Chapter 23 - The Warmth of Chaos

The road dipped and bent, the trees parting to reveal Ruith spread across a gentle rise by the sea. At first glance, it was everything an elven city should be: white stone towers rising above the treetops, graceful arches spanning streets, green banners fluttering in the ocean breeze. But as Elarion drew closer, the differences struck him.

Selathryn was quiet and ordered, its white arches touched with ivy and its streets hushed beneath the canopy. Ruith was nothing of the sort. Its walls bore old scars, moss creeping up their sides, and the streets hummed with noise. Wagons rattled over cobbles, traders barked prices across stalls, sailors shouted as they unloaded crates at the harbor below. The air smelled of salt and sweat, of smoke and spiced food, with a sour note beneath it all that turned his stomach.

Elarion slowed, caught between awe and unease. The sheer crush of people pressed on him from every side, armor clanking, boots stomping, voices shouting over one another. He had always thought he wanted to see the world, but now, in the midst of it, he felt suddenly small. Too much sound. Too many faces. Too many smells all at once. His chest tightened, anxious and unsteady.

Breathe, he told himself. This is what you came for. You can do this.

He looked closer at the crowd. Elves of every kind filled the streets: sun elves with their bright hair, moon elves with their pale grace, wood elves browned by long days beneath the sun. He spotted a handful of half-elves among them, their ears less pointed, their bearing a little different. Once or twice, he even caught sight of a human, and each time the passerby drew lingering stares, curiosity tinged with suspicion. But not a single lythari. Not one. The realization struck him with a faint pang. He had grown used to being one of many, yet here he was singular, a rarity in a city of strangers. It left him both exposed and quietly proud.

The market stalls brimmed with wares: bolts of cloth dyed in sea hues, baskets of fruit carried in from warmer parts of the isle, blades etched with elven runes. Posters fluttered on notice boards, promising coin for caravan guards or bounties for beasts in the hills. A bard in the square balanced knives on his fingertips, drawing a laughing crowd.

By late afternoon, his first priority became clear: a place to sleep. He asked for directions at a stall selling roasted fish, the vendor, a silver-haired elf whose gaze lingered on him curiously, pointed him toward a row of inns along the eastern square. “Try the Gull and Lantern,” the man said. “Not the fanciest, but you’ll get a roof and a meal. And the walls don’t gossip. As much.”

The Gull and Lantern was loud when he arrived, the smell of ale and smoke spilling into the street. Inside, tables were crowded with travellers, their voices overlapping into a constant din. Elarion edged through, uncertain, until the innkeeper spotted him.

“Room?” the innkeeper asked briskly, already reaching for a key.

“Yes,” Elarion said, voice steadier than he felt. He placed a few coins on the counter, enough for a night and a meal. The man swept them up, handed over a key, and jerked his chin toward the stairs.

“If you want to extend your stay, just come down to the bar and tell me anytime,” the innkeeper added. He stood tall and broad-shouldered for an elf, his dark hair streaked with silver and tied back in a messy ponytail, his face worn in the way of an old soldier. “Name’s Corvel Rathwyn. This is my place. You’re welcome to use it as long as you keep to yourself and pay fair.”

The name caught Elarion off guard. Corvel. So close to Corvellen. For a heartbeat he froze, as though the world itself had nudged him. A ghost of his brother’s voice rose unbidden in his mind, easy and warm, and for a moment he felt as though he had stepped into some echo of what might have been.

He drew in a slow breath, letting the pang wash through him. It hurt, yes, but it also grounded him. He was here, in Ruith, in a place his younger self never could have imagined. Meeting a man who bore a name and presence so similar to his brother’s felt like more than chance. As if fate had left a signpost to tell him he was walking the right road, however uncertain.

Elarion inclined his head with quiet respect. “Understood.”

Corvel’s grin spread wide, his laugh rumbling out like a man who carried no burdens. “And if you get hungry, don’t bother with the stalls outside. We’ve got the best pies and seafood in Ruith right here. Kitchen’s open until I feel like going to bed. Find yourself a table and someone will bring it out.”

Elarion allowed himself the faintest smile. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had chosen well.

