IV- A Song of Peace

The sun rose slowly from the abyssal blue depths and into the skies as the human settlers sounded the waking horns and awakened in tandem with their beloved sun.

Each one left their tent and set about to work.

The sailors repaired and reinforced their damaged ships, the common folk gathered food and spread the delicious scent of a morning meal through their makeshift camps, and the officers and captains charted and updated their new maps.

As the queen left her royal quarters and greeted the new day, she looked yonder to the east. Like the permanent storm clouds of the ring of storms, she too held a storm within that refused to vanish.

“Your Highness?” Gilbert asked with a perplexed look to his superior.

“Oh, good morning Gilbert. I'm sorry, I was just thinking about something,” Miria said as she looked again to the distance.

“May I ask about what? Your friend is finally here and I wouldn't worry much about Jameston.

If the rumors about him are true, he probably already found the gods’ golden cornucopia,” Gilbert responded with a pleased chuckle.

“I'm sure Lord Jameston is more than capable of reaching us. What I'm worried about is . . . well, our old country. What do you think happened there?”

“I have no idea, my queen. Everything was so fast. I have been trying to occupy myself with work and not think about it.” Gilbert joined the queen in staring back toward the east.

“Gilbert, who was the blacksmith?” Miria asked as she leaned on the border of the ship.

The Captain gazed into the sky, as he tried to remember.-“I only know a little about him. Last I heard, he was just a simple blacksmith from one of the petty counties.

Sailors say that he made some unbreakable armor and slowly conquered fort by fort, keep by keep. The first one by himself, the next ones with the garrisons and levies he gathered.

As to why he left the petty counties to invade the neighboring regions after he had united them, that I'm not sure.

People just flocked to his banner, something he said or promised them made them wan' to follow him.”

“What could someone say that makes people want to follow him like that?” Miria said, both to the captain and herself.

“I don't know. Sailors say was because they thought he was invincible, others that he would find a way to lead 'em to the gods, that he would end all wars and violence, that he would bring revenge to the Wizards, or even bring riches and fortune to the peasants.

“Whatever the case, everyone has different goals and ambitions. I guess they just needed someone strong to rise behind. But what the blacksmith actually wants? That's as much a mystery as our new friends,” Gilbert said as he and the queen watched a frustrated Stein try to teach the human language to the native couple.

Both officials smiled as they looked at the couple and back at the sunrise.

“What do you think happened to Gren?”

“Last I saw him, King Gren was preparing to lead the final charge to distract that army and buy time for our escape. He's a good leader, I'm certain he must still be alive even if as a prisoner of the blacksmith. He's too important to be killed,” Gilbert admitted with a defeated posture.

“Let's hope so,” Miria retorted as she kept gazing to the distance. “To be honest, even though I am worried about Gren's fate, I'm more concerned with the people we could not bring with us.” The queen sighed as she felt defeated in her own way by the blacksmith.

“You did the best ye could, my queen,” Gilbert said as he tried to cheer up his superior.

“Thanks, Gilbert. In any case, let's not focus on what we lost, and instead let's work on what we have, the spirit of Haven-Harbor still lives within us. Let's not let it drown,” the queen exclaimed as she picked herself up and prepared to tackle her new adventure.

“Aye aye, Your Highness.”

With the eastern wind behind her, the queen stepped down into the temporary camps and toward the hastily assembled open-air study, where Stein was trying to teach the forest couple the human language.

With a hopeful smile both forced and necessary, Miria wished her subjects a good morning as she made her way through them.

The only person who did not smile back was Stein, as his task was too infuriating for a mere royal smile to work on him.

“Good morning Stein,” the queen said as she sat opposite to the excited forest couple, to see their progress.

“There's nothing good about it. These two foam catchers woke me before the sun was even up! They just wouldn't leave me alone. They kept insisting on learning more about us,” Stein said as the queen noticed the very visible lack of sleep on the scribe's face.

“Oh, it’s good to know they are so eager to learn. How have they been doing?”

“See for yourself Your Highness,” Stein politely answered before making a quick hand signal.

The female forest folk, Vania, eagerly stood up with a smile and said with a harmonious singing voice, “Good to see you. Miria! Am Vania.”

Vania's smile changed to an annoyed frown when she saw that her counterpart withdrew from doing the same. Instead, Agar kept sitting on his rock and refused to change his bored look.

“I thought you said they were eager to learn,” the queen asked the scribe with an amused smile.

