VISION ✔️ || The Keepers of Astraela #1

24.1 || Of Candles and Tea Time

EMRYS

THE TOWN OF EDENBERRY buzzed with life, but all Emrys could focus on was the lingering taste of bile in his mouth. Images of Thana's corpse tucked comfortably in her eternal resting place plagued his mind, nearly blocking his view of the townsfolk milling around them.

Through the veil of unwanted recollections, he watched the passersby with disdain. They carried on their way, all grins and laughter. He envied their enjoyment of the sunlit day and how they could put their fears of Darkness behind an oblivious aura. Even Bellus refused to acknowledge the storm brewing inside his chest as it beat angrily upon his face.

For once, he longed for the cool night that would soon be upon them. Then, he could leave behind a neck slick with perspiration and form-fitting clothes that clung to every crevasse of his body.

Unlike the crowds, Mystia and Emrys kept a slow pace. Her motherly side glances were no help while they meandered the town square, especially with how expertly she masked her own grief. Smiles and warm greetings flowed from her lips to many of the townspeople, most of which sported reddened, baggy eyes after what he assumed was a long stay at her tavern.

Even so, she tried not to draw more attention than necessary as they ducked down a side street that led to the outskirts of town.

Emrys peered over his shoulder at Eva, who had kept her distance since leaving the burial site. She had lapsed into near-silence, only muttering quick responses when spoken to instead of peppering the air with questions. He yearned to know what raced within her mind, much like Mystia could do to him.

"She'll be fine, love," whispered Mystia, too low for their distracted companion to hear.

Emrys shoved his hands into his pockets, thanking the gods for the flannel shirt tied around his waist that concealed his sweat-dampened ass.

Mystia placed a gentle hand on his arm. "We'll figure it out. All of it."

Emrys cast another glance back at their quieter friend. While he wanted to believe Mystia, the flat expression on Eva's face brought more concern than words could relieve.

They turned a corner into the quiet suburbs. Lingering on the edge of town, the once thriving lawns had been starved of the sun's nutrients for far too long, until they had wilted to a dull brownish-green.

All except for one home.

A cottage rested at the end of the street, seemingly untouched by the world's blight. A mix of modern and traditional, it had been the coziest hole on the block even before the Corruption invaded. Its simplistic charm couldn't be beat. Every blade of grass stood in lush glory, with pots of iridescent flowers blooming in colorful sprays.

Faeran Morfare always had a flair for beauty—and plenty of help from a certain satyr to keep his property so well-preserved.

As they walked the cobblestone path to the front door, Mystia turned to face Eva. "Faeran is a nice man. Keeps me supplied with ingredients for my rarer tonics."

"Rarer?" asked Eva.

"Off the menu."

Eva arched her brows. When she gave no response, Mystia's eyes flicked to Emrys in a glance filled with the same unease that strangled his chest.

If Eva wasn't asking questions, something was definitely wrong.

Still, it surprised him how collected Mystia remained as she answered what Eva hadn't asked. "We don't keep everything that's in stock on the shelf, dear."

Eva opened her mouth, but shut it in exchange for a nod. Emrys and Mystia exchanged a side-eyed glance, but kept walking.

"You know," said Eva, wedging herself between them as she hustled to keep pace, "if this guy can fix my visions, maybe he can help Emrys—"

Her words were followed by a sharp yelp. Before Emrys could react, Mystia had yanked Eva around by the wrist to face her. Though Mystia's bloodred eyes were reduced to a sullen brown in her satyr form, her glare's lethality could not be diminished.

"Don't say his name," she hissed. "Not here. Not anywhere, but especially not here."

Eva pulled back, rubbing her reddened wrist. An annoyed huff left her lips, and she returned Mystia's dark glare with one of her own. Still, she continued forward without missing a beat.

Mystia quickened her pace past them, emitting soft profanities with every step up the wooden front stoop. She raised her fist and knocked a clear, well-practiced sequence.

Halfway through her pounds, the door opened. Mystia grew wide-eyed, stopping just before her fist slammed into the chest of a tall, elven man.

If Faeran was one thing, it was consistently charming—from his impeccable silk and leather garments to the gentle smile that always graced his ruggedly-handsome face. Violet eyes beamed down at the startled satyr, reflecting the sparkle of the afternoon sun.

"Mystia!" he exclaimed, tone smooth as the curtain of shiny, cocoa hair that framed his face. "It's been too long, my love." In one swift motion, he took the hand Mystia had nearly assaulted him with and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss. "The Darkness has paid this world no favors, but you remain as ravishing as ever."

The lively grin Mystia displayed was a rarity—one not laced with cynicism or snark, but purely lovesick. Emrys' own lips twitched at the longing twinkle in her eyes. He couldn't recall many times her face lit up outside of meet-ups with her favorite man.

Mystia raised herself up on tiptoe, while Faeran bent down in perfect sync, and placed a kiss on his stubbly cheek.

Finally, Faeran's eyes lifted to find Emrys and Eva waiting just beyond the front steps. "I see you've brought company."

Emrys turned to place a guiding hand on Eva's back, but his palm met the air as she approached the front stoop without hesitation. Confidence radiated from her presence, every second leaving him more dumbfounded than the last.

"These are my friends, Eva and..." Mystia faltered. Her gaze trailed over her shoulder, landing on Emrys' face.

Emrys forced a smile and stepped up beside his companions. "Jensen."

Mystia nodded her thanks as she pulled away from Faeran, squeezing his hands before her departure.

"The other night," she said, "when the Goddess enlightened those witches... it did something to Eva. It plagued her with visions. Terrible ones."

Mystia sent a pointed look to their distant friend. Eva stood in silence, not objecting to the cover story or showing interest in any form.

Satisfied, Mystia brushed Eva's hair back to reveal the gray fingerprint marks hidden beneath. "If she's been injured in her vision, it harms her upon waking."

With his free hand, Faeran swooped the hair from Eva's eyes with a feather's touch, hardly caressing the tender wounds. He leaned for closer examination with a soft tut-tut.

"By the gods..." Faeran's voice dropped, concern knitting his brows together. "I've never seen anything like this."

The man's gaze dropped from Eva's marks to her eyes, and he patted her shoulder gently. He backed away, pulling open the door to his cottage.

"Please, come inside," he said. "We can discuss it all over a cup of tea."

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