The small dining room of their private quarters smelled of beeswax and spice. Gold light from the wall sconces flickered against pale marble and polished wood, chasing away the chill that clung to the palace corridors.
Lady Starlys Darkrune stood by the doorway, arms folded as she oversaw the last of the meal's preparation. Two palace servants laid out the final dishes—a delicate array of fruits and herb-seasoned fish—while another poured wine with nervous precision.
"That will be all," she said, her voice calm but edged with authority. "Leave the tray; we'll serve ourselves."
The servants bowed, grateful to be dismissed. The door closed behind them, and with it went the brittle formality of the palace. The room exhaled.
Starlys turned, her expression softening as she joined the others at the table. "Well then," she said, settling her napkin in her lap. "How did the day's experiments go?"
Vandryl's mouth curved faintly as he set aside his glass. "Productive. Promising. Aydris demonstrated a stable harmonic alignment between the runes and the basin water."
Aydris, who had been trying to contain her smile, failed spectacularly. "It listened to me," she said, leaning forward, eyes bright. "It didn't resist—it moved with me. The water and the Weave resonated together, like they were one thing."
Jace raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting in amusement. "That's quite a claim, Aydris."
"It's not a claim," she replied, earnest and unoffended. "You could feel it—the way the air changed. It wasn't just reacting—it understood."
Vandryl chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "She's not wrong. The readings confirmed it."
Starlys smiled—proud and pragmatic all at once. "Then you've made progress."
"Yes." Vandryl inclined his head. "Jace, I'll need you to transcribe the notes tomorrow morning."
"Of course," Jace said, already reaching for a small notebook as though preparing to begin.
"And what about your own day?" Vandryl asked, gesturing for him to sit back down before he buried himself in ink and structure.
Jace gave a small shrug. "Attended a few lectures in the south hall. Nothing remarkable—mostly theoretical discussions. You'd have been bored, sir."
Vandryl smirked faintly. "Doubtful. Theoretical discussions are the best kind—no one ever bleeds."
That drew a quiet laugh from Starlys, the sort that made the walls of their quarters feel a little more like home.
Jace turned back to Aydris, thoughtful. "If I'm to record the experiment properly, I'll need your description of how it felt—specifically, the difference between the Suramar samples and the Well water."
Aydris hesitated for only a moment, then smiled, her hands animated as she spoke. "It's difficult to describe. The old Well water felt… preserved. Still powerful, but tired. Like it remembered what it once was. This"—she gestured vaguely toward the direction of the Well—"this feels alive. It's not power you take; it's power that meets you. Like it was holding my hand."
Her words tumbled out, full of wonder. "When I reached for it, it didn't strain me—it filled me. Like—like I was finally standing in the place where my magic was born."
For a long heartbeat, the table was quiet. The hearth crackled softly, and the sound of the city beyond the balcony murmured in rhythm.
Starlys reached out, covering Aydris's hand with her own. "Then it seems you've both found what you were meant for."
Vandryl's gaze lingered on the candlelight, on the faint reflection of his daughter's face and his apprentice's joy. "Perhaps," he said quietly. "Though I've learned the world doesn't always take kindly to discovery."
Jace lifted his glass, his tone half-teasing. "Then may it be kind enough to us—at least for tonight."
They drank to that—four minds bound by curiosity and care, unaware that the Well below had already begun to listen back.