A Glimmer of Hope.

[Benreeder]

Jack watched as the flames of his meager fire consumed the last traces of evidence from the raid the day prior. It helped him avoid looking at the note in his trembling hand. Helped avoid the hard truth that awaited him.

Meadowmere had fallen.

His gaze fell on the glowing orb at the end of the hooked artifact in his left hand, then went to the huddled group of children in the corner of the barn, and the Hexhaven staff who moved among them. This was supposed to be a victory, but it didn’t feel like much of one. His home was taken. He didn’t know if his friends were alive, captured, or dead. Larken was getting worse, not coming within easy reach, fluttering back the moment anyone came within a few feet of her. Would she go the way of Marcus, fearing even her own friends, resisting any means of help? Once more, the feeling of utter helplessness washed over him. He’d watched, unable to help Marcus when he had been similarly cursed, his only contribution to add some small part of his own essence to the ritual that eventually restored him nearly four months later.

Footsteps nearby brought him out of his dark thoughts, Drandor’s steady tread crossing to the edge of the fire’s light to take his turn on watch. Aria sat on the far side of the fire, her head down over a book, her expression just as dark as his own musings. Drider was a lump of darkness near the fire, and Root came in from his own watch shift. Rook, silent as always, held the sword that she’d taken from the same shelf Jack had found Arianna’s hairpin and the clue it held. In the darkness nearby, he could hear the flutter of Larken’s wings, and if he looked closely, he could see the hammock Dahlya had slung in the trees outside the camp. They had trusted him, and he’d very nearly led them into a disaster. And in doing so, might have weakened Meadowmere when it needed every bit of help it could muster.

Softer steps came toward him from the dark, and Jack saw one of the young students approach the cook fire nearby. The boy emerged into the flickering light, a wooden bowl in one hand, and a deep metal spoon in the other. The man tending the pot of thin stew ladled a portion into the boy’s bowl. The concoction was so thin that it more resembled broth trying to pass itself off as soup than any stew. The boy turned, his gaze coming to the assembled group that had rescued him and his fellow students, and he gave a slight smile before turning back into the darkness between the fires.

Something in Jack’s heart rekindled then. They had done something good. They had come expecting only to rescue Ariana and the students. Jack had feared he would see at least one empty spot around this fire, but everyone had made it out, though not without a couple of new scars. He held a defense against the Horde in his hand. He thought he’d seen Tannas holding another in the chaos and smoke of the fight, as well. They were here, free and drinking chicken flavored tea and calling it stew. It was better than what the enemy had in mind.

The place that held the name Meadowmere might have fallen, but the people who made it the beacon of hope it had become still lived, and they waited for them in Haven. Now they were Jack’s beacon, too. Just when he’d been ready to let despair overtake him, he’d found hope in a child’s smile, and in his new clan.

He grinned at the thought of the DeJardin lieutenant having to explain how he’d lost an artifact and a group of potential hostages he didn’t even know were hiding under his nose to his commander. Jack let out a short grunt of amusement, then winced at the freshly healed skin under his tunic. Better that than what the DeJardin leader faced. Maybe, he could help bring a little of that hope back to the people of Meadowmere. Seemed like the fair thing to do.

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