*** Important note: Thank you for reading "Were It So Easy", please keep in mind the first two chapters were intially meant to be one! So keep reading I promise it will be worth it! Thank you again. ***

“The end rarely announces itself with thunder. More often, it comes with a smile… or a song in a tavern.”

“Dawnkeepers!”

The Dancing Stag erupted in cheers as mugs of ale and wine were raised high.

The tavern was a patchwork of polished oak and age-worn stone, built generations ago by wandering stonemasons and reinforced over the years by the hands of its own patrons. Lanterns swayed gently from the rafters, casting golden halos across the room. In every corner hung something handmade—woven banners, wooden carvings, faded tokens from travelers long passed. The kind of place that remembered. The kind of place that mattered.

“My friends, Torsk thanks you—I thank you,” said Klint, the gruff old barkeep, wiping his hands on a beer-stained rag as he stepped out from behind the counter. “This little backwater town would be no more if it weren’t for you.”

Aureon stood, the leader of the Dawnkeepers, his tall frame catching the firelight as he raised a half-filled goblet of wine. His light brown hair fell just past his brow and his piercing blue eyes swept the room with quiet resolve. In this moment he looked less a warrior and more a weathered guardian—calm, grounded, and ever watchful.

“Your thanks are appreciated, but not needed,” he said. “While we are here, we will ensure each day the dawn rises, the shadows are laid to rest, and the people of Eternia remain safe.”

“Nonetheless, my friends,” Klint said, lifting his mug with a proud smile, “the blight would have swallowed us whole if not for the brave souls at this table. These woods have shielded Torsk for generations—but tonight, it was you who stood between us and the dark. To have the forest back is a blessing. To have each other? That’s what keeps us strong.”

Aureon raised his goblet once more, his gaze sweeping across the room—from the weary but smiling faces of the villagers to the friends seated around him.

“To the people of Torsk,” he began, his voice steady but warm, “who stood strong even as the darkness crept to your door. And to my fellow Dawnkeepers—my shield, my flame, my heart in the darkest hours.”

He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle.

“Through the shadows, you are the light. Your strength gives mine purpose. I couldn’t do this without you—and I wouldn't want to.”

He raised his cup a little higher. “To all of you—may the dawn always find us, together.”

Another round of cheers broke out, louder than the first. The Dawnkeepers had been commissioned to investigate a blight in the nearby forest. Animals and nearby land had begun to rot from within, leading to violent attacks and a scarcity of game for the village of Torsk. The guardian of the forest, a once sacred beast succumbed to the blight. 

“So serious, Aureon,” Sophie teased, draining her cup with a satisfied sigh. Her crimson eyes alight with mischief “Our big strong protector? Very noble and heroic of you.” she added, her voice honeyed with mockery, a sly smile creeping across her face.

The others chuckled as Aureon’s mock-offended glare swept across the table.

“You know, Soph, a little bird whispered in my ear that the Dawnkeepers are looking for a new mage—preferably one who doesn’t set her own sleeves on fire”

Sophie gasped, placing a hand to her cheek in mock horror. “Betrayal! Treason!”

“That’s enough, you two,” Arina laughed, conjuring a small illusion between her fingers—an exaggerated mimicry of both their faces.

“Oh, you little goblin!” Aureon reached over and pinched her arm, earning a soft yelp.

Arina rubbed the spot with a dramatic glare, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a smirk. She flicked the illusion in her hand toward Aureon, letting it dissolve in a shower of harmless sparks.

Leira, the Dawnkeepers’ healer, sat in quiet reflection, slowly nibbling at her food. She looked every bit the noble mage—composed, serene—but worry creased her brow, betraying the ache she carried inside.

“Are you alright, Leira?” Vella asked gently.

“I’m okay. Just lost in thought,” Leira murmured. “I keep hearing the cries of the Hollowed Stag. It was in so much pain… almost mournful. It hurts to think that creatures once sacred are becoming twisted and dark. It’s just… sad.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Vella reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “You feel what others can’t afford to. That’s not a weakness, Leira—it’s what makes you strong. Just don’t carry it alone.”

Aureon watched the pain flicker in Leira’s eyes. He knew she’d always had a kind soul—gentle, unwavering, and good. But hero work had a way of grinding kindness down. Adventuring demanded courage, but it was compassion that paid the higher cost. And Leira… she carried every burden like it was her own.

The blight had not simply scarred the land—it had unmade it. Trees had blackened from the inside, their bark cracking like sun-dried flesh. Deer were found hollowed out, eyes wide with terror, their bodies hosting strange vines that bled dark sap. And at the heart of it all had stood the Hollowed Stag—a creature once revered in old forest prayers, now little more than a vessel of sorrow and rage. It had not wanted to fight them. Leira had seen it in its eyes: a plea for death. A plea for release.

“We did what we had to do,” Aureon said gently. “It was a tragedy—an awful, heartbreaking thing—but we have to keep looking forward, Leira. We will find the source of this blight, and when we do, we’ll destroy it. I promise you that.”

He offered her a faint but steady smile.

“But tonight, we rest. The people of Torsk are safe—that has to count for something.”

The celebrations carried on. Bards strummed their lutes and sang old stories, voices weaving through the flickering firelight. Laughter rose like smoke to the rafters. Villagers came and went, joy and relief in their hearts, warmth and food in their bellies. A few danced in the center of the tavern, while a young couple sat fawning over each other in a dimly lit corner.