“Well, when I said ‘them’, I really meant just the female. Her friend was just dragged along. It seems to be a natural dynamic of theirs,” Stein said as Vania tried to pull her counterpart, fruitlessly. “They do seem to be fast learners though. There's still some remnants of their language, as you can no doubt tell, my queen.”

“I noticed the singing, but is there anything else?” Miria asked, as Vania now kept repeating the same sound to Agar to annoy him into standing up.

“Well, they seem to have difficulty speaking or singing words that have more than five letters. When those appear they just divide them into smaller, separate words.

I had a hypothesis about their language. They seem to speak—or rather, sing—various small words. Most of their grammar seems to consist of extremely similar words that only differ in the last two or three letters. I think this happens so they can rhyme more easily and make their whole singing syntax more fluid and natural,” Stein explained as Vania stopped trying to lift her equal and instead fell like a rag doll on top of Agar's lap.

“Is that why they reacted so badly when we first spoke?” Miria asked, looking nervously at an increasingly agitated Agar.

“I'm pretty sure it is. They weren't used to a ‘non-harmonious’ language I would say, but after our practice here, and after some exposure from the settlers and sailors, it doesn't seem like our language affects them negatively anymore.”

“That's good to know. Good job, Mr. Stein. Keep up your excellent work,” Miria said.

“Thank you, Your Highness. It's good to know some people still appreciate my work,” Stein said as his bad memories flooded him.

Vania turned around and stopped her attempts at irritation. Instead, she lifted herself and while she sat up in Agar's lap, she gently kissed him on the cheek.

Agar's look of annoyance seemed to disappear and instead, he sighed and slowly stood up, before reluctantly saying, “Fair morn ing. Miria. I am Agar.”

“Good morning to you too, Agar,” the queen said with a warm smile before she too stood up. “I need to take care of my duties, see what else we can learn from our friends, Mr. Stein.”

“I will, Your Highness. Have a good day,” Stein said as he gave an old imperial salute to the queen.

Vania wrapped her arms around Agar and after she had kissed him again, she waved goodbye to Miria, who smiled and waved back to the excited Vania and the still-grumpy Agar. The queen then left, happy with the friendliness of the couple.

The slow morning drowsiness sank to the bowels of the settlers as their warm, scented rose water soups awoke their minds and bodies.

With remarkable speed, the settlers and mariners started the lengthy repair and resupply of their beloved ships with the resources they had gathered.

They were all sons and daughters of Aqua, all from different crafts and places. If there was anything that bonded the people of Haven-Harbor, it was their fisherman past and their pride and love for their royal fleet.

The four great captains that oversaw the repairs and commanded the three Mirian ships, the Sea-Flower, the West-Light, and the Wet-Head, were First Captain Gilbert, his first mate and brother Garret, and two graduates from the School of Navigation, Captain Arthur and Captain Mill.

The queen hailed the four captains, who discussed among themselves the course of action to take.

“Lord Jameston should have arrived already,” the quizzical young Mill said as he fixed his brown hair away from his eyes.

“And he hasn't, which means he went off course or sunk. We can't wait for a ghost ship forever,” the determined middle-aged Arthur said as he slammed his fist into the edge of the map.

“Excuse me lads, but ya two don't even have any battle experience. I'm older than any of ya and I'm still this kingdom's first captain. We aren't leaving without Lord Jameston, or without her majesty's order.” Gilbert said as he proudly displayed his blue and golden belt, a signal of his rank as the supreme master of the royal fleet.

“Having issues deciding what to do, I see,” Miria said with a smile as she popped her head above the map after noticing the captains had not heard her.

“Your Majesty!”

“Please forgive us!” Arthur said as he and Mill gave the queen an imperial salute.

“It's quite alright, gentlemen,” Miria answered with a polite wave and a gentle smile. “What seems to be the issue?”

Garret raised his hand and before Gilbert could speak, he said, “Lords Jameston's two ships still did not arrive. We were debating if we should set sail soon or not.”

Gilbert looked with slight annoyance to his brother and continued. “The problem is that we are in unexplored waters, Your Highness. We have no idea what the waves or the winds will be here, past the Ring of Storms.”

“It seems quiet now, but it could quickly change. We should seize our chance now,” Arthur said defiantly.

“You sure have a big tongue for an academy boy,” Gilbert said as he looked with contempt to Arthur.

“And you sure have a big ego for a lowborn, Mr. Gilbert,” Arthur said as he discretely displayed his family ring.

“Ya son of a wizard!” Gilbert exclaimed as he tried to lunge at Arthur.

