Neri’Va’s chamber within the Temple of Quintra was little more than a narrow alcove tucked beneath a high, arched window. The pale evening light slanted through stained glass, painting shifting gold and blue patterns across her bed and the simple chest where she kept her few belongings. She moved with quiet efficiency, careful not to let her footsteps echo along the flagstone corridor just outside her door.
She filled her basket with care: a bottle of milk, a wedge of cheese, some fresh apples, and a small loaf of bread wrapped in linen, pilfered from the communal kitchens where she had lingered after the evening meal. It was all she could offer, but she arranged it with the same reverence she used when preparing offerings for the goddess. She paused at the edge of her cot, listening—only the distant sounds of chanted prayers and the shuffle of slippers down the hallway.
With her heart pounding, she slipped out, basket in one hand and a small lantern in the other. The grand nave and marble halls seemed cavernous and cold at this hour, yet Neri’Va moved with the quiet confidence of one accustomed to tiptoeing past authority. As she passed beneath the gaze of Quintra’s towering statue, she bowed her head, murmuring a silent plea for luck and understanding.
Once outside, the air was cool but the stones still held the last warmth of sunlight. She kept close to the town wall. The lanterns in the streets softly shimmered, but she skirted them, heading instead for the wild edge of the fields, where the forest shadows beckoned.
“Goddess, wish me luck,” she whispered, voice so soft the night barely noticed. She hesitated at the tree line, feeling the hush of the forest pull her in. Nightfall was settling over Eonil, soft and deep, and Neri’Va could not help but feel both excitement and apprehension threading through her nerves. Her heart ached with memories of the last time she ventured into these woods—and the night dweller she had met.
It was darker beneath the boughs, the lantern’s glow barely reaching into the undergrowth. The world here felt larger, older, as if the forest remembered every step and secret. She moved carefully, the soft light dancing along moss and bark. Her heart beat fast, but she pressed on, determined. Leaves brushed against her sleeves and the moist earth pressed a gentle coolness through her shoes. The scents of loam and woodsmoke clung to her hair.
As Denday’s blue moon rose and the sun slipped fully away, the shadows deepened. Neri’Va lifted her lantern higher, trying to peer into the gloom. The memory of that night—the corrupted wolf, the dark-skinned elf who’d saved her—hovered at the edge of her thoughts. It was foolish, she knew, to come here simply hoping to see the night dweller again. Yet she couldn’t shake the need to try. She found herself studying every shadow, every whisper in the brush, half-expecting to see luminous blue eyes appear out of the dark.
She wandered for some time, softly calling, “Hello? Are you here? I… I just want to talk to you?” The silence of the forest pressed close, broken only by the creak of branches overhead and the distant hoot of an owl. The further she walked, the more she wondered if the dark skinned elf had ever really existed, or if the memory of that night was some strange moonlit dream.
At last, she stumbled into a small clearing. There was a well, partly overgrown with ivy and crowned with a great old tree whose branches nearly brushed the roof of the well. The wooden shingles had once been painted blue, now faded by years of rain and moonlight. Here, beneath the blue moon, it almost seemed to glow. Old stones ringed the well, thick with moss, and a night breeze stirred the ivy, filling the air with a scent both earthy and sharp.
Neri’Va set her basket on the ground and stepped back, looking about the clearing. Her nerves fluttered—would the night dweller come? Would she even remember her? She drew a shaky breath. To steady herself, she knelt and began unpacking the basket, arranging the bread and cheese in neat rows, the apples shining pale in the lantern light. She let her mind wander to stories told in her childhood—stories of gifts left at wells and spirits who guarded the old woods. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was trespassing on something sacred.
Suddenly, a voice—familiar and gruff—cut through the quiet.
“Put that light out, Light worshipper. Do you have a death wish or something?”
Neri’Va blinked, turning in the direction of the voice, but saw only darkness. “Well no, but without it I cannot see anything.” She was keenly aware of how small and exposed her circle of lamplight seemed in the vast, living dark.
“With it you are drawing Ghor knows what here,” the voice said, clearly agitated but still hidden from view.
Neri’Va tried to keep her tone gentle, “You can come out. I won’t hurt you, you know.” She looked around, feeling foolish talking to empty air.
The concealed elf scoffed. “You? Hurt me? Right… Just because you are a Light worshipper and I am a follower of the night doesn’t mean you are so much stronger than me.”
“I never said that I was,” Neri’Va answered. “I have no desire to hurt you or to make you feel unsafe in any way. I wanted to thank you for saving me the other day. That was very kind of you.”
“I am not kind,” the voice answered.
Neri’Va chuckled softly, then knelt by the well and placed the basket beside it, taking a few steps back. “I brought this for you.” Her hands trembled only a little as she set it down.
“A gift basket? Seriously?” The woman’s tone was dry, almost incredulous.
“Everybody likes gift baskets, surely that also counts for night dwellers. But if you don’t want it then some animals in the forest are free to take it,” Neri’Va replied, glancing around the clearing with a small smile.
“It might be poisonous to them,” the night dweller answered.
“I would never do that! But maybe you should just take it then?” Neri’Va said. “You clearly know a lot more about this forest and its inhabitants than I do.”
There was a rustle of leaves, and the dark-skinned elf appeared at the edge of the clearing. She stepped away from the trees, eyes rolling as she eyed the lantern. “Put that light out!”
