Friendsgiving by Firelight

22nd Day of November, the Year of Our Source 2025

The fire was already burning when the Harbingers gathered for this year’s Friendsgiving—a planned, warmly anticipated night meant for food, laughter, and family. The clearing at Veil’s Crossing glowed with autumn light, the air touched by the scent of cocoa, spice, and a little bit of mischief. It was meant to be a simple celebration.

Naturally, with this family, it turned into something deeper.

Zoe was the first to settle into her chair, long coat catching gold in the firelight as she unhooked the slim gold flask from her thigh. She lifted it with practiced grace and took a slow sip of fae blood—enough to sharpen her vision and soften her jaw. The start of Friendsgiving had begun the way all good Harbinger gatherings do: with indulgence, warmth, and the kind of camaraderie born of centuries of war and loyalty.

Around her, her brood folded into the evening’s rhythm.
Rhavyn stirred shadow into hot chocolate.
Pandi transformed cocoa into something far more potent.
Ivor unearthed snacks from the void, as only Ivor can.
Angel looked like she might be the designated driver.
And Jade watched the leaves to see what magic the wind might stir.

It was a planned event—but no one expected where the night would lead.

As the circle grew, so did the stories. Rhavyn spoke wistfully of childhood nights spent hiding just to hear the grown-ups talk. Zoe’s gaze softened. Angel leaned forward, curious. The fire popped like it was waiting.

Then Angel asked for a story—not a simple one, not a light one, but one from before Zoe became an Arch.

And that was the moment Friendsgiving shifted.

Zoe tilted her head, the gold in her eyes catching firelight.
“Do you want tales of my human childhood?” she teased.
Angel shook her head. “Darker truths of the Source’s Realm, please.”

The fire answered with a sharp crack.

And Zoe told them.

The story she chose was not gentle—because history rarely is. She spoke of the days when Eternal Love strutted through the Realm believing themselves immortal. When Raven’s Claw, proud and rigid, trusted too much in the honor of others. And when Zoe herself was only a Regent-in-waiting, old enough to bleed the world but still young in the politics of blood and war.

Then came Camellia Vyper.

Zoe described her with the reverence reserved for the fallen: diplomatic, loyal, endlessly kind. A vampire who believed the world still had room for courtesy.

Camellia greeted a stranger at her door—nothing more—and Eternal Love attacked instantly.
No warning.
No negotiation.
No honor.

“She died before she even understood she was in danger,” Zoe said, voice carved from memory.

The fire dimmed.
The family grew silent.
Even the wind seemed to lean in.

Zoe opened her old journal—a battered thing still smelling faintly of ash—and read Arch Oberon’s declaration of war aloud. The words still carried weight after all these years. Even Jade’s fire-born visions faltered.

The war lasted two weeks.

Eternal Love, once so proud, collapsed under the weight of their own arrogance. The Source stepped in—not with spectacle, but with cold precision. Fides, Ashe, and Rade lost every drop of potency they had accrued. All of it was transferred to Camellia upon her revival: fifty-two potency by the end of the tally.

Balance restored.
War ended.
A lesson carved into the spine of the Realm.

“That,” Zoe said, “was the first time the Realm understood justice delivered by the Source Himself.”

Friendsgiving had shifted from celebration to remembrance, and yet—no one seemed to mind. History is a kind of feast in its own way.

The night wound down only when Zoe, now deeply touched by fae blood, rose with a slow, serpentine sway. Her eyes were narrowing into gold slits; the edges of her vision blurred in shapes only she could see.

“If I linger,” she murmured, “the sun will find me drunk and sentimental, and we cannot have that.”

With a regal wave that only an Arch could pull off while slightly unsteady, she excused herself to her burial place before dawn could catch her. The family remained by the fire, warm with cocoa, stories, and the echoes of old wars.

Friendsgiving had begun with snacks and laughter.
It ended with legacy, history, and the reminder that some families bond most deeply through the telling of truth.

And somewhere in Veil’s Crossing, an Arch curled into her pile of dirt, amused, intoxicated, and—just maybe—glad she had shared the story after all.