Before the old seaman could hit Arthur, he was quickly held by his younger brother, as he continued. “I fought on five different wars for our kingdom. I have earned my belt. What have ya done. ya bastard?!”

“Arthur! Stop it, I'm a lowborn too, you know?” Mill said as he pulled Arthur away from Gilbert.

“Well you're an exception, my friend,” Arthur said as he tried to correct his insult.

“Everyone calm down. We are far away from Vaelia, the last thing we need now is to fight with each other. More than ever, we need to put down our differences and work together. I don't care if you are noble or peasant, from the Old-Coast or the Flower-Coast, battle earned or academy earned, man or woman. Right now, we are all sons and daughters of Aqua and Haven-Harbor. We must remain together no matter what. Understood?” The queen gave her captains a judgmental stare.

“Yes, my queen.”

“Aye aye, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Aye.”

“Good,” said Miria. “Then in the spirit of my wish for our equal standing, I would like to re-introduce an old tradition of our people.”

“An old tradition?” Mill asked with a curious look.

“Yes. The old fisherman's council. From now on, and until we settle permanently, any matter will be discussed in a council with the monarch, me, and the other captains of this expedition, plus any other adviser we deem necessary. That means you four gentlemen, plus Rorrick and Lord Jameston,” Miria said as she held on to her royal ring, the sign of her legitimacy.

“So, we all have the same authority to present a course and vote or not on it?” A confused Gilbert asked.

“Yes. We shall hold a daily council by sunset, and we will all present our arguments as equals and decide what should be done with our expedition. Also, the words are vote and veto, Captain Gilbert,” Miria said with an irked expression.

“Oh, aye, aye,” Gilbert said as he tried to process the fact that he had the same power as the queen.

“I assume no one will object to this?” Miria asked as she looked to the surprised captains.

“N-No. Of course not, my queen.”

“No problem here. I’ll do my best to pass wise judgment, Your Highness!”

“No uh, veto?” Garret tried out the new word.

“That's not how—urgh.” Miria groaned, questioning her choice. “Never mind. Continue overseeing the repairs gentlemen, we'll hold our first council tonight and decide what to do then. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see how the rest of our people are doing.” Miria said as she excused herself with an elegant bow and her captains saluted her and thought to themselves how to best use their new power.

Lord Jameston’s carracks drifted in the hands of fate.

There was nothing else the peasants could thank for their survival; it was the goddess, of course. What else could have brought them such an abundance of food when they needed it? Or steered their ship toward safety?

They even wondered if their captain was a wizard. But surely no wizard would pretend to be a pawn of the gods and go unpunished for so long.

Everyone in the ship was certain of it: Jameston was protected by Fortuna herself.

They all became afraid of the captain. Whenever he walked among them, they would stay away; when he looked at them, they avoided his gaze; and when he tried to give a helping hand, they all wearily accepted it.

Maybe that was why, to no one’s surprise, the ship had steered itself to land. Jameston had insisted on letting the goddess choose their fate, and surely, Heads and Tails had arrived at a rather small island.

The island consisted of a small grass hill atop a sandy beach. A few oak-like trees dotted its highest point and sporadic jagged rocks sprouted from the sea. On the edge of a beach, a strange cave entrance lay open to both sand and water.

“Should we resupply, my lord?” the first mate asked Jameston with a fearful tone.

“Of course. Why else would Fortuna have brought us here?” Jameston asked with his usual snarky grin and posture. The first mate immediately spread the orders with the guards and serfs.

Everyone immediately left the ships without making eye contact with the captain and set about to work.

The lord too left the ships. And while the serfs toiled away repairing their damaged vessels, Jameston explored the small islet.

He noticed a distinct lack of fauna. The island itself seemed particularly unremarkable until he spotted something odd along the beach.

Trapped between a jagged rock and the island’s sand was some kind of debris. The count got closer and once he picked up an olden and moldy wood plank, he noticed its remainders on the water.

A broken paddle and the clothless mast of an ancient raft boat.

The count wondered about the significance of his find. Could someone have crossed the Ring of Storms before their fleet? How could it be? Especially with a simple raft boat.

The questions spiraled through the count's head and their meaning and possibilities jumbled together, but before a semblance of meaning could be given to them, the count noticed something strange again: a coughing sound from within the cave.

The count spent almost no time thinking about it. His curiosity took ahold of him, and he stepped into the dark cave.

The cave descended through two paths: one carved by the rising seawater, and the other, some dry steps made with the grey and dark blue stone of the cave.

The cave went through various twists and turns as it went down until the sunlit exit was completely darkened by the stone and its corners.