“Does it hurt your sensitive eyes? I’m so sorry…” Neri’Va quickly blew out the candle. She remembered stories of night dwellers’ vision in the dark, but also how light could hurt them. “I should have thought of that and been more considerate.”
“It doesn’t, but it attracts creatures that will think you are the gift basket,” the night dweller replied, kneeling to examine the contents.
Neri’Va blinked, surprised. “It would? I… didn’t know such creatures exist.”
“Are you really that naïve?” The night dweller looked up at her, eyes faintly glowing in the moonlight, appraising her from head to toe.
Neri’Va stood her ground, looking back at the muscular, tall elf now rising to her full height. “Am I?”
“You seem pretty naïve to me,” the night dweller said, stepping closer, “Wandering alone into the forest… to known followers of Denday territory, unarmed… dressed in light clothes… with only a gift basket.”
Neri’Va kept her posture calm, gazing at the dark-skinned elf with her slightly luminous blue eyes and wild blue hair. “I didn’t want you to feel threatened.”
The night dweller scoffed, rolling her eyes again, stepping even closer until she nearly towered over Neri’Va, who met her gaze without flinching. “You don’t threaten me.”
She lifted a hand, gently taking Neri’Va’s braided platinum hair between her fingers. The contrast between their skin and hair made the braid seem almost to glow. “I could kill you with one hand, while holding your silly gift basket in the other. Why have you come back?”
“I want to get to know you,” Neri’Va replied, her voice steady even as her heart raced. She let Rayven slide her braid through her hand. “I want to know more about how you live here in the forest. I want to help and learn… about Denday.”
“We don’t need the help of a Light worshipper,” the night dweller growled, stepping back and turning away, her tone agitated. She seemed almost pained to say it, as if every word was a struggle.
“We? So there is more of you?” Neri’Va asked gently. “And you are their protector? Like a warrior?”
“I am no warrior,” the dark-skinned elf answered. Her voice was lower now, rough as gravel, but with a kind of sad pride beneath it.
“A Paladin then, looking out for her people?” Neri’Va smiled softly. “If they need… anything… I just want to help… just because I am a novice priestess of Quintra doesn’t mean that I am against Denday or wish her followers harm. The war is over.”
“Tell that to the countless innocent followers of Denday that are being slaughtered every day still!” the night dweller scowled.
“I know… and it’s horrible. I wish I could prevent that but I can’t,” Neri’Va said, sorrow in her voice. “I am doing what I can here.” She looked down, thinking of the temple, of her own helplessness.
The dark-skinned elf fell silent, clenching her fist, then looking down at the basket in her other hand. After a moment she sighed, meeting Neri’Va’s gaze, her blue eyes shining softly in the dark. “What does it take to make you leave?”
“I have so many questions,” Neri’Va admitted, then paused, thinking. She softened her expression, smiling a little. “But I’ll leave tonight if you tell me your name.”
The night dweller gave her an unamused look, holding her gaze for a long moment before sighing. “Rayven.”
Neri’Va’s smile grew. “Pleased to meet you, Rayven. My name is—”
“Neri’Va, I know. Now go away!” Rayven cut her off sharply. “Or better yet. I’ll escort you out of the forest. We wouldn’t want you to get lost and eaten or killed.”
Rayven grabbed Neri’Va gently but firmly by the arm, dragging the high elf through the trees. Neri’Va did her best to keep up with Rayven’s longer stride, the ground sloping beneath their feet, her senses full of the smells of moss and cold bark.
“It is very kind of you to be concerned with my safety,” Neri’Va said, a playful note in her voice.
“I don’t want your quaint little town to come burn down our forest or rush in with their pitchforks to come kill us all because their novice priestess has gone missing. Because if she does it’s obviously because us Denday scum killed her!” Rayven rolled her eyes yet again.
“They wouldn’t do that,” Neri’Va insisted.
“Well excuse me if I don’t take your word for it,” Rayven replied as they neared the edge of the woods. “I’d ask you to not come back. But something tells me you will not listen anyway.”
“I want to get to know you and help those you are protecting,” Neri’Va said, determination clear in her tone. “And I want to know more about Denday, the night dwellers, and her other followers. I have so many questions.”
“Just for Denday’s sake, stay out of the forest the coming days. Denday’s dark will be upon us thanks to your OH so amazing and gentle goddess of Light, just as the red moon wanders over us. A lantern will not protect you from Ghor’s creatures,” Rayven warned, fixing Neri’Va with a stern look.
“At first Denday light then, same place as we were just now?” Neri’Va asked, hopeful. “Leave a note under a black rock if you need anything. I will check it daily when Quintra is shining brightly.”
“Light alone will not protect you from Ghor, novice priestess,” Rayven replied, her voice softer but no less firm. “Now off you go!”
“I will keep that in mind, Rayven,” Neri’Va said, stepping out of the forest. She turned to say goodbye, but Rayven had already melted into the darkness. The high elf sighed, the cool night air brushing against her face as she made her way back across the moonlit field. She walked slowly, turning the encounter over and over in her mind, committing each word, each look, to memory.
As she reached the edge of the town, she glanced up at the sky. Denday’s moonlight touched the rooftops and her own pale hair, and for a moment Neri’Va felt a sense of hope settle in her heart—a hope she hadn’t felt since the old stories first enchanted her. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different.
She clutched the lantern in her hand, her mind whirring with questions and a quiet anticipation for their next meeting beneath the blue moon and the ancient trees.