EVERY 1000 YEARS

The Night the Forest

Sang

The Feywild had a way of making nights feel endless.

Lantern-flowers bloomed high in the branches of Vaer’T elan, unfurling petals of living

light that washed the city in shifting hues—rose-gold, pale green, deep violet. Bridges of

woven roots and living vines stretched from tree to tree, their edges lined with moss that

glowed faintly beneath passing hooves. Music wove through the air: pipes and

panflutes, drums and laughing voices, rising and falling with the rustle of leaves.

Tonight, the forest wasn’t just alive.

It was celebrating.

A satyr leapt from one bridge to another, hooves skidding in a shower of glowing moss-

sparks before he landed on a wide branch-platform.

“Play it again!” a child shouted.

Rohan grinned, fangs flashing as he lifted the carved bone pipes to his lips. His braid—

thick and dark rose-brown, bound at the end with simple leather—fell over his shoulder

as he tilted his head back.

The first notes curled low and smooth around the trunks like smoke. Then the tune

climbed, bright and wild, and the children stomped in time, their little hooves thudding

against living wood. Older satyrs joined in, clapping, spinning, forming spirals of

movement that echoed the old dances of hunt and harvest.

Rohan’s silver-banded horns caught the lantern-light as he turned, eyes half-lidded,

fingers flying over the pipes’ holes. He didn’t need to see the dancers to guide them. He

knew this song the way he knew the shape of his own hands—a song for beginnings,

for good fortune, for nights when the forest sang along.

Someone bumped his shoulder as they whirled past.

“Careful!” He huf fed a laugh without missing a note. “If you knock me over , the song

stops!”

“Then don’t stand in the middle of the dance circle!” Fenric shouted back, cheeks

flushed with wine and joy.

Rohan might have replied with something clever, but his gaze flicked past the dancers—

And everything else fell away.

Veyra stood at the platform’s edge, one hand resting lightly on the curve of her belly, the

other adjusting flowers woven into her hair. Lantern-light kissed the planes of her face,

turning warm brown skin to amber and copper. Her hair, long and rose-brown with soft

glints of gold, had been braided back from her face in looping strands threaded with

pale blossoms that opened and closed with her heartbeat.

She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary.

She was just smiling.

But it hit him in the chest all the same.

The tune faltered for half a beat—just half—but enough for one of the children to shout,

“Rohan missed!”

He snapped the notes back into place, rolling his eyes as laughter rippled through the

crowd.

“Go on, then!” He lowered the pipes as the song swirled to its end in a wave of clapping

and stomping. “Tell everyone how terrible I am. I dare you.”

The kids scattered, shrieking. Adults moved in to take their place, some asking for

another song, some pressing horns of feywine into his hands. Rohan accepted the drink

but only lifted it far enough to sniff.

“You’re supposed to be celebrating.” Fenric clapped him on the back hard enough to jolt

the pipes against his chest. “You finally listened to Veyra and took a night off from

patrols. Drink.”

“I’ll drink.” Rohan’s eyes drifted back to the platform’s edge. “After I do the important

part.”

“And that is—?”

He nodded toward Veyra, now talking to Elder Sylwen, her hands moving as she spoke.

A small treant sapling stood beside her, its bark arms looped shyly around her leg. She

reached down and patted its head without breaking the rhythm of her story.

“That,” Rohan said simply.

Fenric followed his gaze, then grinned. “Ah. Yes. I see.”

“Play for them.” Rohan pressed the pipes into Fenric’s hands. “You owe me from last

festival anyway.”

Fenric protested weakly, but Rohan was already moving.

He wove through the crowd with the ease of long habit—hooves silent on moss,

shoulders turning smoothly to avoid trays of food and spinning dancers. Lantern-flowers

swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across bark-and-branch platforms. Above,

somewhere beyond the thick canopy, true moonlight filtered in pale strands. But here,

beneath the leaves, Vaer’T elan glowed with its own heart.

