If there was one word that could be ascribed to the village of Light Heath, that word would be 'gloomy'. Additional appropriate words would be 'small', 'isolated', and 'insular'. A mostly-collapsed keep of black stone stood in the center of the village atop a flattened hillock some ten feet up, forgotten, uninhabited, but dominating the village all the same. A hundred or so small houses arrayed around a series of streets, most only large enough for a wagon to pass through, surrounded the keep in every direction. On every side of the village but one, towering walls of steelwood marked the boundaries of Light Heath; on the side unmarked by walls was the Steel River, stretching some two hundred feet from bank to bank, and Light Heath's only connection to the world beyond the Steelwoods.

The Steelwoods; a forest sprawling in every direction, composed of massive trees of bark so dark it was nearly black, and with leaves that sprouted in colors of dark iridescence. They were the reason the village wasn't larger; it took a whole day of effort to fell just one of the trees, and nigh on a tenday to remove their stumps and roots. The wood itself was hard as steel and held an edge nearly as well when shaped into tools and weapons. The sheer work it required to fell those trees, however, was why there were only about two dozen farms cleared in the Steelwoods in the area immediately surrounding Light Heath. The trees themselves stood some few hundred feet high, with branches all along their heights, with correpsondingly large trunks; those branches higher up of those trees yet unfelled formed an interlocking bough above Light Heath, casting it in a perpetual dappled sort of gloom during daylight hours. And, too, there were the Visitors.

Nobody knew exactly who, or what, the Visitors were - or if they even existed at all. Many a tale had been spun by inhabitants of the village about the Visitors - people from entirely different planes of existence for whom the Steelwoods was both home and not. The most common tale was that the Visitors had made the Steelwoods a part of their realm, which was a place of insanity where things fell up instead of down and birds dug through the earth and fish flew through the sky.

But whatever the truth was, there was definitely something queer about the Steelwoods; people could cross into its boundaries and never be seen again, or would not be seen for weeks and arrive unharmed at Light Heath reporting only a few hours' walk before arriving at the village gates. Sometimes, they were children, separated from their parents and confused as to how they had gotten there. The penchant for the Steelwoods to release children from its grasp was well-known enough in the kingdoms along the Steel for parents to come to the village and retrieve their children. But sometimes, nobody came for them, and they ended up adopted by someone in the village.

The bigger mystery than that, however, is why bandits could seemingly set up shop within the Steelwoods and not run afoul of whatever strange enchantment lay over them. Such beings occasionally sallied against Light Heath itself, but the fortified walls of the village proved unbreachable to the largest bands they had yet faced. The worst they could do was occasionally raze a farm outside the village, but the wealth brought in by the steelwood shared by all who called Light Heath home meant the farms were not permanent losses - and nobody who farmed the surrounding area lived on them, choosing instead to live within Light Heath to avoid drawing the Visitors' attention for good or ill. It was just good sense.

Dawn's light dappled gently through the overarching branches of the steelwood trees as Cami, freshly bathed and full of coffee, stepped from the home she shared with her family. One hand lifted to shield her eyes from the light, muted though it was through the trees, as it stung her gaze; she'd always been somewhat sensitive to the light of day, but the light of the twin suns never made its way fully into Light Heath proper.

Even at this early hour she could hear the distant sounds of the village bards strumming lively tunes within the market square and the raucous laughter of children as they chased each other around the maypole at its heart, and the omnipresent buzzing of the lumber mills on the edge of the river were, for once, silent. The last day of the harvest being brought in from the farms clustered around Light Heath marked the beginning of the Harvest Festival, and the spoils of that harvest were already filling the village with the scents of summer's bounty. The life-altering scent of fresh breads and pastries hit her nose along with the beginnings of roasted meat from slaughtered animals that would turn all day on spits and in ovens. She breathed deeply of the scents as she waited for her eyes to adjust, brushing her fingers across her eyelids and tugging at the threads of magic in her blood.

A soft shade darkened her gaze, obscuring shadows that pulled themselves across her eyes like a shadowy mist and muted the colors she saw by a few tones. Her eyes ceased stinging finally from the light, dispersed though it was through the protective bough forming the roof above the village, and she breathed a soft sigh. Twenty-three years she'd suffered in an attempt to acclimate to the sun, the cessation of that pain never quite coming to pass. But after the prophetic dream and her grandmother's words, she wasn't willing to endure the pain today just for the comfort of others. She'd seen the spell's effect in her reflection, and understood why it discomfited those of the village not inclined towards magic; the shades across her eyes made her sclera almost completely black and rendered the pink of her irises almost demonic in appearance.

She ran her hands down the plain white linen dress she'd donned, smoothing it out at the front, and inhaled another nose- and lungful of the scents of the village warming to the festival activities, putting all thoughts of prophecy from her mind. Bare feet trod upon the dirt road as she made her way towards the square, letting the enthusiasm of those already up and about so early fill her instead. The Harvest Festival was two weeks of absolute hedonism, and she was fully intending to partake.

