It had seen spells gone wrong, infernal summoning mishaps, and at least three small kitchen fires caused by Pancake.
It had not, until this day, seen twelve different wedding cakes lined up on its long oaken table like sugary soldiers preparing for war.
The baker from Aurelthane’s estate stood proudly with flour still dusting her sleeves.
“Per Lord Aurelthane’s request, I present options for the esteemed bride and groom. Each cake crafted to reflect themes of love, unity, or—”
She was interrupted by a thunderous BOOM as Garruk dropped onto a bench.
Garruk:
“LOVE CAKE FIRST.”
Elaris massaged his temples.
Sereth squeezed his hand sympathetically.
The baker unveiled a raspberry crème tower with delicate spun-sugar vines.
Vex (leaning forward, eyes glittering):
“If this doesn’t have lace, I swear—”
Laz:
“It’s a cake, Vex.”
Vex:
“Everything can have lace if you’re committed.”
Garruk immediately stabbed a slice the size of a brick with a fork.
Garruk (mouth full):
“Mmf. Good. Need more.”
Borin:
“Aye, lad, slow down. Ye look like ye’re battlin’ it.”
Pancake, who had been sitting patiently on the table edge, launched himself like a projectile and face-planted into the raspberry icing.
Vex shrieked.
Arden dissolved into soft, angelic laughter.
Elyra clapped delightedly.
Elaris:
“Pancake—why?!”
Pancake lifted his head, face coated pink, and chirped:
“Testing. Quality control.”
The next cake was a dense chocolate creation dusted in gold, with a molten caramel core.
The baker beamed.
“We call this one the Ember Heart.”
Sereth’s eyes softened.
Elaris visibly melted slightly.
Then Garruk cut a slice and—
BOOM.
The caramel erupted like a small geyser.
Kaer, drenched in caramel:
“…is it supposed to explode?”
Baker (horrified):
“No.”
Vex:
“I love it. Dramatic. Very me.”
Elaris:
“We’re not having a cake that detonates!”
Laz, licking caramel off his sleeve:
“Honestly? Kinda tasty.”
Vex’s eyes lit up when the baker presented a sleek obsidian-black cake with flame-like sugar patterns.
Vex:
“Yes. That one. That one screams ‘passion, danger, lace, and smoke.’”
Arden (gently):
“Why would we want the wedding to scream danger?”
Vex:
“Because it’s sexy danger.”
Pancake attempted to touch the cake.
The fondant hissed.
Pancake:
“…it bit me.”
Laz:
“Infernal fondant, sis. Told you that’s what it was.”
Elaris:
“Absolutely not. Next.”
When the baker unveiled the cake smothered in berries and soft green leaves, Elyra gasped.
Elyra:
“It looks like Thornmere.”
It did—three tiers of forest green, sunlight-gold frosting, and a topping of glazed berries like tiny jewels.
Sereth’s breath caught.
Her hand slid instinctively to her stomach before she even realised.
Elaris noticed—and the world softened around him.
Garruk was already taking a bite when he stopped mid-chew.
Garruk:
“…this one tastes like home.”
A hush fell across the table.
Even Pancake nodded solemnly.
Arden pressed a hand to her heart; her divine aura shimmered faintly.
Vex, wiping stray icing off her fingers:
“Fine. It’s lovely. Still think it could use lace.”
Laz:
“Everything doesn’t need lace.”
Vex:
“Yes it does.”
The baker placed her hands together.
“Well? The wedding is in three days. Which shall it be?”
Elaris looked at Sereth.
Sereth looked at Elyra.
Elyra looked at Garruk.
Garruk looked at his plate.
And Pancake—
jumped proudly onto the Wildberry Forest Cake.
He sat in the berries like a furry crown.
Pancake:
“I choose this one.”
Sereth burst into laughter.
Elyra doubled over giggling.
Arden glowed with approval.
Even Kaer cracked a rare smile.
Elaris shook his head.
Elaris:
“…the Weasel has spoken.”
Sereth kissed his cheek.
Sereth:
“It is perfect, Elaris.”
And for the first time since Northreach—
the feeling in the room was light.
Hopeful.
Joyful.
