Sand of Accord - The Beginning

Seren felt her body relaxing as she breathed in the fresh scent of the air. A small shiver ran up her spine as she felt the small cold drops of rain against her arms.  She tried not to think too much, not to think at all, as she took in this feeling.  This was what home felt like to her, the sound of the light rain on pattering on the leaves above her head.  The wet droplets that slipped through and splashed against her skin.  The feeling of the grass beneath her feet.  This was home and she tried to memorize all the sensations once more as the sand ran through the hourglass in her head.  She would be leaving here soon.  Leaving the only home she had ever known, the places where she felt closest to her mother, who had been her world but had passed when she was barely more than a child, gone almost ten years now.  Seren did not cry now, she had no more tears left to shed, she had said her goodbyes. In the morning she would depart the verdant rainforest where she had grown up and ride inland, through the desert and to the immense city she had only heard about in stories.  

Rift was a sweeping city of towering sandstone walls, sprawling markets, and narrow, shaded streets. Built on an oasis, it was a marvel of ancient engineering with aqueducts that snaked through the heart of the city, delivering precious water from underground springs. The buildings, sun-bleached and weathered by time, seemed to rise from the very desert, their intricate carvings telling tales of forgotten empires. Despite the harsh climate, the city thrived, its people hardened by the blistering summers and the endless dunes that stretched to the horizon.
Seren prayed to the Goddess that she would be able to find beauty in this place so unfamiliar from her own. And she prayed for protection from the hardships to come. Rift was a land of sun-scorched stone and shadow, where magic was feared, its practitioners regarded with suspicion rather than respect. In her homeland, spells were woven into everyday life—blessings for crops, enchantments for protection, even healing charms shared openly in the markets. Here, magic was something whispered about behind closed doors, something to be distrusted.

Her betrothed, King Evandaros, had made it clear in their brief conversations that he did not share her comfort with the mystical arts. Though he had a reputation for fairness and wisdom, his hatred of magic ran deep, fueled by the belief that his father had been killed by a sorcerer. She would have to navigate this kingdom carefully, her power would be viewed as a threat rather than a blessing. 
The betrothal between Seren and Evandaros was born not of love or choice, but necessity—a treaty to bind two lands of contrasting fates. Seren’s homeland, with its endless rains and fertile soils, flourished with bountiful harvests, while the desert kingdom of Rift, rich in rare jewels, spices, and other treasures, faced a scarcity of food. Decades of drought had only worsened the plight of Rift’s people, their fields dry and barren under the relentless sun. Desperate for aid, the rulers of both lands brokered a marriage alliance when Seren was only a child, and Evandaros but a boy.

The treaty promised that Seren’s homeland would send grain, fruit, and fresh produce to feed the desert cities in exchange for Rift’s vast wealth of precious stones and spices. Seren was bound by this agreement before she understood the weight it carried. Her fate was decided with a signature on parchment, her future entwined with the boy who would one day be king. Over the years, the alliance held firm, and as Seren grew, she learned of her role—not just as a political symbol, but as the queen-to-be of a land that feared the magic that pulsed through her veins.

The first time they met, Seren and Evandaros had been little more than children, standing stiffly beside their parents in the opulent halls of the desert palace. But with all the boldness gifted to children, they took to each other quickly, making games of exploring the hidden passages of the palace known to the young boy and sneaking around to purloin sweets from the kitchens. 
The next time they met they were 17 and 20, with all the pent up energy and rage bestowed to teenagers. They fought at first, arguing the idea that their parents could force them to spend their futures together. He stating she was nothing more than a whining forest girl, and she insisting he was merely a stupid boy who knew nothing and was only pretending at being a mand.  The fighting turned after a particularly embarrassing incident wherein Seren had fallen off a horse, fracturing her ankle in the tumble.  The prince had run to her, helping her out of the way of the still spooking animal, and eventually the safety of her rooms.  He had returned that evening after the doctors and her fretting father had departed.  That night had ended with a series of kisses that she had never been able to forget, and the feeling of his arms around her as they lay together in her bed, two youths exploring each other carefully, cautiously, and slowly. Her people had departed the next day, the two never got the chance to speak of what had passed between them that night.  

The sudden and unexpected death of Evandaros’ father, the former king, plunged the desert kingdom into mourning. The wedding was delayed, and the uneasy alliance wavered, its future uncertain.