As the night wore thin and the fire dimmed to embers, the door creaked open. A young man stepped into the glow of the Dancing Stag, pausing just beyond the threshold. He was tall and thin, with a slight, sun-earned tan that hinted at days spent beneath open skies. Fine spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, catching the light with a muted glint. His robes—once regal—were now road-worn: creased from days of travel, speckled with dust.

A soft hush rippled through the tavern. Conversations faded. The music stalled. Adjusting his glasses, the man scanned the room, blushing slightly as he realized all eyes had turned toward him.

Aureon turned to look, watching as the stranger strode with purpose—straight toward their table.

Leira and Vella had long since fallen asleep, their heads resting against one another in peaceful slumber. Sophie, busy stacking empty goblets into a pyramid, hadn’t yet noticed the shift in the room—her fiery eyes alight with mischief and drink.

Aureon stood slowly, stepping forward to meet the stranger. Arina rose with him, moving to his side without a word.

Sophie finally took notice and gently nudged Vella and Leira awake. The music resumed, tentative and quieter, as the tavern eyed the newcomer warily. While it wasn’t unusual for travelers to pass through, few wore robes that looked fresh out of the royal court.

“Good evening, my friends!” the man said brightly, a slight accent coloring his words. He extended a hand toward Aureon.

Suspicion in his eyes, Aureon accepted the gesture. Arina kept close, tense. Sophie, Vella, and Leira remained seated, watching.

“By the Guardians, you are hard to find!” the stranger continued, still shaking Aureon’s hand far too long. “The tales of the Dawnkeepers seemed myth and legend as I tried to track you down. I was lost, attacked, lost again, and then—”

Aureon raised a hand. “How may we be of service… and could you release my hand, please?”

The man froze, then recoiled, mortified. “My deepest apologies! What a fool I’m making of myself.” He bowed slightly. “My name is Tristan of House Maern. My lord requests your presence in Torrith’s Crossing. He sent me to find you and ask that you depart as soon as possible.”

He fumbled with his travel bag, eventually producing a large, heavy sack, which he dropped onto the table with a clink of coin. “Half of the payment—upfront.”

Sophie let out a sharp, off-pitch whistle.

Aureon eyed the sack, then looked back at Tristan. “That’s quite a lot of coin, my friend. What sort of job requires a payment like this?”

“Lord Maern is requiring an escort, as far as the details go I was not made aware.” He handed Aureon a sealed letter. Inside, it provided little more information. 

“The Twin Cities?” Aureon furrowed his brow. “Last I heard, half of it sank into the earth after the war.” The towers were still visible from miles off—black stone spires poking out of the trees like broken spears. Aureon looked to Arina, who stood quietly at his side, her posture still uncertain. 

Tristan rubbed his arm nervously. “Again, my apologies. I wasn’t given the details—only where to find you.”

Aureon glanced between Arina and the rest of the team, all now watching in thoughtful silence.

“How long do we have, Tristan? I’d like to discuss this when our minds are clear. The money and location are tempting, I’ll admit—but haste on a foggy mind leads to mistakes.”

“Fair enough,” Tristan replied, bowing his head slightly. “In the morning, then. I’ll be waiting at the gates for your answer. Sleep well, my friends. May the Guardians guide you.”

He gathered his belongings and the sack of coin, then clumsily made his way through the lingering crowd toward the bar before disappearing up the stairs.

Aureon and Arina watched him go.

“What are you thinking, love?” Arina asked, tugging gently at his arm.

“To be completely honest?” Aureon’s voice dropped to a murmur. “I’m not sure what to make of it. The amount of coin and the nature of the job don’t align. And the lack of details—that worries me.”

“I agree,” she said. “Whatever you decide, though, I’ll stand by you.” Her smile tugged sideways as she glanced toward Sophie. “To quote no one in particular… you’re our big strong protector. We’ll follow you wherever you go.”

A loud thump interrupted her—followed by the sound of goblets crashing to the floor.

Aureon turned to find Sophie face-down on the table, snoring loudly.

“For now,” he sighed, “I think it’s time we turn in.”

The Dawnkeepers began making their way upstairs, apologizing to Klint and the remaining guests as they went. Vella gently guided Leira, who muttered sleepily to herself, eyes half-lidded. Aureon hoisted Sophie’s full, unconscious weight with a groan, her limbs limp as a sack of flour. “You’re heavier than you look,” Aureon muttered.

“She’s got guilt and wine packed in there,” Vella quipped, half-asleep herself. Arina trailed behind, conjuring a few shimmering illusions to help sweep up the scattered remnants of Sophie’s goblet tower. 

Most of the villagers had gone home, leaving half-drunk mugs and scattered chairs behind. The bards packed up their lutes, humming lullabies to themselves as they stepped into the cold night. Only the fire remained constant—crackling softly, as if remembering the laughter that had filled the room.

The night ended peacefully for most. But Aureon, lying in the dark with his thoughts, could not bring his mind to rest. The room was still, save for the quiet breath of the woman beside him. He turned to Arina, her expression soft in sleep, strands of raven black hair curled against her cheek.

Gently, he cupped her face and whispered, “My light... my sunflower… you never stopped blooming, even in the dark… Thank you for believing in me.”