As if the future they were fighting for was suddenly within reach
The Rings
The forge behind the Ember Tankard was usually Borin’s sanctuary — a place of fire, steel, and stubborn dwarven muttering.
Tonight, however, it was a battlefield of ribbons, gemstones, sketches, enchanted alloys, and the unshakeable pressure of romance.
And Borin…
Borin was suffering.
The moment he set the gold ingots onto the anvil, the air shimmered with heat.
Forge-fire cast a warm glow across Borin’s face, emphasising the deep frown lines that had become permanent over the last hour.
Borin, grumbling:
“Rings, he says… tha’ should be simple, he says… forge me symbols o’ eternal love, Borin, ye miraculous dwarven craftsman…”
He slapped a set of carving tools onto the bench.
Borin:
“Ye know what a symbol o’ eternal love usually looks like? A SHIELD. A GOOD ONE. METAL. SOLID. USEFUL.”
The gold sparkled defiantly.
Borin growled at it.
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Just as he raised his hammer—
BOOM
A puff of sparkling lilac smoke erupted beside him.
Laz appeared.
Upside down.
Because of course he did.
Laz, arms folded, hanging mid-air:
“Borin! Are my jewels ready?”
Borin:
“YE DON’T GET JEWELS. GET OUT.”
Laz:
“Vex said we deserve accessories.”
Borin:
“Tell yer sister I’ll accessorise her wi’ me hammer.”
The ground shook as the half-orc barged in holding two mugs.
Garruk:
“Brought you ale!”
Borin (pausing mid-engraving):
“Aww, thank ye lad—”
Garruk:
“It’s to celebrate the rings!”
He clapped Borin on the back so hard the dwarf nearly ate the anvil.
The delicate half-finished engraving snapped clean in half.
Borin stared at the broken gold.
A vein popped on his forehead.
Garruk froze.
Garruk:
“…I’ll go sit outside.”
He slithered in through the side vent like a furry purple serpent.
Pancake:
“Whatcha makin’?”
Borin did not answer.
Pancake hopped onto the workbench, sniffed a gemstone—
And swallowed it.
Borin roared.
Pancake, tail flicking:
“Finder’s fee.”
Kaer leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
Kaer:
“Thought you might need help.”
Borin:
“I DO NOT need—”
Kaer:
“—with the letter ‘S.’ You carve it wrong every single time.”
Borin sputtered.
Borin:
“I’ll carve yer face next—”
Kaer:
“S for Sereth. It curves. Not stabs.”
Borin threw a hammer at him.
Kaer dodged without blinking.
Much later, after throwing out everyone under pain of death, Borin finally worked alone.
Firelight glowed like molten gold across the forge.
Sparks drifted like miniature stars.
The anvil hummed under each blow.
Slowly…
Steadily…
He crafted two rings.
One slim, elegant, etched with faint silver runes of protection — Sereth’s.
One bold, angular, formed with ancient dwarven blessings for strength and devotion — Elaris’s.
Borin placed them together on the cooling cloth.
The moment he did, the runes flickered softly — a whisper of the bond they would represent.
Borin stopped.
His gruff exterior cracked.
His eyes glimmered.
Borin (voice a little thick):
“Ah lad… ye finally got yer family back. A real one.”
He wiped his face aggressively.
Borin:
“No. Dust. Forge dust. Shut up, nobody heard that.”
Sereth appeared first — hair loose from the day’s chaos, eyes warm.
Sereth, softly:
“Borin? How’s it going?”
Borin grunted and shoved the rings behind his back.
Borin:
“No peekin’. Tradition.”
Sereth:
“What tradition?”
Borin:
“Dwarven one.”
Sereth:
“You’re making that up.”
Borin:
“Aye, but it’s still a tradition if I say it wi’ confidence.”
Then Elaris stepped in.
And Borin — gruff, stoic Borin — looked between them and felt something in his chest twist.
Not grief.
Not anger.
Pride.
And love he would never admit to.
He thrust a note into Elaris’s hand.
Elaris:
“What’s this?”
Borin:
“A list o’ instructions. For ye. Fer the weddin’.”
Elaris scanned it.
Elaris:
“Borin… this is a list telling me not to die before the ceremony.”
Borin crossed his arms.
Borin:
“Someone had to say it.”
