Elaris chose a quiet place.

  Not the busy common room, not the balcony where everyone eavesdropped as a hobby — just one of the smaller side parlours in the Ember Tankard. A single lamp. A scarred wooden table. Two chairs.

  Tavian sat in one.

  Elaris closed the door behind them with a soft click and sat in the other.

  For a long moment, he just looked at the boy.

  Not cruelly. Not even angrily.

  Just… measuring.

  Elaris (finally, very calm):

  “So.”

  Tavian’s throat bobbed.

  Tavian:

  “…sir.”

  Elaris folded his hands on the table.

  Elaris:

  “I don’t need to know… specifics.”

  Tavian visibly sagged in relief.

  Tavian:

  “Oh thank the gods—”

  Elaris:

  “But.”

  Tavian froze again.

  Elaris (tilting his head):

  “…what happened?”

  Tavian swallowed. Tried to find a short version.

  Failed spectacularly.

  Tavian:

  “Well we… started talking and then she kissed me and then we kind of bumped into the dresser, and then she shut the shutters and then we moved to the bed but just to sit and then there was tongue but only because she said I could and then there was more smooching and I may have accidentally fist-pumped and she saw, and then we—”

  Elaris raised a hand.

  Elaris:

  “Right. I said I didn’t need specifics, Tavian.”

  Tavian:

  “Right. Sorry. That was the… less specific version.”

  Elaris stared at him a moment longer, somewhere between exasperated and deeply, deeply tired.

  Elaris:

  “And… this all just… happened, did it?”

  Tavian fumbled with something at his chest, nerves making his fingers clumsy. The heart-shaped locket Elyra had given him slipped free of his tunic and glinted in the lamplight.

  Elaris’s eyes locked onto it.

  His entire expression changed.

  The softness vanished. The humour, the fluster, the “embarrassed dad” melted away and something sharper, older, and very, very serious took its place.

  Elaris (quietly):

  “Where did you get that.”

  Not what.

  Where.

  Tavian froze like a rabbit in moonlight, then looked down.

  Tavian:

  “Th-this? Elyra… gave it to me.”

  He cupped it automatically, protective without even thinking.

  Elaris leaned in, his gaze suddenly piercing in a way Tavian had only ever seen on battlefields.

  Elaris:

  “Did she tell you what it is?”

  Tavian:

  “She said it was… special. That her birth mother gave it to her. And she kept one half and gave me the other with a note and—”

  He hesitated.

  Tavian (smaller):

  “…and a lock of her braid.”

  Elaris’s eyes flickered. Something like pain, something like pride.

  He reached out slowly, palm up.

  Elaris:

  “May I?”

  Tavian didn’t hesitate. He unhooked the locket chain and placed it carefully into Elaris’s hand.

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  Elaris turned it over with a familiarity Tavian couldn’t miss. He’d seen that locket before. On a frightened girl in Grayhollow. On a hopeful young woman in Thornmere. On a daughter who’d died twice and come back both times.

  Elaris opened it.

  The tiny braided strands inside shimmered faintly — just the barest glow, a whisper of lattice-light.

  He exhaled.

  Elaris (very quietly):

  “She did this on purpose.”

  Tavian:

  “…Sir?”

  Elaris shut the locket with a soft click.

  He turned it back into Tavian’s hands, but kept his own wrapped around them so the boy couldn’t pull away.

  Elaris:

  “Tavian. Listen to me very carefully.”

  Tavian went very still.

  Tavian:

  “Y-yes?”

  Elaris’s voice dropped, calm and steady. The voice of the Shepherd. The man who’d talked souls back from the brink and stared down queens.

  Elaris:

  “This is not just a keepsake. It’s not just a memento. It’s not just a sweet gesture from a girl who likes you.”

  He tapped the locket once, lightly.

  Elaris:

  “When Elyra gave you this, she gave you a part of her lattice construct.”

  Tavian’s brows knit.

  Tavian:

  “I… don’t understand.”

  Elaris:

  “My lattice doesn’t just hold memories. It holds essence. Soul. Connection. Choice. When Elyra died — both times — that lattice held enough of her to bring her back whole.”

  His eyes flicked to the locket.

  Elaris:

  “She’s replicated that. Here. Condensed. Focused.”

  Tavian stared at the little heart like it had just turned into a live dragon egg.

  Tavian:

  “So it’s… her?”

  Elaris:

  “A fragment, but a powerful one. That braid is not just hair. It’s a tether. A live link to her soul. To her self.”

  He let that sink in.

  Then, calmly — almost too calmly — he spoke again.

  Elaris:

  “With this in your hands, Tavian… you could kill her.”

  Tavian’s blood turned to ice.

  Tavian:

  “W-what?! I would NEVER—”

  Elaris squeezed his hands, not unkindly, but firmly.

  Elaris:

  “I know. I’m saying you could. Do you understand? If this fell into the wrong hands… if someone twisted the lattice through it… they could crush that tether. Sever it. Or worse, puppeteer it.”

