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The great hall of the ancient fortress had seen almost no use in more than a century since the Vale of Mists fell to Cellach Lothian.

Even when Nyrielle returned to the Vale, staining the waters of the River Luath red with blood as she and her forty-seven prodigy purged every human conqueror and settler from their lands, there had been no feasts or grand celebrations in honor of their victory, only the long, bitter years of reconstruction as a trickle of Nyrielle’s people returned to the lands of their birth.

For decades, the great hall had been carefully maintained along with other unused areas of the ancient fortress, awaiting a day when the Vale of Mists returned to its former glory... or faded at last into the oblivion of history.

Now, however, while the entire fortress had undergone tremendous changes to accommodate the sudden arrival of an army more than a thousand soldiers strong along with more than twice that number in family members, merchants and allies recruited to Nyrielle’s cause, the great hall seemed to have become the center of all of that change, shining in a way it hadn’t for over a century.

The stone walls had all been freshly washed, then painted a soft, subtle grey reminiscent of the Vale’s mists before skilled artisans added harlequin patterns of alternating midnight blue and emerald green to sections of the wall that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Where the walls weren’t painted with bright colors, they displayed tapestries pulled from storage rooms and carefully cleaned so they could be displayed in all their glory.

Some said that the tapestries had been woven by Madame Zedya herself, and they depicted scenes from around the Vale of Mists and far beyond.

Notably, one tapestry depicted a dark, foreboding swamp, filled with trees covered in thorns, supporting vibrant vines with even sharper thorns.

Another tapestry prominently displayed something that seemed to be the exact opposite, presenting the frozen vista of a Frost Walker fortress, though the bright whites and icy blues of the tapestry conveyed a feeling that was every bit as dangerous and foreboding as the dark swamp of the Briar.

High above, more than a dozen gilded chandeliers had been polished until they gleamed, each one filled with enough oil to burn for an entire night and hung with more than a hundred crystals to reflect and refract the lamps’ soft, golden light.

On the floor below, fresh cedar boughs covered the cold stone floor, filling the room with their sweet, earthy scent and muffling the footfalls of hundreds of people moving about to find their places.

At the entrance of the great hall, Kaisen stared in open-mouthed awe at how much the ancient fortress had transformed since his own days serving in its halls.

Next to him, Helga fidgeted nervously with her simple blue dress, adjusting the polished amethyst pendant hanging from her neck while her eyes darted around the great hall for anyone dressed as plainly as they were.

They had already spent several minutes standing in line, waiting for one of the servants to guide them to their assigned seats, and Helga was already feeling incredibly underdressed after seeing the glamorous dresses and elaborate jewels worn by a trio of women from the scaled clan, to say nothing of the palpably mysterious aura that radiated from a group of sorcerers whose robes were embroidered with cryptic runes in thread of silver and gold.

In fact, ever since their arrival at the Ancient Fortress, she hadn’t seen a single person attending who wasn’t at least the Village Elder of a village or a proud warrior carrying weapons that looked impressive enough to be the work of master smiths from far across the mountains.

Her eyes searched the crowds constantly, hoping to find a sign of some other common folk who had entered the prestigious banquet because of a family connection, likely seated at a table far to the back of the great hall, but she had yet to see a single person who fit that description.

"Relax," a gruff voice said from behind her as her father-in-law cast his own gaze around the hall. "You saw how the guardsmen at the front gate reacted to our invitation. No one will look down on us for how we’re dressed tonight. We aren’t here to impress these people anyway," he added pointedly as he tugged on his gray beard.

"Most likely," the old man concluded. "Little Heila just wants a moment to introduce us to the Seneschal. We’ll have a few minutes of polite hellos and then she’ll be too busy tending to her mistress to bother with us."

"You say that, Father," Kaisen said, frowning as he inspected his father’s unexpectedly refined appearance.

The midnight blue tunic had faded a bit with the passage of years, but the silver buttons running down his chest were bright and freshly polished, and the small sword he wore at his waist gleamed with matching silver adornments.

"But you look like you actually belong here.

Where did you even get that sword anyway? "

"This? It’s just a ceremonial sword, it’s not even sharp," he said, tapping the hilt of the sword as though it were a simple fashion accessory. "It was a gift from a friend when I retired from Lady Nyrielle’s service. It’s been collecting dust under my bed since you were in diapers," he said with a warm laugh.

Standing next to him, a white haired woman with horns grown heavy and dull with age smiled brightly at her husband’s dashing appearance, seeing once again the handsome rogue who had stolen her heart and convinced her to leave the outlying villages behind to return to life in the Vale of Mists.

For all he said that the sword had been collecting dust, she knew very well that he pulled it out at least once a year, carefully maintaining the treasured weapon... just as she knew that it wasn’t the dull, ceremonial accessory he pretended that it was.

Kaisen was about to press his father for a better explanation, wanting to know how a simple trader who wandered the outlying villages before settling down in the Vale of Mists had come to be gifted such an expensive looking weapon but the arrival of a breathless and flustered young servant interrupted them before he could ask any more questions.

"I’m sorry for the wait," the young man with short horns said as he bowed deeply to Kaisen and his family. "May I have your names?" he asked as he glanced at the slate he carried in one arm, covered with a diagram of the great hall and dense notations.

"Kaisen," Heila’s father said, feeling a bit awkward at the young man’s excessive courtesy.

"This is my wife, Helga, and my parents as well. The invitation that my daughter, Heila, sent mentioned we could bring other family members, so I hope it’s no trouble that there are four of us," he said nervously.

"L-lady Heila is your daughter?" the young man stammered, color instantly draining from his face as he realized that such a venerable personage had been left to wait in the same line as Village Elders and wealthy merchants. "Honored guests, I’m so sorry, so sorry for the mixup. I’ll take you to your seats right away, right away," he gulped, bowing so deeply that he nearly overbalanced, and he would have fallen to the floor if Kaisen’s father hadn’t caught him.

"Don’t worry yourself over us, young man," the gray-bearded senior said, helping the young man to stand upright. "These bones aren’t so old that I can’t stand in line for a bit," he said, holding his cane up as if to imply that it was mostly for show and not something he needed just to move around.

"Now, why don’t you show us to our seats? "

"Of course, of course," the young man stammered. "If you’ll follow me down the center aisle, your seats are on the left side of the hall at the table in the front with the other Honored Guests. Please, if you’ll follow me," he said with sweat dripping down his brow.

"There’s another Honored Guest at your table who is very eager to meet you," the young man added as he guided the surprised-looking couple toward one of the tables at the front of the great hall, just beneath the high table on the dias that overlooked the entire hall.

Inwardly, the young man hoped that the other guest had exaggerated when he described Lady Heila’s prowess with whips. Or, failing that, that the ’Willow Whip’ wouldn’t take offense that her family had been left waiting in line instead of receiving the courtesy they should.

Behind him, Kaisen and his father exchanged puzzled looks as they walked toward the table at the front of the hall. Who among the ’honored guests’ could possibly be interested in meeting them?