When he reached Veyra, she was laughing at something Elder Sylwen had said, eyes

crinkled at the corners, dimples showing. Her hand still rested low on her stomach,

fingers unconsciously curling against the fabric of her dress.

“Stealing my wife and my healer both?” Rohan came up behind her with mock of fense.

“You’ll leave the rest of us defenseless.”

Veyra turned, her expression softening the instant she saw him.

“You can survive without me for one night.” She hooked her fingers lightly in the leather

of his belt. “We were just talking about how much the grove has grown this season.”

The eldest of their circle—horns long and curled, white fur streaking his dark coat—

gave Rohan a knowing look.

“We were also saying,” Elder Sylwen added, “that Vaer’T elan’s best hunter and its

gentlest heart makes a fine pair. And that it was about time you had your own little

hooves stomping around.”

Veyra’s cheeks warmed, color blooming beneath the lantern-glow.

Rohan slid his arm around her waist, drawing her gently against his side. “Well. Funny

you should mention that.”

Her eyes flicked up to his. A question. A spark. A shared secret held between them for

only a handful of days but already shaping everything.

“Should we tell them now?” she murmured.

“Before they start inventing their own theories?” He murmured back. “Probably.”

She huf fed a quiet laugh, nerves and excitement tightening the sound.

The elder watched them with patient curiosity. Others nearby were glancing over now—

their little knot of conversation becoming an island of stillness in the sea of movement

and music.

Veyra swallowed, lifted her chin, and took half a step forward. Her fingers trailed from

Rohan’s hand, then found it again, lacing tight.

“Can I have your attention?” she called.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady .

The music on the nearest platform eased into a softer tune as someone noticed the

shift. Conversations dwindled. Heads turned. The lanterns overhead seemed to

brighten, tiny petals opening wider as if the forest itself were curious.

Rohan squeezed her hand.

Veyra took a breath.

“We wanted to thank you,” she began. “For being our family . For trusting me with your

wounds, and Rohan with your safety . For letting us be part of your lives.”

Rohan smirked. “W e tried to stay out of it, but you’re all very loud.”

Ripples of laughter rolled through the crowd.

Veyra’ s shoulders loosened.

“Tonight,” she said, and her voice deepened with feeling, “we wanted to share

something new . Something that belongs to all of us, in a way , because this city raised

us. Because this forest holds us. Because we wouldn’t want to bring new life into

anywhere else.”

She rested her free hand more deliberately upon her stomach.

Eyes followed the motion.

Mouths parted.

Silence thickened—the warm kind. Expectant. Hopeful.

Rohan felt his chest tighten.

“We’re expecting a child,” Veyra said softly. “Our first.”

The words carried to the edges of the clearing.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing.

Then Vaer’Telan erupted.

Hooves stamped. Voices rose in a cheer that shook the lanterns on their vines.

Someone whooped so loudly a nearby flock of tiny

blink-birds exploded from a branch in a shower of startled feathers.

Young satyrs rushed forward, throwing handfuls of glowing petals into the air where they

caught and drifted down like little comets. Elder Sylwen grabbed Veyra’ s hands, tears in

her eyes.

“Oh, forest bless you. You’ll be such good parents—oh, look at you, you’re already

glowing.”

“That’ s just the lanterns,” Veyra protested, laughing, though her eyes were damp.

Rohan didn’t bother fighting the grin stretching across his face.

“So,” someone called, “whose luck do you think the kid will have? Veyra’ s, or Rohan’ s?”

“With his?” another shouted. “The child will probably climb the canopy before it can

walk!”

“With hers, it’ll try to heal the whole forest before that. Poor thing’ s going to be

exhausted.”

Rohan bowed his head as blessings and jokes poured over them. Arms clapped his

shoulders. Horns tapped lightly against his. A feywine horn was forced into his hand,

and this time he lifted it in a rough, heartfelt salute.

“To the newest mischief-maker in Vaer’Telan,” he declared. “May they take after their

mother when it comes to kindness, and after me when it comes to running away from

trouble very quickly.”