---

Elarion carried his pack upstairs and found his room. He tucked his belongings neatly into the chest at the foot of the bed, checking the lock twice before stepping back. The room was better than he had expected. Not luxurious, but not shabby either. A proper bed with clean sheets, a washstand, even his own washroom. For the coin he had paid, it was worth it.

He took a quick shower, the warm water easing the travel ache from his shoulders. After changing into a fresh tunic and trousers, he hung his leather armour by the window to air out, the faint smell of sweat and road dust already lifting from it. Feeling lighter, he made his way back downstairs.

The Gull and Lantern was even livelier than before. Music drifted from a corner, a fiddler playing something quick and bright. Voices clashed over one another, laughter ringing out from every table. The smell of bread and roasted fish curled through the air, mixing with the tang of smoke and spilled ale.

Elarion stopped at the bar to order a meal from Corvel, then found an empty table tucked near the wall. A server brought him a tankard of ale first, foam spilling slightly over the edge. He leaned back in his chair, letting himself breathe as he took in the new atmosphere.

He watched the crowd quietly. A handful of soldiers sat near the hearth, uniforms still crisp, likely off duty from service with the Evermeet Knights. Other elves wore more casual clothes, locals with the ease of home, while others bore the mismatched look of adventurers like himself. Still, not a single lythari in sight. He was not surprised. His people were reclusive. To see one here would have been a shock.

Yet in the thick of the crowd, something caught his eye. Or rather, someone.

Leaning against the bar was a woman, no taller than Iris, her skin pale as moonlight, almost reminiscent of his own kind. Her long jet-black hair spilled freely down her back, gleaming in the lantern light. At first, he thought she was an elf, but then his eyes caught the truth. Horns, curling forward and adorned with thin bands of silver. A tail, swaying lazily behind her.

She wore black, but not in the plain, practical way of soldiers or mercenaries. Her blouse was loose and flowing, tucked neatly at the waist into a tight corset that left her posture straight and her figure impossible to ignore. The neckline plunged daringly low, revealing far more than most elves in the room would ever dream of, and she wore it without a hint of shame. Her shorts were leather, cut to fit snugly against her thighs, paired with short boots laced up to the ankle, the kind of practical footwear an adventurer could actually fight in. The ensemble was scandalous and utilitarian at once, as if she was daring the room to look at her and then telling them she could still knock them flat if it came to a fight.

The darkness of her clothes only sharpened the pale glow of her skin, making her look almost luminous in contrast. There was nothing timid about her. She stood out, fully aware of it, and carried herself with the kind of confidence that made her seem untouchable.

Elarion’s breath stilled. A tiefling…?

He had read of them, yes, but never seen one in person. Non-elves were rare enough in Evermeet, rarer still among the more hidden cities. And yet here she was, laughing boldly as she lifted a tankard nearly as big as her face, surrounded by men clearly vying for her attention.

Elarion stared longer than he meant to, curiosity overtaking him. Not so much at her beauty, though she was striking, but at the force of her presence. She seemed to command the room without trying, her laughter bright, her posture relaxed. She reminded him of Iris, though in a way that twisted something in his chest. Iris’s confidence had always been like sunlight, warm and golden, drawing others into her glow. This woman shone differently. If Iris was the sun, this tiefling was a moonbeam. Cool, sharp, and untamed, yet just as impossible to look away from.

And still, she did not look like she belonged. She was no elf, not even half, and yet she seemed entirely unbothered by the fact that she stood out so starkly. Her confidence was her armour, and it fit her as well as any blade. Then, as though sensing him, she turned. Her gaze met his, sharp and unflinching, and her smile widened.

Elarion froze. His stomach lurched with embarrassment at being caught. She said something to the men around her, then stepped away from the bar and began walking toward him. Heat crept into his face. He looked down quickly, pretending to be interested in the foam of his ale, his posture deliberately still.

Idiot. You were staring. Of course she noticed. Now she probably thinks you were… Ugh. Stop thinking about that. Gods, just let her pass by. Please let her pass by.

He gripped the tankard a little tighter, as if holding on to it would anchor him. His heart beat faster with every step of hers against the floorboards.

