Chapter 29
A New Member
Sorcha had gone about her daily duties, clearing the last of the rubble, checking the town’s borders, and visiting families of the fallen.
It was a service she took on herself, making sure those left behind of the fallen had what they needed.
Supplies. Comfort. Presence. It was the only thing she could think to do in the face of so much loss.
She stood now before a weathered wooden door, its trim painted with curling pastel leaves.
A small basket of fruit and vegetables rested on her hip, bright reds and greens against woven straw.
It wasn’t much, but it came from nearby towns offering aid.
Enough to help quietly, without drawing notice. She raised her hand and knocked.
The door creaked open as lilac-colored eyes blinked up at her from the crack.
“Hey there. It’s Sorcha from the Circle.”
A tiny hand tugged the door wider. A girl stood framed in the light, straw-colored hair loose from a tired ponytail.
“Hi,” the girl said softly.
“Is your mom around?”
“She’s still sleeping.” The girl’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Sorcha glanced up; the sun was high now, midday. “Can I come in, Hazel?”
The girl nodded. Inside, the home was quiet and cluttered, dishes stacked, clothes scattered across the floor and piled near the door beside a pair of boots where hunting gear sat untouched.
Sorcha’s gaze swept the room and landed on the girl again. She knew this story: during the attack, the family had lost their father while he’d fought alongside the Circle. She set the basket on the counter and gave Hazel a smile.
“You know what? I’ve got some free time today,” she said, reaching for a broom. “Let’s play pick up.”
Hazel giggled as Sorcha began sweeping with exaggerated flair, twirling and dancing clothes across the floor.
The girl jumped in, mimicking her moves by picking up a large shirt and dancing with it cross the floor.
Laughter filled the small space between chores.
Sorcha washed the dishes, tossed spoiled food, straightened piles but left the boots where they were. Some things weren’t hers to touch.
As they finished the last chore, Sorcha hears Hazel’s stomach rumble.
“I’m starving,” Sorcha said, brushing her hands off. “Want to come to market? Maybe we can grab a few things for home?”
Hazel’s face lit up as she bounded for the door barefoot.
“Your shoes!” Sorcha called after her, laughing.
Hazel skidded to a stop, turned, and ran back inside. She returned seconds later, feet covered this time.
On the way to the market, Sorcha let Hazel lead the way.
Hazel stopped to sniff flowers, many times, giggling as she went by the fountain when droplets splashed her cheeks.
Vendors smiled and waved; most refused coin when they saw who Sorcha was with.
Hazel ventured the market, venison was roasting over an open fire and Sorcha couldn’t resist. She dug her hands into her pockets, offering coin for venison and barley bread.
An older gentlemen who wore a grief-stricken smile reached his rough hands to Sorcha and slowly closed her hand as he shook his head and handed her the food.
Smiling back, Sorcha mouthed the words “Thank you” and turned toward a stone bench where they shared lunch.
Hazel devoured hers quickly, Sorcha nibbling at hers, lost in thought.
At a nearby stall, a small wooden bear caught her eye. Next to it, a lilac scarf, the same soft shade as Hazel’s eyes.
She bought both.
The walk back was much the same as the way they came, frequent stops by flowers and even tracking a chipmunk that skittered across Hazel’s path. Eventually they made it back to the house where Sorcha unpacked the supplies.
“Here’s dinner for you and your mom, okay? And this…” She held out the scarf and bear. “This is for you.”
Hazel squealed, wrapping the scarf around her neck, already dancing with excitement with the bear. “I love them! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” Sorcha tousled her hair gently turning to the door, she paused. “If you ever need me, just ask anyone in the Circle.”
Hazel nodded. “Bye, Sorcha.”
She waved goodbye, her heart lighter than it had been in days.
After the last of the rounds of the day, Sorcha met with Kyron and the others at the tavern after their shifts.
The day had given way to a quiet night, with only a sliver of the moon visible in the sky.
Lanterns and stars provided the only light, casting a soft glow over the bustling streets.
Inside, the tavern was warm and lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of pints.
Rhosyn, Drystan, Mason, and Eirin were already seated around a table, their drinks in hand, when Sorcha arrived.
Kyron hadn’t yet joined them, which gave her the opportunity she’d been looking for.
She slid into a chair between Rhosyn and Eirin, ordering a tea already.
“So,” she began, her voice low, “what do you all think of Kyron?”
Drystan leaned back in his chair with a theatrical sigh. “Dreamy. Absolutely dreamy.” Mason rolled his eyes, his shoulders stiffening. “He’s… alright. I’ll give him this… he’s been a big help with the rebuilding, and he fought hard for us. I can’t really say anything bad.”
Rhosyn added thoughtfully, “He’s knowledgeable, more than most, honestly. He knows a lot about the history of the realms, runes, herbs. And he’s been nothing but kind to everyone.”
Eirin shrugged, taking a slow sip from his tea. “Useful enough. Why do you ask?”
Sorcha hesitated, her eyes tracking her friends.
Her palms felt sweaty, as she tapped a foot under the table. She didn’t want her friends to believe she was replacing Emry in some way but it was inevitable. Finally, she said, “Commander Nethran has asked that he join our ranks.”
The table went silent. Eirin, who had been lounging casually next to her, sipping his tea, sat upright, his face darkening with disbelief.
“It’s only been… what? Five weeks now since Emry passed.
And you’re seriously telling me that someone who hasn’t gone through training and isn’t even from here, is being placed in the Circle? This soon?”
The concern on Eirin’s face spread to the others.
Rhosyn and Mason exchanged uneasy glances, and even Drystan’s playful demeanor faltered.
