll smite them just for the performance.”
Borin: “Aye, but they’d look good doin’ it.”
Garruk laughed so loudly his glass shattered in his hand. “Worth it!”
And then — as though summoned by the very notion of comic timing — Pancake reappeared atop the grand piano, bowtie slightly crooked but pride entirely intact. He stood tall, puffed his chest, and raised a paw dramatically.
Vex: “Oh no. He’s about to make a speech.”
Arden: “He doesn’t even have a drink.”
Laz: “He doesn’t need one.”
Pancake chittered — an impassioned, drawn-out monologue that no one but Elyra and Arden could fully understand.
Elyra (translating, between laughs): “He says, and I quote, ‘Let this night be remembered as the dawn of refined taste and impeccable tailoring.’”
Borin: “He’s drunk.”
Elyra: “He also says Kaer dances like a golem.”
Kaer: “He’s dead.”
Laughter erupted again, rich and warm. Even Pancake basked in the applause, tail swishing regally.
When the final notes of music faded, and the guests began to leave, the Dice gathered by the doors, masks in hand.
Sereth took one last look at the ballroom — the lights, the laughter, the memory already softening into something golden.
Sereth: “It almost feels wrong to leave it behind.”
Elaris: “We’re not leaving it. Just carrying it with us.”
She smiled, leaning into him as they stepped out into the cool night air.
The road back to Thornmere shimmered under moonlight. The carriage rocked gently, the forest beyond the glass calm and silvered.
Inside, the Dice were half-asleep, half-drunk, entirely at peace.
Vex and Laz hummed a quiet tune — something halfway between a lullaby and a tavern song.
Borin and Garruk snored in harmony.
Kaer watched the trees slip by, the faintest smile ghosting across his scarred face.
Arden leaned against the window, eyes half-closed, a soft glow still playing across her features.
Elyra sat nestled between Sereth and Elaris, her head resting against her father’s shoulder.
Elyra: “Can we do this again?”
Sereth: “If the world behaves itself.”
Elaris: “Which it won’t.”
Elyra: “Then we’ll make it behave.”
Sereth chuckled, brushing a stray hair from Elyra’s forehead. “You sound like me.”
“Good,” Elyra murmured sleepily. “Means you’re rubbing off.”
Pancake was asleep in her lap, tiny bowtie askew, snoring faintly.
The carriage wheels hummed over stone, rhythmic and sure, like a heartbeat that had finally found rest.
When Thornmere’s lights appeared on the horizon, Elaris looked out the window — the faint glow of home reflecting in his eyes.
He whispered, almost to himself: “One night of peace… and I almost forgot what it felt like.”
Sereth’s hand found his. “Then remember it,” she said softly. “Because we’ll need that memory before the next storm.”
He nodded. “We’ll face it together.”
“Always.”
The carriage rolled on, lanterns swaying gently in the quiet dark, laughter and warmth still echoing behind them — the ghosts of a perfect night.
For the first time in a long, long while, the heroes of Thornmere slept without fear.
And outside, beneath the moon’s silver gaze, the world — for now — kept its peace.