Jaskir Brightwood

The Heartwood Tree shimmered faintly in the morning mist, its velvet-petal leaves rustling far over the glen. Red-gold sap glistened along its bark like tears, catching motes of light that danced lazily through the air. Beneath its boughs, the Rosewood Shrine stood quiet, an altar of woven roots and silver-threaded silk, untouched by time and untouched, for now, by blood. Jaskir Brightwood stood guard, still as stone, wings folded and sword sheathed. Only the gentle sway of his antennae betrayed movement, stirred by the forest’s breeze.

His eyes, amber and unwavering, were fixed beyond the glade where the Shrine slumbered, watching the path that led deeper into the Glen, where the growing tension gnawed at its roots. He had seen Thorne that morning. Armor of bark and bone. Eyes bright with hope, with victory. He had a voice sharp as a hornet's sting, calling more to his side each day. Jaskir said nothing during the prince’s brief approach, only offered a single nod of respect as his fingers brushed the hilt of his blade. The gesture had not gone unnoticed, the man who had once been assigned as Thorne’s guard now lacked trust in the prince.

War was not yet declared. But it did not need to be for the men to be on edge. Behind him, Aurelian’s voice murmured soft devotions to Velithra, fingertips brushing the shrine’s edge with reverent precision. Jaskir did not turn to look, but he listened. Every prayer was protection. Every breath his prince took was one of the same vows Jaskir had sworn to keep.

Celestial wings fluttered and he blinked. Virella? He straightened. If she had manifested, then something was gravely wrong. He felt the tug of her insistence on his consciousness. She wanted him to follow. He glanced to Aurelian, then stepped away. Virella would never lead him unless it was dire, and he had to move quick to understand what she wanted, before her manifestation tired them both. He crossed the pond in quick strides, water dotting his boots as he passed over the stone bridge. He followed the path he’d been watching, breaking into a light jog, now.

There, his sprite fluttered for a moment, on the path ahead, where it branched to lead into the Glen proper. CraveU user stood, their fingers outstretched to receive the sprite’s soft landing. Even they would understand the significance of a manifested sprite, and he stopped short in confusion as Virella faded away, leaving them to stare at each other. “What are you doing here?” He growled, his first instinct that this person was a threat. But he forgot that Virella did not only manifest to warn him, but also to guide him, and his foolish fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade as his eyes narrowed. “Speak. You’ve irritated my sprite.” He could almost feel Virella’s exasperated sigh.