Chronicles of the Untalented

The air was thick with smoke, yet tonight it felt lighter, like a weight had shifted within the city. It wasn't the usual dampness, the usual cold bite of dust on the tongue. Tonight, the city felt… different. Alive. At least, for a fleeting moment.

People gathered around small fires, offering their tokens with whispered prayers to Teravhan Golyten, the city's long-forgotten ancestor, the one they'd all but lost faith in. No one remembered him clearly anymore, but they remembered that it was tradition—an offering meant for survival, to appease whatever remained of their gods. Those who could find food made their offerings, and those who couldn't at least prayed.

Silas hadn't thought much about Teravhan. He wasn't even sure why he'd stepped up to the circle earlier and dropped the shard of soulstone inside. The gesture had felt like a hollow thing, a mere formality. He hadn't expected to feel anything, not really.

Yet here he was, sitting on the edge of the firelight with Velira, watching the lanterns float above the city like ghosts. And for the first time in a long while, something in him felt warm.

It wasn't much. Just a flicker. A fleeting surge of something he couldn't name.

The warmth crept through his chest, curling up toward his throat. He rubbed his hands together absently, feeling the skin of his palms scrape against each other. It wasn't the soup that had left him content, nor the shared meal. It was the quiet hum of the city, the sound of people laughing, despite everything. Despite the cracks in the walls and the wasted bones that had fed the fires.

But it was more than that. It was the festival itself. The fact that everyone had found this moment to pause. To breathe.

To remember.

---

Velira was leaning back on the ground, arms behind her head. She watched the lanterns drift higher, her eyes half-lidded. "I think Teravhan would've liked this," she said, her voice soft. "Not much, but it's something."

"I don't know if he would've liked it," Silas replied, his voice absent as his eyes followed the glowing lights. "Seems more like we're surviving than living."

Velira let out a low laugh. "Does it matter? We're doing both, aren't we?"

He didn't know how to respond. He didn't know how to explain the tightness in his chest, the sudden pressure in his ribs, the tingling that felt like electricity under his skin. He closed his eyes, trying to push it away. But it lingered.

The warmth.

It grew stronger. Sweeter, somehow.

Then it hit him.

He was... happy.

For the first time in so long, he was genuinely, uncontrollably happy.

He let out a breath, louder than he meant to, and turned to Velira with an almost sheepish grin. She caught the shift in his expression, raising an eyebrow.

"You okay?" she asked, voice a little too casual, like she was trying to pretend she didn't notice the change.

"I—" He stopped. He had to laugh, but it wasn't the usual kind of humor. It was a strange, almost delirious sound that bubbled up from his chest without warning. It was joy. Pure and simple, and he didn't know what to do with it.

He felt it all around him—everything that had felt so dead, so impossible. The people. The festival. The damn lanterns. The laughter in the air. It was like... life was happening again. And for once, Silas didn't feel like he was just passing through.

Velira stared at him, clearly not sure whether to laugh with him or just keep her distance. "What's going on with you?"

"I don't know," Silas chuckled, shaking his head. "It's like… it's like I'm seeing the city in a new way. It feels alive, Velira. It feels real."

Her expression softened. "You're not used to feeling this way, are you?"

"No," he admitted, his smile faltering for a second. "Not at all. But I think… I think I like it."

---

The evening passed with the sounds of clinking mugs and chatter filling the air. Silas didn't stop smiling. He didn't even try to hide it. He let the joy spill out, too strange to keep inside, too unfamiliar to keep contained. It was like the city had lifted its heavy cloak, and for a brief moment, he could breathe without the weight of past sins or future failures.

He wasn't thinking about the mines, about Nessa, about the hellhounds. He wasn't even thinking about his effigy's cracks or what tomorrow would bring.

He was just… here.

He caught sight of a young child running by, her face smeared with flour, her hands full of freshly baked bread. The child beamed at Silas and waved, and without thinking, Silas waved back.

The child's smile grew wider.

---

As the night deepened, Silas found himself drawn toward the offering circle again. He didn't know why—he just found his feet carrying him there, to the quiet spot under the shadows, the place where it all began, where he'd dropped the soulstone earlier.

Velira followed him, falling into step beside him as the two of them stood at the edge of the circle. The lanterns flickered above them, and for the first time, Silas wasn't sure if it was the glow of the lanterns or something else lighting up the dark.

"You're different tonight," Velira said, looking at him curiously. "I think I've seen you smile more in the last few hours than in all the days we've known each other."

Silas couldn't help it. He smiled wider.

"I feel different."

And in that moment, with the smoke rising from the fires, the sounds of the city murmuring around them, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to the world than survival.

Maybe there was something like living.