  Tavian stared at the locket, horror dawning.

  Elaris:

  “Conversely…”

  His tone shifted, a fraction softer.

  Elaris:

  “…if the worst happened again, if she were lost, if something tore her away from us… with this, a healer or lattice-worker who understands what she’s done could use it to bring her back. Even if I were gone.”

  He lifted Tavian’s hands, locket cradled between their palms.

  Elaris:

  “You literally hold her life—”

  He tapped the metal gently.

  Elaris:

  “—in your hands.”

  Silence.

  Tavian’s eyes filled slowly, throat working.

  Tavian (hoarse):

  “She… she trusted me with that?”

  Elaris:

  “She did.”

  Tavian:

  “But… why me? You’re her father. You’re the Shepherd. Surely you—”

  Elaris gave a very small, sad smile.

  Elaris:

  “She already knows she has me. And Sereth. And Arden. And all of us. That locket isn’t about what I can do for her.”

  He nodded toward Tavian’s chest.

  Elaris:

  “It’s about what you mean to her.”

  Tavian blinked rapidly, jaw trembling.

  Tavian:

  “I would never hurt her. I swear it. I would die before I ever let anything happen to her, locket or no.”

  Elaris watched him carefully.

  Not with magic. Not with detect thoughts or lattice-sight.

  Just as a father.

  What he saw seemed to satisfy him.

  Elaris:

  “I believe you.”

  Tavian exhaled like someone had just lifted a boulder off his ribs.

  Elaris wasn’t finished.

  Elaris:

  “But belief doesn’t replace responsibility.”

  He loosened his grip, letting Tavian close his fingers fully around the locket.

  Elaris:

  “You don’t just have my daughter’s heart, Tavian. You have a piece of her soul structure. Her second chance. Her choice.”

  He held the boy’s gaze.

  Elaris:

  “You must guard that with your life. Truly. Don’t flaunt it. Don’t play with it. Don’t take it off and leave it on some tavern table beside your drink.”

  Tavian:

  “Never. Never, sir. I’ll— I’ll wear it always. Sleep in it. Bathe with— well maybe not bathe with it but I’ll find a way—”

  Elaris actually huffed a laugh despite himself.

  Elaris:

  “Drying time aside, you understand.”

  Tavian nodded fiercely.

  Tavian:

  “If anything goes wrong. If something happens. If someone comes for her… what do I do?”

  Elaris’s expression turned grave again.

  Elaris:

  “You come to me. Immediately. No matter how afraid you are. No matter who it is. If that locket feels strange, if it glows when it shouldn’t, if it goes cold— tell me.”

  He paused.

  Elaris:

  “And if I’m not there… you go to Arden. Or Sereth. Or Aurelthane if you must. But don’t try to use it yourself unless you’re told how.”

  Tavian nodded, clutching the locket to his chest like a holy symbol.

  Tavian:

  “Yes. I promise.”

  Elaris studied him one last time, then leaned back in his chair, some of the edge easing from his shoulders.

  Elaris:

  “For what it’s worth… I’m glad she chose you.”

  Tavian’s head snapped up.

  Tavian:

  “…You are?”

  Elaris:

  “You stood by her when she couldn’t walk. You punched boys bigger than you for mocking her. You made her laugh when she thought she’d never feel normal again.”

  A wry smile.

  Elaris:

  “And you asked to court her properly, which already puts you leagues above certain warlocks I could name.”

  From somewhere in the tavern, Vex sneezed indignantly.

  Tavian gave a weak little laugh.

  Tavian:

  “I love her. I really do.”

  Elaris’s gaze softened, the ancient ache in it mirroring his own past losses and hard-won joys.

  Elaris:

  “I know. That’s why this is so terrifying.”

  They shared a rueful, understanding silence.

  Then Elaris stood.

  Elaris:

  “Alright. Talk concluded. Ground rules are simple: don’t hurt her, don’t be reckless with what she’s given you, don’t make me resurrect you out of a puddle.”

  He started for the door, then paused, looking back over his shoulder.

  Elaris:

  “Oh… and Tavian?”

  Tavian:

  “Y-yes?”

  Elaris:

  “Next time you plan to smooch my daughter all night, maybe just… give the shutters a smaller closing ceremony. The entire Dice clocked it.”

  Tavian’s ears went nuclear.

  Tavian:

  “Y-yes sir.”

  Elaris actually smiled — tired, but real.

  Elaris:

  “Welcome to the family, then.”

  Tavian’s breath caught.

  By the time he found words, Elaris was already opening the door.

  Tavian looked down at the locket in his palm — at the faint, gentle echo of Elyra’s lattice pulsing there in time with his own heartbeat — and closed his fist around it.

  Tavian (soft, to himself):

  “I won’t let you down. Either of you.”

  And somewhere upstairs, Elyra’s locket warmed just a little, as if in quiet agreement.