Now, years later, Seren was 25, and her time had come. The treaty still held, and the marriage would proceed, but the distance between her and Evandaros had only grown in the years since the former king’s death. Their connection was one of duty, not affection, and Seren knew her arrival in Rift would bring challenges far greater than simply being a stranger in a strange land. 

The Rift delegation was modest by royal standards, a deliberate choice to project strength without excess, and an accommodation to allow them to travel faster through the harsh desert. At its heart were the Sandblades, the king's close-knit and elite protectors, known throughout the desert for their swift, lethal precision. Each member had pledged their unwavering loyalty to Evandaros, placing him above even the desert kingdom they served. Rumors about the Sandblades swirled through the courts—whispers of their deadly prowess and mysterious bonds, both terrifying and intriguing.

Seren had studied them well. Elara, a cleric of the desert’s sacred religion and the King’s own cousin, wielded both faith and blade. Alaric, a legendary strategist, was said to see the battlefield like a chessboard, always a step ahead of his enemies. Then there was [xxxx], a warrior whose feats in combat had become the stuff of legend, his name whispered with awe across the desert lands. Though small in number, every Sandblade was highly trained in combat, forged by the harsh desert and trusted by the king with his life.

The king had not come personally to escort her back to his lands, to her new home to be, he had come to sign the papers, the official declaration of the treaty, with his signature not only would the pact be complete, but their marriage would be official as well.  No ceremony or priest was required, all that had been done many years ago, all that was left was a signature, and a drop of blood on the parchment. There was no place for her to sign, she was not given a choice in this matter, it was her duty.

As the rain ceased and the moon rose higher in the night sky, Seren admitted to herself that it was time to go in, staying out any later was only bound to cause her trouble.  She followed the familiar path through the forest back towards her home, her fingers brushed against the familiar wooden tree trunks, a last goodbye.  As she climbed the stairs to her room she felt a tingling sensation slipping over her skin, raising the gooseflesh on the backs of her forearms, she was not alone.  The door to her sitting room was slightly ajar, the warm light of the lamp spilling through the crack.  Although she knew she someone had entered, she did not sense danger, what kind of burglar would turn the light on? She thought to herself.  Besides, she had a hunch she knew who was inside, he had been sending messagers to request a meeting with her all day now, and she had gracefully danced around them each time, unready to face him, her husband to be.  A deep breath and a brief silent prayer to the goddess and she entered the room.

