Echoes of The Sundering

Chapter 2: The Science of Stupidity

The festival was already in full swing by the time my mother and I arrived at the square. The entire space was alive with movement and sound , fae talking, laughing, and celebrating. The air carried the scent of sweetened fruits and freshly bloomed flowers, mixing with the occasional crackle of magic from performers displaying their skills.

Fae of all kinds were scattered throughout the square, dressed in beautifully woven garments. Some wore flowing robes embroidered with silver and gold thread, while others had more fitted attire, decorated with delicate patterns that shimmered under the glow of the lanterns strung overhead. Many had crystals embedded in their skin, glowing faintly as they moved, while others dusted their bodies with fine glitter that caught the light with every step.

In one part of the square, a group of fae were dancing in a coordinated pattern, their feet moving swiftly across the stone pavement. Their arms lifted, weaving shapes in the air as music played from a set of enchanted instruments hovering nearby. On the other side, merchants had set up colorful stalls filled with handmade trinkets, enchanted jewelry, and vials of glowing liquid that pulsed with energy.

Clusters of fae stood together in conversation, some laughing loudly while others spoke in hushed, excited whispers. Children darted between the adults, their wings fluttering as they chased after floating wisps of light conjured by an elder fae storyteller.

"Oh, look! It's your father," my mother said, her eyes lighting up as she spotted him in the crowd. Before I could react, she was already rushing toward him.

He stood at the center of a group of fae, speaking with his usual commanding presence, but the moment he heard her voice, his expression softened.

"Honeyyyy!" she called, launching herself at him without hesitation.

My father caught her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, spinning her around while she laughed, her arms wrapped around his neck. Without a care for the festival crowd, she kissed him, completely lost in the moment.

I groaned, stopping just short of them. "Ewww, nobody wants to see that!!"

"It's just love don't you think it's time for you to find a young fae to settle down with? What's the name of that friend you're always with?" a deep, rumbling voice asked.

I turned to see Elder Aziel, my father's best friend, watching me with an amused grin. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, clearly enjoying himself.

I sighed. "First of all, I do not think of Leya like that. I'm pretty sure she'd kill me before I even got the words out. And second, I just turned a hundred and by fae standards, that’s basically still a child! Why is everyone in such a rush to marry me off?

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed the drink my father had been nursing and took a sip.

"Don't mind Aziel Soren, he's had too much to drink," my dad chuckled before turning back to his conversation. My mom joined in, and within seconds, they were lost in whatever old people talk they found so fascinating.

I tuned them out and scanned the crowd, searching for Leya and my other friends. It didn’t take long to spot them Leya was lounging under a large tree, looking effortlessly bored, while Pyra and Bryan sat beside her.

"Hey, Mom, I’m going to meet my friends!" I called over my shoulder, already walking away before she could protest.

As soon as I got close, Bryan grinned. "Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. What happened? Did the elders bore you into seeking refuge with us peasants?"

Bryan, as usual, looked like he belonged in a fashion show rather than a festival. His forest-green trousers clung to him like they were personally invested in showing off his legs, and his black long-sleeved top only added to the whole mysterious and brooding vibe he liked to pretend he had.

"Oh please," Leya scoffed, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. "This is probably the only time he’s looked remotely presentable. Must be a festival miracle."

Pyra snorted. "Ignore her. You look good."

Pyra was effortlessly stunning, as always. She wore a deep crimson top, cropped just enough to show a teasing hint of her toned stomach, the fabric hugging her curves like it was made just for her. The long, sheer sleeves were embroidered with delicate golden threads that shimmered when she moved, catching the festival lights. Her skirt if you could even call it that was made of soft, flowing fabric that draped around her legs but had high slits on both sides, revealing smooth, sun-kissed skin with every step. Golden chains wrapped around her waist, resting just below her navel, a thin gold chain connected the small, delicate hoop in her nose to the gem-studded earring in her left ear, the chain swaying slightly as she spoke.

Her dark curls were swept to one side, cascading over her shoulder, and had small gems woven into them . A thin gold choker encircled her throat, drawing attention to the sharp angle of her jaw and the confident smirk she wore so well.

I placed a hand over my heart. "Thank you, Pyra. At least someone here appreciates me."

Bryan smirked. "Oh, we appreciate you. Just not enough to lie to your face."

Leya cackled holding her stomach.

She wore a flowing, midnight-blue dress, its fabric light as air, draping over her body like liquid silk. The dress had an asymmetrical cut one shoulder left bare, the other adorned with delicate silver embroidery that shimmered under the festival lights. A slit ran up the side, revealing toned legs and intricate golden sandals with laces that wound up from her ankles, crisscrossing her calves and thighs in an elegant, looping pattern until they disappeared beneath the fabric. The laces were woven with tiny silver charms that jingled softly with every shift of her movement. Around her waist, a thin belt of woven silver leaves cinched the dress, emphasizing her hourglass figure without effort. Her long, raven-black hair was partially braided, with strands of delicate pearls and tiny, luminescent crystals woven throughout, making it seem as if the night sky itself had settled into her locks.

"Whose side are you even on?" I grumbled as I sat down beside Leya pushing her shoulders playfully

The festival carried on, the music growing louder as more fae joined the dancers in the square. Leya was laughing at something Bryan said, while Pyra lazily traced patterns in the air with a flicker of her magic.

I should’ve been enjoying myself, but a familiar restlessness tugged at me. The laughter, the chatter, the lights it was all too much.

I stretched, faking a yawn. "I think I’m calling it a night."

Leya gave me a pointed look. “You always run off early.”

Bryan smirked. “Yeah, starting to think you’ve got some secret lover hidden away.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I did, I wouldn’t be spending my nights reading.”

Pyra grinned. “So you admit you sneak off to read.”

“I didn’t say that.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’m just… tired.”

They let me go without much fuss used to me disappearing when things got too loud. As I walked away, the sounds of the festival faded behind me, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It wasn’t that I disliked being around them. I just needed to be alone sometimes, to let my thoughts breathe.

By the time I reached home, the house was silent. I slipped into my father’s library, the scent of old books and parchment wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. I made my way to the towering bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines, looking for something new to read.

None of the books in this section looked remotely interesting. I had already read half of them, and the other half? Probably just dull records of wind spells or century-old debates on proper fae etiquette. Thrilling.

With a sigh, I wandered toward the section meant only for the Elders the really interesting books. The ones locked behind a door because apparently, knowledge was too dangerous for the rest of us.

Unfortunately for them, I had a terrible habit of paying attention.

I stopped in front of the door, tapping my fingers against my thigh. Now, technically, I wasn’t supposed to be here. But I had spent way too many nights lurking around this library, watching my father open this very door, memorizing the spell he used. Some would call it sneaky. I preferred dedicated academic pursuit.

I cleared my throat, flexed my fingers, and whispered the spell I had “borrowed” from my father’s routine.

"Vaelithar aen suven dorai,

Sylvaen ishar, venthir nai.

Vareth olis, shai morvith,

Kael en'rae, dos vieth."

For a moment, nothing happened. I frowned Don't tell me I forgot a word.

I cleared my throat and tried again, this time enunciating each syllable with the kind of authority my father always used.

"Vaelithar aen suven dorai,

Sylvaen ishar, venthir nai.

Vareth olis, shai morvith,

Kael en'rae, dos vieth."

A whisper of wind curled around me, slipping through the cracks of the door. Then—click.

I grinned. See? Perfect memory.