“Rohan,” Veyra scolded, but she was laughing, her whole face bright.

“To the child!” voices echoed. “To the child!”

When the crowd finally began to drift back toward food tables, game circles, and dance

rings, Veyra let out a long, shaky breath and leaned into Rohan’ s side.

“That was terrifying,” she whispered.

“You faced down a cave troll last spring.”

“The cave troll didn’t stare at me. Or cry. Or throw flowers. Or start talking about how

Elder Sylwen wants to teach our child the old songs.”

As if on cue, the bent old satyr shuf fled over, clearing her throat.

“I do want to teach your child the old songs,” Elder Sylwen announced.

Veyra covered her face with one hand. Rohan tried very hard not to laugh.

“Of course,” he said solemnly. “We’d be honored.”

“Don’t use that patrol voice on me.” Sylwen narrowed her eyes. “I knew you when your

horns were nub-sized and you were trying to eat mud.”

“Why does everyone remember that?” Rohan muttered.

“Because you did it in front of the whole spring council,” Veyra said, eyes sparkling.

He sighed dramatically. “Our child is doomed. There will be so many stories. I can feel it

already.”

“Good.” Veyra’ s fingers curled in the fabric of his tunic. “A child should be born into

stories. It means they’re loved before they take their first breath.”

He looked at her then—really looked. At the way the lantern-light caught in her eyes. At

the relaxed set of her horns. At the way her hand rested protectively , unconsciously ,

across her belly .

For just a moment, the noise around them faded to a distant hum.

“We’re really doing this,” he murmured.

She nodded. “We are.”

He cupped her cheek with one hand, thumb brushing the edge of a freckle. “Then I’ll

just have to make sure the world is ready.”

“Rohan.” No real sharpness in the warning. “No starting fights with storms or trying to

wrestle bears to impress the baby.”

“Fine. I’ll stop at lesser elementals.”

She leaned into his touch, smiling against his palm. “Idiot.”

The music on the next platform swelled—a new song beginning, faster and brighter,

built for spinning and leaping rather than slow sways. A group of satyrs joined hands in

a circle and began the old stamping dance, their hooves hitting the moss in perfect

rhythm. Sparks of faint bioluminescent light burst with each step, like someone had

trapped starlight in the ground.

A pixie zipped past, trailing glittering dust that made everyone within a foot radius

sneeze uncontrollably . Somewhere, a drunk brownie tried to climb a trellis and fell into a

tray of candied nuts.

Chaotic.

Messy.

Loud.

Home.

“Dance with me,” Veyra said suddenly.

Rohan blinked. “Now? You just said you’re exhausted.”

“I said I was terrified. There’ s a difference. Come on.” She tugged his hand. “We just

told them our lives are changing. I’m not standing still for that.”

He let her pull him onto the dancing circle, their hands finding each other easily as they

stepped into the pattern. The others shifted to make space, then folded them into the

ring without a single stumble, as if they’d always belonged there.

The pipes howled. The drums rolled. And they moved.

They spun.

They stamped.

They laughed.

Veyra’ s braid swung behind her , flowers bobbing. Rohan’ s hooves struck the moss with

practiced assurance, his body remembering a hundred festivals before this one. A child

darted between them,

squealing as a friendly satyr scooped him up and swung him in the air to the beat.

At one point, Veyra mis stepped—just barely—and Rohan caught her, hands braced at

her waist, their faces inches apart.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“I’m fine.” Though she didn’t pull away immediately. Her breath brushed his lips. “If I fall,

you’ll just catch me.”

“Always,” he said without thinking.

For a heartbeat, the dance slowed around them. The circle flowed on, but they were the

still point at its center.

Then someone jostled his shoulder, laughing, and the spell broke. They moved again,

falling back into rhythm.