A familiar thunderous report stole her from her thoughts as she wound her way through the streets of the village, and with it her feet began moving in the direction of the noise without her even having to think about it. When she realized this, she felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment; she knew that everyone knew about her crush, save, apparently, for the object of it. She was drawn to her like a moth to flame whenever she heard that cracking thunder of her weapon of choice, and had little say in the matter of her feet heading in that direction; they had decided to follow the noise, and she was obliged to go along with them.

The echoes of the gunshot was soon followed by the sounds of arguing as Cami drew closer. Her eyes alighted on the source of the voices. An archery range had been set up on the banks of the river, with a distance of some few dozen feet separating the targets - haybales covered with rough-hewn targets - and the railings those intending to shoot were to stand behind. The proprietor of the range - a balding farmer going to seed of swarthy skin named Vance, whose face was currently irritated and reddened - was arguing with HER.

Saria. A toweringly tall elf woman of a few years older than Cami, clad in soft leathers that accentuated the supple slenderness of her form, with skin the color of soft lilac, eyes a solid rich violet, and waist-length hair the color of seafoam. In her left hand she held her most prized possession, the glittering revolver she'd named Amber, its barrel pointed skyward as she argued with Vance. One of the haybales at the far end, Cami could see, was softly smoking. She also noted, with a little thrill of pride, that the hole it was smoking from was dead center in the bullseye of the crude target. She seemed no less irritated than Vance with the argument, but her irritation showed in splotches of mottled pink across her cheeks.

The unfair thing about Saria was that she existed. From Cami's earliest memory, her breath had caught in her throat at the sight of Saria and her heart skipped a beat, and it had only grown worse as she'd grown, transitioned, and discovered an even deeper admiration of other girls. Nowadays, when Cami saw Saria, her teeth began to ache with a desire to bite into that smooth flesh. A need filled Cami to clamber up the towering, slender frame and plant her lips on the elf's as if they could serve the purpose of a flag annexing Saria to the nation of Camitopia. Death, she surmised, would be an acceptable fate if it meant she could die while staring into those solid pools of deep violet, that beautiful, angular face being the last thing she ever saw, the seafoam green hair being the last thing she ever touched.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

As Cami drew nearer, she began to catch the argument as the two went back and forth.

"...told you that this is for archery!" Vance hissed. "You're an elf, doesn't that come naturally to your lot?"

"Oh fuck off with the speciesist shit!" Saria replied in tones of icy fury. "What's it matter if I use a bow, or a sling, or Amber?" Her free hand came across to stroke the cylinder of the revolver.

"What matters is --" Vance cut himself off as his gaze slanted to the side, having seen Cami's approach out of the corner of his eye. "Cami!" he called, waving a hand towards her. This drew Saria's gaze in Cami's direction, which rooted her to the spot as those dark eyes fell on her. She looked up at Saria, hoping that Saria wouldn't see the hunger that throbbed in her heart reflected in her eyes, and quickly averted her gaze towards Vance as she felt her cheeks beginning to burn.

"Cami, you're a reasonable, well-put together young lady," Vance said in saccharine sweet tones. "Can you settle this for us? This elf's going to ruin my targets if she keeps this up."

"O-oh," Cami stuttered, glancing between the two. Being the daughter of the two village wise women put her in awkward spots like this from time to time. They expected her to have the casual wisdom of her grandmother or mom, and sometimes that was fine - she usually managed to muddle through. But when her friends were concerned - and especially Saria - she tended to freeze up more than normal.

"Cami," Saria said, and her mellifluous, richly smoky voice filled Cami's brain with tantalizing imagery for brief moments, "please tell Vance that marksmanship is marksmanship, and should be lauded as such, regardless of its source." She shifted the revolver down and into the holster hanging high on her left hip, resting her hand above it as she looked down at Cami.

"There's, um," Cami started, her gaze drawn back to Saria's face while she was speaking. She shook herself and looked resolutely at Vance, trying to get her thoughts in order. "There's no need to get hostile about it," she said, wending her fingers together in front of her nervously. "Um. Saria, did you notice that Amber put a hole in the target?"

"That's the point of a shooting competition," Saria said with a flash of irritation in her voice. Cami shivered and moved towards the railing, laying one hand on it and pointing downrage with the other, feeling more than seeing the other two turn to follow her.

"It's smoking," Cami pointed out, pointing at the wisp of smoke curling up from the haybale. "You could set all the targets on fire if you kept firing. Beyond that, putting holes that size in the target and haybale will keep arrows from sticking as well, which will, um, make it harder for those using bows to stick the target."

"I didn't even notice the smoke," Vance muttered, rubbing at his balding pate. "More concerned about having any hay left after she punches those big holes into them."

Saria sighed. "Damnit, she's right," she grumbled; Cami turned to look at her and saw her with her arms crossed and a pout on her face that made Cami's heart melt. "I really wanted some more target practice, though."

"Tell you what," Vance said, looking up towards the elf. "Once the evening comes and more people have had a chance, you can come back and I'll double up the bales and let you have your remaining shots. It won't matter so much once everyone else has had their turns, and you'll be free to shoot holes or set them on fire."