Sorcha held her ground, her voice steady but firm.
“He’s grown to be a friend to all of us,” she countered.
“As you said, he fought just as well if not better than any of us. And we need the help. Someone was going to be placed in Emry’s absence… why not him?”
Slowly, reluctant nods passed around the table though Eirin’s jaw remained tight. It was then that Kyron appeared, his confident stride drawing the attention of the entire group. He looked around the table, noting the sudden shift in energy.
Drystan, ever the instigator, chimed in with a grin. “Well, hello there, handsome. We were just talking about you. Welcome to the Circle of Light.”
Sorcha froze, mortified. Kyron stopped short, confusion flickering across his face as he looked around at the awkward expressions and muffled laughter.
Mason elbowed Drystan hard in the ribs and hissed, “No.”
Drystan winced, rubbing his side, while Rhosyn and Eirin dissolved into laughter. Sorcha buried her face in her hands, groaning softly.
Kyron’s smile grew wider as he pulled out a chair. “Well,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure what I’ve just walked into, but consider me intrigued.”
Sorcha peeked out from behind her hands, muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill Drystan.”
Kyron leaned closer, his smirk mischievous. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
Drystan, ignoring the glare from Mason, raised his glass with a wink. “A little bit of both, I’d say.”
The tension at the table eased as laughter broke out, though Mason’s frown lingered. Sorcha, however, couldn’t shake the flutter of nerves.
Sorcha turned to Kyron, her voice steady but cautious. “Commander Nethran wants to enlist you into the Circle. He asked for my opinion, and I gave it. If you accept, it would mean finding a place to live within the city walls and working alongside us.”
Kyron looked at Sorcha, his expression softening as he said, “I’d be honored.”
Rhosyn turned to Drystan with a sly grin. “Alright, now you can say it, Drystan.” Sorcha crossed her arms, glancing between the others. Kyron’s acceptance wasn’t a surprise, but the unease in the room was unmistakable.
Eirin, finally spoke. His voice was level, but firm.
“Since you’ve made your decision, we need to go over the rules. The Circle isn’t a group of hunters who charge in looking for glory. We don’t kill for sport, and we don’t engage unless we’re forced to.”
Kyron’s smirk faded slightly as he studied the faces around him.
Sorcha leaned forward, fingers tapping against her cup.
“That means if something comes through the Veil, we don’t touch it unless it’s a direct threat.
” Sorcha made sure his eyes were on her before speaking again “We don’t know if it’s Fae, a god, or something worse.
And if we attack first? That blood is on our hands. ”
Kyron tilted his head. “So what, we just let them roam free?”
Rhosyn calmly answered. “No. We monitor, we track and we watch. But we don’t act unless we have to. If you want to pick a fight, you better be damn sure it’s one you can win and one you’re willing to die for.”
Mason folded his arms. “And if you break that rule, you’ll wish whatever you fought had killed you first.”
Eirin nodded. “Everything that crosses the Veil is part of this world now, Kyron. Whether it’s Fae, beast, or something we can’t name, it belongs to the earth as much as we do.
” Eirin leaned back in his chair. “It’s not our job to decide what’s good or bad.
It’s our job to protect the balance. That’s the purpose of the Circle. ”
Sorcha held Kyron’s gaze, her voice quieter now, but no less certain.
“Think of the land itself. The seasons shift, plants bloom and wither, storms rage, rivers carve through stone. Destruction isn’t unnatural, it’s part of the cycle.
Sometimes, what comes through the Veil is just another turn of that wheel.
We don’t exist to stop it. We exist to make sure the wheel keeps turning the way it should. ”
Kyron tilted his head. “So, you track them. You watch. You wait. But if you never act first?”
Eirin’s stare was unflinching. “Control isn’t the goal. Balance is.”
Kyron’s lips curled slightly, just enough to suggest he wasn’t entirely convinced. “And if they decide to act first?”
Drystan answered smoothly, but there was steel in his tone. “Then we finish it.”
A slow, thoughtful hum left Kyron’s throat. He studied each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on Sorcha. “Interesting,” he murmured.
Sorcha stiffened slightly, but before she could ask what he meant, Eirin cut in.
“Restraint is what keeps us alive,” he said firmly. “It’s what keeps this world from turning into a battlefield.”
Kyron exhaled, his gaze flicking to the others before settling back on Sorcha. Finally, he nodded once.
“Understood.”
Drystan stood and headed for the bar. A moment later, he returned with a bottle and a stack of glasses.
He spun the bottle once in his hand, then flicked it into the air with a grin.
It turned midair, caught the tavern light, and landed in his grip clean as a practiced trick.
He poured with flair, glass by glass, letting each stream fall just short of overflowing.
With a dramatic bow, he dropped into his seat.
Mason whistled, then clapped twice. “Show off,” Eirin muttered with a laugh.
The rest of the group joined in, clapping and calling out as Drystan soaked it all in.
“Thank you, thank you. You’re all too kind,” he said, raising his glass. “Let’s make it official.”
Sorcha and the others raised theirs.
“Alright, Kyron—on three, we tap the glass and drink as fast as you can.”
“It’s tradition,” Rhosyn said, grinning. “You’re one of us now. That means no mercy.”
Mason chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t wait to see what kind of drunk you are.”
Eirin gave Kyron a quiet look. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Sorcha nudged him with her elbow. “Ready?”
Kyron laughed. “I think you’re all in for a surprise.”
“That’s the spirit, lover boy!” Drystan called. “One… two… three!”
Glasses slammed against the table. Laughter burst from every corner, and the night carried them deep into the early hours.