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Jameston followed the water stream downwards until he noticed a faint orange light in the distance.

The captain hastened his step, the fresh ocean smell blending with the slimy cave's darkness. As the count stepped in between puddles of water, he felt an odd sensation of uneasiness, as if he wasn't meant to be there.

He arrived at the light source, a campfire with a small boiling pot on top of it. Just outside his vision, he noticed the source of the cough. A middle-aged man with light gray hair sat opposite to Jameston, but he did not look like a stranded castaway. The man wore good traveling clothes and shoes, an old pointy pilgrim hat, and a hiking backpack and walking stick.

“Oh, hello there, friend. Care for a bowl of soup? It’s not much, but dare I say it’s quite good.” The strange man talked as he poured to himself a bowl with various vegetables and wild herbs.

“I—who are you? What are you doing here?” The rarely confused Jameston asked the improbability in front of him.

“Me? Oh, I’m just a simple hiker, that's all.” The hiker burned his tongue with the soup before continuing. “It's hot, but it's good I tell ya.”

“Are the remains of the raft up there yours?” Jameston still held the paddle.

“There's a raft up there? No, it's not mine. I didn't even know the surface was so close,” the hiker answered as he kept eating.

“Then how did you get here?”

“I just walked. You would be surprised how far you can go in these caves, Jameston,” the hiker casually said as he sipped his soup.

Jameston stepped back in fear when he heard the man saying his name. The simple knowledge made him feel like this stranger had peered inside his soul and stole his holy being.

“Who are you?” Jameston asked as his curiosity replaced his horror.

“Everything. Well . . . almost everything, as far as I can perceive.” He finished his bowl and cleaned it.

The count was dumbfounded. “What do you mean? I don't understand.”

“Only a very select few would. Trust me, my son. You are better left not knowing.” The man snapped his finger and a simple dark blue chair sprouted from the rocky floor. “Please, sit. I don't get to talk with you all that often. It would be nice to take the opportunity once in a while.”

Jameston looked with distrust toward the man, and after he had flipped his coin, he accepted the deal and sat on the rocky chair.

“Want some soup?”

“No, thank you.” Jameston glared at the man.

The hiker kept cleaning and perusing through his equipment whilst the count asked him, “are you a wizard?”

The man laughed. “A wizard? Oh c’mon, give me some more credit why don’t you. I’m not that powerless.”

“Powerless?!” Jameston asked with an incredulous look. “The wizards banished the gods, and they are keeping the dragons away from us in the north. They are the most powerful creatures in the world.”

The man laughed as if he had been told the same thing time and time again. “Well, maybe here they are the most powerful. But there have been more powerful creatures before them, and there will be more powerful entities in the future. All things eventually end. Good and bad.”

Jameston's smirk returned as he held on to his coin. “Well, all things except my goddess' love.”

The stranger laughed loudly, his cackling echoing throughout the cave. The rocks, the water, and the sand itself seemed to join him in laughing at Jameston's statement.

“You what? Oh, my dear, dear son. You really think Fortuna will watch you forever? A girl like that can't even keep her attention for five minutes on a tea mug,” the man said as Jameston looked furiously at him. He ignored for a few moments his supposed power and contemplated a suitable punishment for the hiker’s blasphemy.

“Blasphemous? Maybe inside your head. Nothing can be blasphemous against that chaos-driven girl, trust me,” the hiker said before Jameston stood up from his chair in fury.

“How dare you say such a thing? I never had anyone except my goddess! I was born an orphan and only survived through luck. Only through my lady was I accepted by my father the count, and because of her I am here today! My life belongs to her; all our lives are bound to her, except I'm the only one that realizes it,” Jameston said as he clutched the coin he'd made from the silver of his foster father's crown.

“Life is ruled by a lot of things, Jameston. Luck is one of them, but you shouldn't blindly hang on to a single thing. You see—” the hiker did a swift hand motion and Jameston's coin flew into his palm “—when you cling to a single pike while you climb, if the pike falls, so do you.” The man then closed his palm and smashed the coin. The sound of broken metal reverberated throughout the cave, and for a moment, Jameston felt his entire soul being crushed and the cave's darkness invading his body.

The count was speechless as he saw the broken metal pieces on the hiker’s hand. His entire self might as well have been destroyed with it.

The hiker continued as the count stared with his mouth wide open, barely holding himself from falling.