"You know what, Vance? You've got a deal," Saria replied, flashing the man a quick, dagger-sharp smile. Then she sighed, looking in the direction of the market square where the sound of laughter and music was steadily growing in volume. "Guess I'll go hunting or... something."

"You could stick around the festival with me," Cami said without thinking, then immediately felt the burn of her cheeks as Saria turned a quick stare towards her. She wanted to hide her face in her hands; had she really just done that? Cami pressed back against the firing line rail as the violet eyes appraised her.

"Fine," Saria said after a few moments, making Cami's heart skip again. "But no dancing," she added.

"O-okay!" Cami said, wincing internally as her voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. She cleared her throat and repeated, "Okay!" in a voice more approaching her normal speaking voice. But Saria was already turning away and heading towards the slightly curved road that led towards the market square; Cami had to hurry to catch up to her longer-legged stride. There was silence between the two of them as they wended their way through the houses.

"So," Saria said, glancing down at Cami; she shortened her stride when she saw how quickly the smaller girl was having to walk to keep up.

"So," Cami said, feeling her cheeks hea tup at Saria's direct gaze and cursing herself internally for the reflex every time the elf looked directly at her.

"So where's everyone else?" Saria asked, looking down towards Cami. "I don't usually see you without at least Dizzy around."

"Ah... I'm not sure," Cami admitted, rubbing at the back of her neck nervously. "I'm not usually up this early, but if I had to guess, Dizzy, at least, is probably at the bakery with her family. She said something about them getting a headstart on the baking around midnight this year so they don't run out of bread and pastry by noon for once."

"Mm, yeah, that makes sense," Saria said, tapping her chin with a delicate finger. "Last festival opening everything was gone well before midday and we hardly saw her at all because they had to keep baking until the suns went down."

"Mhm," Cami agreed. "Emi's probably still sleeping; she usually stays up late the night before the festival opening keeping her siblings under control so their parents can go have a date night before things get wildly out of control."

"Jazz is probably checking their mead," Saria mused. "They said this year's batch is going to be really good, but they never let me see where they hide it while it's maturing. And Corrine probably went back to bed after helping bring in the last of the harvest."

"Or she's having to wrangle Jazz again," Cami suggested.

"Fuck, I hope not," Saria groaned. "I'd love to have just one Harvest where Jazz doesn't get drunk off their own supply and ends up scuffling with people."

"Especially since they scuffle with claws and other appendages," Cami said, feeling a little shudder go through her at the memory of last festival's drunken brawl. Nobody had been seriously injured, thankfully - Jazz was good about pulling their hits - but she couldn't help remembering how terrifying Jazz had seemed with a different person held in each tentacle.

"There you are!" came a familiar voice as a familiar masculine figure stepped out in front of them. Mayor Arick had a worried look on his face, crow's nests crinkling at the corner of his eyes; he was a man of middling years with thick, messy black hair and full beard going to gray, but still held the lean figure of an athletic man in his youth. Only the graying and the wrinkles on his face belied his age.

"Something wrong, Mayor?" Saria asked as she looked the man up and down. "You're trembling like a leaf in the wind."

"Something horrific!" Arick stated, wringing his hands together. "Father Bungo's missing."

"Missing?" Cami asked, frowning. "Are you sure he's not just getting ready for tonight?" Father Bungo was a priest of Dionysus, after all; he could just be 'praying' with his libations.

"His front door's busted in and the inside of his house looks like a mess," the mayor replied. "I'm pretty sure he's been kidnapped."

"How?" Saria asked, frowning as she looked towards the tall steelwood wall surrounding the village. "By who?"

"I don't know," Arick said. "I've already roused your friends and got them to his house to investigate, I was just looking for you two."

"We'll hurry over there right now," Cami replied earnestly.

"Please do," Arick said with a hint of panic creeping into his voice. "We're already taking on the river barges in preparation and if Bungo doesn't show up the opening ceremony will be lead by Houkhout."

"Oh gods no," Saria groaned, covering her face with one hand at the possibility.

"Last time Houkhout led a ceremony there wasn't any festivity afterwards," Cami sighed in agreement. Houkhout was a severe dwarven priest of Anubis, and his sermons tended towards extremely depressing and macabre.

"Yes. So hurry," Arick said, waving his hands in the direction of the streets. "See if you and your friends can find Bungo and bring him home."

"We're going," Saria said, reaching a hand down to grab one of Cami's, making the smaller girl shiver in delight. "Come on," she said, hurrying off and pulling Cami along after her, forcing Cami to redouble her steps to keep up.

As she jogged alongside Saria's hurried strides, Cami thought back to the number of times the village had needed their help. They were not, strictly speaking, members of the town miltia, but whenever something happened in the village it was usually the six of them - Cami, Saria, Corrine, Jazz, Emi and Dizzy - that had to pull their weight the hardest to resolve anything the militia couldn't. And now it looked like they'd have to resolve a kidnapping of all things.