Chapter 2 - Iris Ranessa
Written by Lauca · Edited by Cat
It was not long after the chaos of Baldur’s roads and their final journey together that the adventuring party began to dissolve, each member peeling away in their own quiet manner.
The first to leave was the drow Zagreus, who was always wary while on the road. Every time the party encountered other people on the road, he’d always hide as if someone or something would catch him. He had said his quick farewells, and off he went as quickly as he came.
Aquila, the token old man of the group, was the second of the party to leave. He exclaims that he had to know what happened to the people who betrayed him, and to exact his revenge. He was determined to find them, thus bidding farewell to the group shortly after Zagreus had left.
Nikol, the youngest of the men and the last remaining, was never quite able to settle in the company of two women. Iris and Neia had always treated him more like a younger brother than a peer, which, in fairness, he seemed to prefer. Still, he too had his own aspirations, and not long after Aquila’s departure, he chose to return home, parting ways with a kind smile and hopeful eyes.
For a time, it was just Iris and Neia. They travelled together in familiar companionship until Neia, one evening after too much wine and an open window under the stars, admitted that perhaps she was not meant to be an adventurer after all. Life on the road was draining in ways she had not anticipated. Her body, her heart, her focus—everything was beginning to fray. It was then, in that moment of loosened tongues, that Neia confessed the existence of a secret she had long kept hidden. Her father’s curse. She said little, only enough for Iris to understand it had weighed on her for years.
Their farewell was a quiet one. They shared a meal and a promise that if fate allowed, they would meet again someday. Iris, for all her teasing and brightness, found it unexpectedly difficult to let go.
With no one left beside her, she turned her feet toward home.
Leuthilspar had not changed. It rarely did. When Iris stepped through the familiar archways of the Amarillis estate, it was not her mother’s voice or her brother’s footsteps that greeted her. It was the faint scent of fresh lavender, and the quiet sound of a kettle just beginning to sing in the servants’ wing.
“Lady Iris?” came a voice from the corridor, warm and a little breathless.
Thalira appeared from around the corner, wiping her hands on a soft linen cloth. Her silver hair had been bound into a loose braid, and her robes were modest but clean, worn in a way that suggested comfort more than station.
“You’re back earlier than expected,” she said with a small smile. “Did you not send word ahead?”
“I didn’t think anyone would be here to read it,” Iris replied lightly, setting down her travel pack by the hallway bench.
Thalira’s smile faltered just slightly, but she recovered it well. “Your father is in Calerath, negotiating with the Maelir household. Your mother left three days ago. She did not say where, but she took her travel case.”
“And Evan?”
“Gone out on expedition. He left with the High Warden’s envoy last week.”
“Of course,” Iris said, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
“You look tired,” Thalira offered gently. “Shall I prepare your room? Or would you prefer tea in the west atrium?”
“Whichever is quiet,” Iris murmured, her smile soft but thin. “I’ve grown quite used to quiet.”
Thalira hesitated. Then, in a voice more maternal than formal, she added, “It’s good to have you home, Lady Iris. The house always feels colder without you in it.”
Iris blinked, not expecting the sentiment. “Thank you, Thalira.”
She turned toward the inner halls, the familiar hush of her childhood pressing in like silk against her skin.
The house was just as she had left it. Timeless. Beautiful. Silent.
Her parents' marriage had been arranged, like so many others, devoid of affection or intimacy. Evan had been born only a few years after Iris, which was a rare thing for elves. He was conceived, she was told, because their house needed an heir. That was all. In their youth, she and Evan had been close, but that tenderness had faded with time. They had grown apart, shaped by the silence that filled the estate more thoroughly than any voice ever had.
Iris had learned early not to seek love at home. Instead, she sought it elsewhere. In friendships, in fleeting company, in laughter loud enough to fill the space where something deeper might have lived. People liked her. They always had. She was pretty, clever, and quick to make others feel comfortable. Being bright and agreeable suited her. It kept others close. Just not too close.
It doesn’t really matter to her anymore. She’s content having a lot of friends. Being close, but not too close. Being the one people talk to, yet not having anyone to confide in. Being a bit simple in personality suits her fine; people don’t find you annoying, and it’s easier for them to open up. Albeit she sometimes reflected on whether she's grown a bit too apathetic, but that is fine too.
Iris sometimes wonders what an actual family would feel like. Sure, she’d stayed with tonnes. Having seen parents argue over dinner with their children, items being thrown at each other the moment they think she’s not in the vicinity, and brothers cheating their siblings of money, she knows her family isn’t the most horrible.
Still, in the late hours of stormy nights, when thunder shook the sky and the estate grew cold, she sometimes wondered. She had seen other families. She had stayed in the homes of friends where arguments turned into apologies and chaos turned into comfort. She had seen children throw tantrums, only to be cradled moments later. She had seen mothers sing, fathers scold gently, brothers steal and laugh and share in the fallout.
Her family was not cruel. Just distant. Polished, quiet, and entirely apart from her.
In those moments, Iris wondered what it might feel like to be someone’s first thought. To be the person one reached for in the dark. To be the softness another soul leaned into, simply because she was there.
But she keeps those thoughts simply in her heart, masking her true wishes with a charming laugh. Making others fall, but never returning.
Bubbly and beguiling. It suits her fine.
At present, she is yet in another town. Not quite out of Evermeet, but far enough from Leuthilspar. In a large elven city located on the eastern coast of Evermeet, an elven isle in the Trackless Sea.
The city of magic, Taltempla.
Here, she serves as a wandering cleric to her goddess, Sune. The city that is widely known for being devoted to their traditions and deities.
Here, she is simply one of many.
Here, too, she quietly dreams.