“But if you hold onto many pikes, even if one fails you, the others will prevent you from plunging into the deepest and darkest of abysses.” After he finished, the hiker closed his hand again and once he opened it, the coin was restored to its former state. “Remember Jameston, everything rises and falls. It might be today or fifty years from now, but eventually, everything ends. Especially luck.”

The coin flew again to Jameston's side. He grasped it. A few tears ran down his face toward the coin, and the glowing metal cast away the darkness from within his being.

“She never stays with anyone forever, Jameston. You can’t trust chaos,” the hiker said in a cautionary tone.

The count refused to listen. “You lie! That's not true! I believe in my lady; she will never betray me! I love her!”

Jameston kept holding tight to his coin and repeated a prayer: “Lady of luck please protect me, lady of luck please bless me, lady of luck please save me.” His frantic words replaced the sound of the burning firewood, the water droplets, and the strange old man.

Now in the count's mind only Fortuna existed, and nothing else.

The world seemed to spiral around Jameston and once he returned to himself, the count noticed water on his knees and felt sunlight on his face.

Once he opened his eyes, he saw that he was below the exit of the cave. He looked back, but saw no light source and heard no cough.

Jameston slowly rose up, and while he gripped his coin he cleaned the tears from his face. He climbed out of the cave and back to his subjects outside and wondered what had transpired.

The afternoon light pierced through the tent flaps and shone upon the bard's face as he slowly awoke to the sailors’ whispers.

“Oy lads, he's getting up.”

Rorrick slowly stood up, and as he opened his eyes he saw he was still in the emergency tent where he and the remainder of his crew were recovering.

“Hey.” The bard stretched away his morning drowsiness. “Where's the rest of our crew?” He glanced around the tent.

“Wen'ta catch some sun, Cap,” one of the sailors said as he threw his eyes away from the card game he was playing and toward the bard. “Vey, ya cheatin’ bastard! Gimme that!” the sailor said as he took a card back from the other sailor’s hands.

“Well, if you boys don't mind, I'm out to catch some sun too then,” Rorrick said as he put on his common folk pants and jacket, and the pendant Miria had given him.

“Have a good one, Cap.”

“Don’ let the titanfish eat ya,” the sailors said as they focused on their game.

After he had picked his lute, the bard exited the tent and glanced upon the camps. The repairs were nearly done, and most of the common folk were now trying their best to rest and wash away their maritime fatigue.

Rorrick was unsure about his situation. Here he was again with Miria, yet he had no way or plan to get her to fall for him again. Furthermore, his ship was gone.

He had to prove himself to her, to show that he was a competent leader and not just a bumbling bard.

For a second, the full weight of everything crushed him.

This strange new land, the new isolation from Vaelia, his lost ship, Miria's refusal to be involved with him, and his seemingly important role as an expedition leader.

At least partially, the fate of all the people that he saw rested in his hands.

Rorrick staggered at the true scope of his new fate, but with a quick slap to his face and a quick recitation of a hymn, he pushed away his problems and focused again on Miria.

The bard decided to make his way toward her main ship. Perhaps he could find a way to talk with her there.

The common folk barely noticed the bard. His clothes didn't distinguish him from them. The only hint that he would have had any sort of relation to the upper class was his blond hair. Either way, it did not matter anymore. Vaelia was behind them, and only a handful of nobles remained. Besides, for the people of Haven-Harbor the nobles had always been considered the first among equals.

Rorrick arrived at the Sea-Rose, Miria's main ship, and watched the mariners toil away on their last repairs. He did not see Miria anywhere, but he saw the sailor that had taken his side during the mutiny.

“Henrik?” the bard asked as he got closer to the loyal sailor.

“Oh, ey Cap. I was checking the supply. Ain't she a beauty?”

“Uh, well. She sure is . . . big?” Rorrick answered with a somewhat embarrassed smile.

Henrik wheezed at the bard’s statement. “Good Aqua, it really shows you aren't from Haven-Harbor.”

“Well sorry. I am more experienced with the beauty of another type of woman.”

“Well I would be too if my whole life was not at sea,” Henrik answered with a smirk. “How are ya feeling, Cap?”

Rorrick looked uncertain. “I don't know what to do. I feel so lost, directionless.”

“Like a ship with no captain?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Rorrick said as he and Henrik leaned against a nearby rock.

“Well, good thing that for when that happens, ships have a pilot and first mate,” Henrik said and smiled. “We have made an oath, we'll stick with ya Cap. Through thick and thin.”

Rorrick smiled. “Thanks. Glad to know a few of you still want to stick with me.”

“It's part of our code.”

