The next morning, Talsara stirred to life under the twin suns' golden glow. The village was abuzz with preparations for the Harvest Moon Festival, a yearly celebration of the twin moons' alignment. Stalls were being set up in the square, children ran through the streets with ribbons, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from every corner. Kaelith helped Veyra with the chores—hauling water from the stream, feeding the chickens, mending a tear in her cloak. She moved slower these days, her dark hair streaked with more gray than he remembered.
"You're up early," she said, her voice soft but tinged with weariness.
"Couldn't sleep," he replied, avoiding her gaze. She didn't press, just nodded and handed him a basket of eggs. They worked in silence, the rhythm of routine a fragile thread holding them together.
As they carried the eggs to the square to trade, Kaelith overheard more whispers. "Talren's been spotted near the edge of the Vaelor Plains," a farmer muttered to another, adjusting a sack of grain. "Heard he's been helping with the harvest in the next village—trying to clear his head, I reckon."
Kaelith's heart skipped a beat. Talren was close. Maybe he'd come back for the festival—maybe there was a chance to fix this. He glanced at Veyra, but she hadn't heard, her focus on bartering with a baker for a loaf of bread. He wouldn't tell her yet—not until he was sure.
By midday, Kaelith found Lirien in the square, her auburn hair tied back with a strip of cloth as she helped her father set up a stall of woven baskets. She spotted him and waved, her grin wide and mischievous. "Kael! Come help me with these—they're heavier than they look!"
He jogged over, setting the basket of eggs down. "Only if you say 'pretty please' first," he teased, crossing his arms.
Lirien stuck out her tongue, then laughed. "Fine, pretty please, oh great mage of Talsara." Her tone was mocking, but her eyes sparkled with genuine admiration. She'd seen his magic, after all—knew he was more than just a village boy.
As they worked, stacking baskets under the stall's awning, Lirien's demeanor shifted. She leaned in, her voice low and fierce. "You're getting stronger, aren't you? I can tell. You've been practicing."
Kaelith shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe a little."
"Don't lie to me," she snapped, her tone sharp enough to make him flinch. "I want in, Kael. You're gonna teach me—magic, fighting, whatever you've got. I'm not staying some boring village girl forever."
He stared at her, taken aback by the intensity in her green eyes. She was serious—more than serious. There was a fire in her, a hunger for something bigger. "Lirien, it's not that simple—"
"Then make it simple," she cut in, crossing her arms. "You're gonna be great someday—I can feel it. And I'm not getting left behind. You keep getting stronger, and I'll be right there with you. Maybe I'll even marry you if you're strong enough." She smirked, but there was a challenge in her gaze, daring him to argue.
Kaelith's cheeks flushed, and he looked away, muttering, "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Crazy's better than boring," she shot back, tossing a basket at him. He caught it, shaking his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Lirien was trouble—but the kind of trouble he didn't mind having around.
The festival preparations continued into the afternoon, the square filling with laughter and music as flutes and drums echoed through the air. Kaelith and Lirien finished setting up the stall, then joined the other children in a game of tag, weaving through the crowd. But Kaelith's mind was elsewhere—on Talren, on Mira, on the family he needed to mend.
As the twin suns began to dip toward the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over Talsara, Kaelith spotted him. Talren stood at the edge of the square, his broad frame unmistakable even in the fading light. His dark hair was matted with sweat, his cloak torn at the hem, and his hazel eyes carried a weight Kaelith hadn't seen before. He'd come for the festival—maybe for more.
Kaelith tugged Lirien's sleeve. "I'll be back," he said, already moving toward his father.
Talren saw him coming and raised a hand in greeting, but there was no smile on his face. "Kaelith," he said, his voice rough. "I… I heard the festival was happening. Thought I should be here—for your mother, for you."
Kaelith stopped a few paces away, studying him. "You've been gone a week, Dad. We need to talk—about everything."
Talren nodded, his shoulders slumping further. "Aye. I know."
They walked back to the cottage in silence, the festival's music fading behind them. Veyra was at the hearth, stirring a pot of stew, when they stepped inside. Her eyes widened at the sight of Talren, a mix of relief and anger flashing across her face. "Talren," she said, her voice tight.
"Veyra," he replied, his tone heavy with guilt. "I'm here to talk—if you'll let me."
Kaelith took a deep breath, stepping between them. "We're all talking," he said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. "About Mira. About the baby. About us."
Veyra's hands trembled as she set the ladle down. "The baby?" Her voice was barely a whisper, her storm-gray eyes searching Talren's face.
Talren looked at the floor, then nodded. "Aye. I didn't mean for it to happen, Veyra. I swear it."
Silence stretched, heavy and raw. Kaelith pressed on, channeling every ounce of Kazu's hard-earned wisdom. "You're my family. All of you. And running away doesn't fix anything. Mum, you deserve the truth. Dad, you owe it to her. And Mira—she's part of this now, whether we like it or not."
Veyra's eyes glistened, but her voice held steady. "I don't know if I can forgive you, Talren. Not yet. But I won't let this tear us apart."
Talren reached for her hand, hesitant. She didn't pull away. It wasn't much, but it was a start—a crack of light in the dark.