The night stretched on—a blur of color and song and shared joy . Eventually, when the

lantern-flowers began to dim to a softer glow, and younglings were carried off to bed,

when the pipes played slower tunes and the wine turned to herbal tea, Rohan and

Veyra slipped away from the main platform.

sky-distant, cold stars watching over the warm light of Vaer’T elan.

“Are you tired?” he asked quietly.

“A little.” She shifted, letting her head rest against him. “But I don’t want to sleep yet. If I

sleep, this becomes... normal. I want to hold onto the feeling that it’s still new.”

He considered that, then nodded. “Fair .”

He slid his arm around her shoulders. His other hand, without being told, settled gently

over hers where it lay upon her belly .

For a while, they just breathed together . The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

“Do you think they’ll have your eyes or mine?” Veyra asked after a time, voice soft.

“Mine, obviously. Otherwise, how will they intimidate anyone?”

She jabbed him lightly with her elbow. “I don’t want an intimidating child. I want a happy

one.”

“Intimidating and happy aren’t mutually exclusive.” His chin tipped up thoughtfully .

“You’re very intimidating when you’re happy .”

She laughed—low and tired and full. “Idiot.”

His thumb moved in slow circles where their hands overlapped. The warmth there

pulsed, steady and quiet.

“Do you ever get scared?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“About?”

“This.” He tightened his fingers just a little over her belly. “About... not being enough.

Not knowing how to do it right.”

Her smile softened, tilting sad at the edges. “All the time.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Really?”

“I’m going to be responsible for a whole person. For everything they are, at least at the

start. Those first steps, first words... first time they get sick, first time they get hurt. It’s a

lot.” Her fingers flexed beneath his. “I worry I won’t always know what to do. That I’ll fail

them somehow.”

“You won’t,” he said immediately.

“And if I do?”

“Then I’ll be there to fix it. And when I fail, you’ll fix that. Between us, they’ll be fine.”

She huf fed a breath that might have been a laugh and might have been a sigh. “You say

that like it’s simple.”

“It is simple. Not easy. But simple. We love them. That’s the only part that matters.”

Her eyes glistened.

“Don’t cry.” He added quickly, “You’ll set half the elders off again, and I’m too tired for

another wave of emotional blessings.”

She laughed properly at that, a little wet around the edges, and tilted her face up to kiss

his jaw.

“I love you,” she said.

He bent and pressed his forehead gently to hers, horns carefully angled so they didn’t

clack. “And I—”

Something fluttered beneath his palm.

He froze.

Veyra stilled too.

They both looked down at their joined hands.

“Did you feel that?” she whispered.

He swallowed. “I... think so.”

It wasn’t much. Just the faintest brush, like a fish turning in a distant pond. Like a leaf

shifting in a wind that wasn’t there. A tiny, quiet movement far beneath skin and bone

and muscle.

Veyra’s eyes filled with a wonder that stole his breath.

“That’s them,” she whispered. “That’s our child.”

Rohan’s throat went tight. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He just flattened his hand

more firmly , as if he could catch the next flicker of motion.

For a moment, the lanterns seemed to dim. The music receded. Not into darkness—

never that. Just stillness. As if the forest itself paused to listen.

Then the sounds rushed back. Laughter . The distant clink of cups. The pipes starting

another tune. The lanterns brightened again, petals opening and closing in their slow

rhythm.

The moment passed.

But it left something behind. A weight. A certainty.

Veyra laid her head back on his shoulder, her smile small but unshakable.

“This child is going to change everything,” she said quietly.

Rohan watched the lantern-light move across the curve of her cheek, felt the echo of

that tiny flutter beneath his hand, and for once didn’t argue, didn’t joke, didn’t deflect.

“I know,” he said.

He didn’t know how.

Didn’t know why.

Didn’t know that somewhere, high above the canopy, far beyond the lanterns and

laughter, an old, waiting darkness shifted in its sleep.

Counting down the years.

All he knew was that in this forest, on this night, with Veyra in his arms and a tiny life

stirring beneath their fingers, the world felt as if it were holding its breath.

And for now, that was enough.