She is not walking this way. She is not walking this way. She is absolutely walking this way. Please don’t misunderstand. I swear I wasn’t staring like that. And why does it feel like I just cheated on Iris?

The thought made him wince. We are not even in a relationship. Not yet...? Ughh, go away go away go away.

But she kept coming.

The woman sauntered across the room with unhurried confidence, the sway of her tail keeping time with her steps. Elarion turned his face toward the window beside his table, staring hard at the panes as though they had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the inn. The redness in his cheeks and the tips of his ears betrayed him completely.

She stopped at his table, placed her tankard down with a clunk, and leaned in close, draping one arm casually over his shoulder. Elarion stiffened immediately as her chest pressed lightly against him, the warmth of her body brushing his arm. Her breath ghosted against his ear, sending a shiver racing down his neck.

“Mmm, I caught you starin’, didn’t I, handsome? Don’t be scared, I don’t bite—”

Before she could finish, Elarion felt a sudden tug as she was yanked back by the corset laces at her spine. He blinked and turned, eyes widening. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood behind her, tanned skin warm under the lantern glow. His dark reddish-brown hair was messily tied back, and the shape of his ears marked him as a half-elf.

The man held the woman firmly, looking at Elarion with an expression that was equal parts annoyed and apologetic. “Sorry about her,” he said, his tone rough but not unkind. “She’s, unfortunately, always like this. Can’t take her anywhere without her trying to sink her claws into someone.”

The woman immediately stomped down on his boot, and with a hiss, the man released her. She spun on him with a scoff. “Oh, you’re such a bore. I was only teasing him. Look at him, he’s easy prey.”

Prey? Did she just call me prey? Elarion thought, stunned, heat rushing to his face. I’m not prey. Am I prey? He gripped his tankard tighter, wishing desperately to disappear into the foam.

The man gave a rough snort. “Prey’s about right. You’d drag any man to bed if you thought you could.”

The woman clicked her tongue and leaned back against the table, rolling her eyes. “Oh please. I wasn’t planning to bed him. He looks far too young for me. I just thought he looked like the easily flustered kind. And look.” She gestured at Elarion’s flushed face with a wicked grin. “I was right.”

Elarion sank lower in his chair, mortified.

She smirked, turning her attention back to the man. “Besides, I have standards. I wouldn’t sleep with you even if someone paid me a thousand gold pieces.”

The man’s smirk widened into a grin. “Already forgotten you did?”

Elarion froze, his mind scrambling. Wait. What? They— what? Are they a couple? What’s going on? His face burned hotter, caught between shock and confusion.

She stomped on his foot again, making him flinch. “Tsk. That was one time— okay, maybe two. Or three. But you practically begged me for it. Hardly counts.”

“I begged? You were the one who came to my roo—"

Their bickering picked up with fresh energy, sharp and fast, bouncing between them as though he weren’t even there. Elarion could only sit in silence, staring into his ale, praying for the floor to open up beneath him. Finally, he cleared his throat, desperate to cut through the chaos. “It’s fine,” he said quickly, forcing the words out. “I didn’t take offense.”

The woman shot her companion a triumphant grin. “See? No harm done.”

The man rolled his eyes, then offered Elarion a nod. “Still. Sorry you had to be her entertainment. Name’s Finn. Finn Oakenshade. And this feral creature here is Jordan Redwyne.”

Jordan gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Racist. You’re calling me a creature because I’m a tiefling.”

Finn barked a laugh. “No, I’m calling you a creature because you act like one.”

Rolling her eyes, she scooped up her tankard and helped herself to the empty stool at Elarion’s table, sliding into it as though it had always belonged to her. Finn pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned his gaze back to Elarion. “Mind if we sit?” he asked, voice rough but carrying a note of genuine courtesy this time.

Elarion blinked, still reeling from the volley of teasing and half-jabs that had just flown between them. His lips curved slowly into a smile. “Of course not,” he said.

As they settled in, he found himself shaking his head faintly, still confused, still embarrassed, yet oddly amused. This was nothing like Selathryn, nothing like the quiet routines of scouts and grove life. It was loud, messy, unpredictable. But there was something warm about it too. Something strangely welcoming.

And for the first time since leaving home, Elarion thought that maybe he was exactly where he was meant to be.