You wouldn't know he was a king by looking at him. Dressed in a pair of black loose silk pants and a similarly loose but lowly cut white shirt that showed a good portion of his well muscled chest.  He sat on her couch, bent over himself studying a book that she recognized as an atlas on the many medicinal uses for local herbs. His long black hair fell loose over his shoulders, brushing over the images on one page of the book.  She watched as his finger traced along the line he was reading, he hesitated a moment, and then looked up, his golden eyes meeting hers directly. “Is this true?” he asked “Fernwood can help stop pollen allergies? I’d never thought gnawing on bark could do anything more than make one look like a beaver.” He closed the book and placed it back on the table in front of him, rising to his feet as he did so.  He was a tall man, even for an elf, nearing 7 feet, built solid but still somehow graceful like all elves were. 
She sank low, dropping into a curtsey, suddenly aware of her own, dripping wet dress she wore.  “Your Grace,” She said softly. 
“Oh stand up Seren,” he scoffed, a tone of amusement in his voice. “I dont want all this bowing and scraping from you of all people.” She rose, straightening her legs and meeting his eyes again. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said directly.
She couldn't stop the sigh that escaped her, it was late, and she was tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  “I hadn’t known or decided what to say yet Evandaros,” she spoke, stepping past him and into her closet, he didn’t turn or follow.  “You could have said that,” He called, his voice just loud enough to reach her ears.  She changed into a dry set of night clothes, a long pair of pants and a long sleeved shirt.  She brushed her hair back and tied loosely behind her.  Stepping back out into the sitting room he now turned to face her. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Me too,” he replied softly.  She walked to the couch he was at and sat, he sat down beside her, close but not touching her.  “What were you doing out in the rain?” his tone was curious, not judgmental. 
“Saying goodbye to the forest,” she replied. He didn’t miss the tinge of sadness in her voice.  “I imagine it will be a while before I will return here.”
“I promise you will return as often as possible if it is what you wish,” he said.  “And if you would allow it, I would be honored if you would show me more of your home in the future.”
She felt somewhat relieved at his words, but she was realistic enough to know that it could still be years before she returned.  “You’ve tracked me down,” she spoke, “What is it you wanted to speak about?”
He studied her for a moment before replying, his molten gold eyes moving across her face.  “I thought you might have questions.  About what is to come.  About Rift.  About me….” he trailed off.  “About…other things.”  She had a feeling he was hinting at their last meeting.  “I wanted us to have a chance to talk in private, before all the chaos that will come tomorrow.”
“You will sign the pact tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“And we will depart afterwards?”
“The sandstorms get worse this time of year, Elara has read the weather, it is best to return as quickly as possible to escape the worst of it.”
“How long will the journey take?” she questioned.
“A couple of weeks if we are lucky to miss the storms, three if we are not.”  he paused, studying her once more.  “Why are you asking questions you know the answers to?”
“What is it you want me to ask?” she returned.
It was his turn to sigh.  He sank back into the couch and tipped his head back to stare up at the wooden beams high above them.  “Maybe I’m the one who has the questions,” he said softly.  After a moment he straightened, “I’m sorry Seren, I shouldnt have come tonight.” He began to rise to his feet but she stretched out and caught his hand.  He glanced at her, his eyes confused and lonely.  “You want to know if I’ve thought of that night?” she whispered.  He stepped towards her and sank to his knees on the carpet before her, both of his hands now in hers, resting on her knees.  “Yes” he breathed.  “Seren, I…” he broke his gaze and looked down at their hands, his thumb circling a light circle over the back of her hand.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke,” he whispered sadly.  “I thought we would have more time.”  She thought back to that morning, when she had awoken she could have believed it had been nothing more than dream except for the ache between her legs and the hastily scrawled note left on the beside, Called away. Return soon.  But shortly after waking there had been a knock on her door and a message from her father that the weather was about to turn and they would have to depart immediately or risk being stuck in the city another month.  They had left before she and Evandaros had been able to find a moment to speak, left with only a parting bow under the watchful gaze of their fathers. 
Returning to the present, Seren asked, 'What happened?' There had been rumors—a Rift noblewoman attacked by an intruder.

'Elara called through our link,' Evandaros said, his tone casual, though Seren sensed the gravity behind his words. 'There was… an incident that night. She needed help. I was the only one she could reach.'

So it was true. The attack had happened, and it likely explained her father’s hasty departure from the desert palace. Seren shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. 'I didn’t realize you were bonded even back then,' she offered at last.

Evandaros chuckled, a sound that softened the tension between them. 'Elara and I bonded young. We were raised together, so it was no surprise to our parents. She declared herself for me as soon as she came of age and took the oath the following year. Our bond solidified shortly after that. She was the first of the Blades.' He smiled, shaking his head. 'Not that it means she always agrees with me. In fact, she makes it her mission to oppose me whenever possible.'

She had heard stories of those with bonds strong enough to sense each other across great distances, of warriors who could feel the pain of their bonded in battle, or of clerics whose spiritual bonds granted them divine visions. Each bond, regardless of type, was as much a strength as it was a vulnerability.

His face grew serious again, the weight of his words hanging between them. "I wanted to be there that morning," he said, his voice rough with regret. "If there was any way I could have made it in time... It's one of my biggest regrets, Seren."

She hesitated, her fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin of his palm. Her gaze fell, no longer meeting his. "I’ve made peace with it," she said quietly. "I never held any anger toward you. We both thought we'd have more time."

A heavy silence followed, thick with shared memories and unspoken pain. After a moment, she spoke again, her tone softer. "It seems now we have all the time in the world to figure it out."

His chuckle was low, a rumble from deep in his chest. "Yes, it seems we do."

They lingered together in the quiet for another half hour, their conversation light and inconsequential, a way to readjust to each other's presence after so long. There was no rush, only the gentle ebb and flow of words, as if the space between them needed to be bridged again.

When the clock struck one, he rose, bidding her goodnight with a lingering look. Seren slipped into bed soon after, knowing sleep would come fleetingly, and that dawn would bring with it another long day.