For a long minute, no one moved. No one reached for their ale.
"The song ends," Elias whispered, "but the story stays with you. Don't let it go cold." The Ballad Singer
The rain in Oakhaven didn’t just fall; it wept, slicking the cobblestones until they shone like obsidian under the amber glow of the lanterns. In the corner of The Rusty Anchor , Elias tuned his lute. He wasn’t a young man anymore—his fingers were knotted like old oak roots—but when he struck the first chord, the rowdy tavern fell into a sudden, heavy silence. For a long minute, no one moved
Elias was a Ballad Singer, one of the few who still carried the "long-songs"—tales that lasted an hour and held the history of a kingdom in their verses. Don't let it go cold
Elias didn’t just perform; he witnessed . Every tragedy in the lyrics etched a new line on his face. When he reached the final stanza—the part where the Thief gives up his heart to save the city—the music slowed to a heartbeat. The lute gave a final, shimmering hum, and Elias bowed his head.
A young girl near the hearth stopped mid-sip, her eyes wide. To her, it wasn't just a song; she could see the Iron Queen’s army marching through the firelight. She could smell the ozone of the Thief’s magic.