As the couple left, Borin allowed himself one final look at the rings.
Two pieces of metal —
fused with fire, devotion, blessings,
and the unspoken hearts of the Dice.
Borin whispered into the forge flames:
Borin:
“Ye two deserve this. And more.”
In the glow, the rings gleamed brighter.
Almost alive.
Almost destined.
The Guest List Catastrophe
“The Dice Should Never Be Allowed Near Stationery Again.”
No one in Thornmere knew exactly how the Crimson Dice planned to approach their wedding guest list,
but everyone agreed on one truth:
It should never, under any circumstances, involve all of them in one room.
Naturally…
that is exactly what happened.
The long table normally covered in battle maps was now smothered in:
- parchment
- quills
- sealing wax
- tea cups
- snacks
- a box labelled “EMERGENCY GUESTS (DO NOT OPEN)”
- and Pancake, sprawled luxuriously across three sheets of vellum.
Elaris sat at the head, hands steepled, trying very hard to look in control.
Sereth leaned beside him, earnest but already exhausted.
Kaer was sharpening pencils ominously.
Arden clutched a guest list draft like it might explode.
Vex and Laz were arguing on top of the table,
in full dramatic sibling combat stance.
Borin held a mug that was mostly whiskey.
Garruk had already eaten three quills.
Sereth, calm:
“Okay. First guest: Lord Aurelthane.”
Elaris, writing:
“Done.”
Vex:
“Add his steward. She gave me extra tarts at the ball.”
Sereth:
“Fine.”
Arden:
“We should also invite the temple clergy—”
Laz, horrified:
“No. No offense, Arden, but absolutely not. Last time a priest attended one of our events I set the curtains on fire.”
Arden:
“You set everything on fire.”
Laz bows.
Laz:
“I serve drama.”
Kaer, pointing at a random name:
“Does this person get a plus-one?”
Elaris:
“That’s… a chicken.”
Kaer:
“It guards the East Gate.”
Sereth rubs her temples.
Sereth:
“Kaer. We are not inviting poultry.”
Borin, muttering:
“Could seat ‘em next to the goose from Northreach.”
Sereth:
“THAT WAS ONE TIME—”
Garruk:
“What about the dwarven ambassador?”
Borin flinched so hard he dropped his hammer.
Borin:
“No. NO. She’ll get drunk, criticize the rings, challenge someone to an arm wrestle, and try to kiss Kaer again.”
Kaer, deadpan:
“She still sends letters.”
Everyone turned to stare at him. He didn’t blink.
Vex twirls her quill like a weapon.
Vex:
“We should invite the Infernal Court. Diplomacy.”
Arden:
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
Laz:
“What about just Duchess V—”
Elaris drops his quill. Hard.
Elaris, voice dangerously soft:
“No devils at the wedding.”
The room goes quiet.
Sereth gently touches his arm.
He relaxes.
Vex, whispering to Laz:
“He means the Duchess.”
Laz:
“The murder-glamorous one?”
Vex:
“Exactly.”
Both twins shake their heads.
Vex:
“Yeah okay, bad idea.”
Sereth proudly sets down a list.
Sereth:
“My rangers and hunters from Thornmere.”
Garruk cheers:
“Good! More warriors! They can drink as much as—”
Sereth:
“They’re coming as guests, Garruk. Not reinforcements.”
Garruk, deflated:
“…but can they still drink?”
Sereth:
“Probably more than you.”
Garruk beams again.
Pancake crawls atop the parchment, taps it with a paw.
Pancake:
“I want Nimblefoot invited.”
Elaris:
“Who?”
Pancake:
“Rat. Good friend. Good at stealing jewelry.”
Kaer sighs:
“Of course Pancake knows a rat.”
Sereth, rolling her eyes fondly:
“Fine. Write Nimblefoot.”
Elaris looks betrayed by the universe.
The door creaks.
Elyra appears, wrapped in a shawl, curls messy, eyes shy but bright.
Everyone immediately softens.
Elyra:
“Mum? Dad? Can I add someone?”
Sereth smiles:
“Of course.”
Elyra timidly hands over a little folded note.
On it, in tiny handwriting:
“The other archers who saved my life in Velmir. They deserve to celebrate too.”
Elaris’ expression melts completely.
He gently pulls her into a hug.
Elaris:
“We’ll invite all of them.”
Elyra beams, tail (if she had one) practically wagging.
By the end of the night the parchment is full.
Crooked handwriting.
Ink blots.
Doodles.
Smears of jam.
Strange paw-prints.
A tiny scorch mark (Laz).
A leaf pressed into the corner (Sereth).
A rune of blessing (Arden).
A little silver heart (Elyra).
Several angry X’s through the word “devil” (Elaris).
Three drawings of chickens (Kaer, probably mocking him).
But it is done.
Sereth reads aloud, smiling softly the entire time.
Sereth:
“That’s our guest list, then.”
Elaris leans back in his chair, exhausted but glowing.
Elaris:
“It’s perfect.”
Pancake throws confetti he absolutely was not given.
The Ember Tankard’s common room had finally gone quiet.
The parchments had been gathered.
The quills capped.
The tables cleared of crumbs and confetti.
And the Crimson Dice — exhausted from shouting, laughing, fighting, and nearly summoning diplomacy with poultry — had dispersed to their rooms.
Only Elaris and Sereth remained.
The dying fire cast long gold-red light across the wooden floorboards.
Outside, snow whispered against the shutters.
Inside, the world was soft.
Elaris sat on the bench by the hearth, elbows on knees, staring at their finished guest list with a small, awed smile.
Sereth sat beside him, shoulder brushing his, her knee pressed to his thigh — the unconscious closeness of lovers who no longer knew where one heart ended and the other began.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Sereth exhaled — quietly, almost hesitant.
Sereth:
“Elaris… can I ask you something?”
He turned, sensing the shift in her tone.
Elaris:
“Always.”
Sereth looked down at her hands.
Fidgeted with the end of one braid.
Something she only did when the words were difficult.
Her voice came soft:
Sereth:
“Do you… have anyone you want to invite?”
The question hung between them like a held breath.
Elaris stilled.
Not physically — magically.
As though even his thoughts paused mid-trace.
Sereth lifted her gaze to him — gentle, careful, full of love but also truth.
Sereth:
“You’ve done so much for my family. For Elyra. For me.
And you've never once asked if you have anyone out there who should be here too.
A mother, a father… a friend… anyone.”
She swallowed, the firelight shimmering in her eyes.
Sereth:
“This is your wedding too, Elaris.
If there’s someone you’d want at your side…
I want to know.”
Elaris didn’t answer at first.
His jaw tightened.
Not in anger — in old pain resurfacing, familiar as breath.
He leaned back, eyes drifting toward the fire.
Elaris (quiet):
“My family… is here.”
Sereth opened her mouth — but he continued, voice low, steady, unbearably soft.
Elaris:
“I don’t have anyone else, Sereth.
No parents left.
No siblings.
No blood ties that haven’t long turned to ash.”
His fingers brushed the table, tracing nothing.
Elaris:
“Before Thornmere… before all of you…
I never thought I’d need a guest list.
Never thought I’d have something worth celebrating.”
Sereth placed her hand over his.
Warm. Steady. Anchoring.
Sereth:
“Elaris…”
He looked at her, and the vulnerability there almost broke her.
Elaris (barely above a whisper):
“You and Elyra are my family.
The only one I want.
The only one I need.”
Sereth’s throat tightened.
She shifted, sliding closer, pulling his hand fully into hers.
Sereth:
“Then we’ll make our own family.
From scratch.
Together.”
His breath caught — just slightly.
Elaris:
“We already are.”
She leaned in, forehead touching his, breath mingling, the firelight painting them in gold.
For a long moment they stayed like that,
the world outside shrinking to nothing,
until at last Sereth whispered:
Sereth:
“Just wanted to make sure, my love.
You deserve a full wedding — not a half-hearted one.”
A soft laugh escaped him — quiet, warm, healing.
He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles gently.
Elaris:
“Sereth… with you at the end of the aisle,
it could be just the two of us…
and it would still be the greatest day of my life.”
Sereth’s smile trembled —
not with sadness,
but with overflowing love.
Sereth (soft):
“And of mine.”
The fire crackled.
The snow fell.
And they leaned together, wrapped in each other’s warmth,
the future settling around them like a blessing.