“So I have heard,” Rorrick smiled before he continued. “I may not have an idea of what to do, but I promise you, Henrik, I'll find a way to make up to you and the rest of the sailors. I'll find us a new home.”

“I don't think ya need ta go that far. Just get us a port and ship. Our life is at sea,” Henrik said before he started clenching his fist. “Well, I just want ta know what happen to my brother. Not sure if tha rest want to settle or go hunt 'em.”

The bard's eyebrows furrowed. “Let's not be hasty. We don't even know where they are. Let's take things step by step, alright?”

Henrik looked back to the captain, and with a quick salute, his smile returned. “Aye aye, Cap.”

Both men were waiting on the rock, overseeing the repairs of the ship, when they heard a faint musical tone.

The bard inquisitively lifted his finger as if to ask what it was, when Henrik said, “Oh, that's tha’ natives from this isle. Queen Miria has tha’ scribe there teaching our tongue, but I guess it's their break.”

“Can we go check it out?” Rorrick asked, excited by the strange new sounds.

“Sure.” The sailor led Rorrick to the opening where the tree couple was training.

The bard slowly made his way to the forest couple as the duo’s sounds reached him.

It was an odd song. So vibrant, hopeful, energetic, and wild. It didn't seem to have any structure, but it sounded as if instead, nature itself danced together with every passing note, bringing harmony where there was none.

“My gods, what melody,” the bard reflected to himself as he hastened his steps toward the couple.

Once he‘d actually seen them, it was as if their melodic primordial anthem welcomed him.

Their appearance complemented their music. Their leaf hairs rustled together with the wind, their green skin blended with the earth and the green background of the grove behind them, and their emerald-colored eyes reflected the natural beauty of the world.

It made him feel something he had not felt in a long time; he felt at home.

Such a spirituous lullaby, the bard thought as he stared in awe at the couple.

Suddenly the music stopped, and Agar and Vania looked in confusion to the furiously-clapping bard outside their small circle.

“That was, absolutely beautiful! It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Rorrick,” the bard said as he extended his hand toward the forest couple.

“E-He-llo,” Vania said, a bit embarrassed as she tried to reply.

“Oh. Crap! I forgot you can't understand me,” Rorrick said before an idea crossed his mind.

The bard took his lute from his back and quickly strummed it to show his intentions. Without thinking, Agar and Vania started to smile when they saw the new instrument and fellow musician.

They did not need to understand his words to see what he intended. Both of them sat quietly together as they waited to hear what the bard's song would be.

Unlike the forest couple, the bard’s notes were carefully picked and laid out with surprising care.

It was strange to them, such a slow ballad, but still filled with heart, emotion, and mastery. But then the bard started singing, and it became even stranger.

Little ones, gods' children

Little humans, on the Earth hidden

Stand with no fear in your heart

for your story is about to start

We are here with you

and even if we are through

we'll always love you

you'll build this world anew

In a world of beasts ‘n monsters

you'll grow ever stronger

'n with your wits and strength

you'll go past the gods’ length

We are here with you

and even if we are through

we'll always love you

you'll build this world anew

Together stand against

the great void immense

you are all so unique

together you won't be weak

We are here with you

and even if we are through

we'll always love you

you'll build this world anew

You come from light 'n dark

within you all is a spark

to always fly higher

from this never tire

We are here with you

and even if we are through

we'll always love you

you'll build this world anew

Lyrics. Words that accompanied the ballad. Such a strange addition to a melody: to talk while playing. It was innovative, exciting, genius. And yet so simple.

The forest folk had never thought of adding their own speech to their music as they thought it would disrupt the natural flow of the songs. But here was a new race proving it could work.

Vania and Agar were mesmerized by the talent of the bard, and to reward him, Vania started to clap a bit clumsily. Her mate looked at her, confused, and before he could say anything, she stood up and talked in her sing-song voice to Rorrick.

“Qe Le Fael Faen Qo.” Her energetic nature got the best of her and when she saw the slight confusion in the bard's eyes, she lifted her hand and said, ”P-Play Song, Us.”

The tree woman slightly strummed her instrument, like the bard did.

Agar joined his wife. His expression was one of reluctance and discomfort, but his pose and hands betrayed his desire to play with the human.

The bard flashed a welcoming smile at the couple. It had been years since he had played alongside other musicians, let alone any that had as much talent and mastery as the tree couple.

He grabbed his lute and answered with a melodic, “Yes!”

The bard tapped his foot four times to signal his start, and the couple each clapped twice to start their own.

Within a moment, a slow ballad started in tandem with a quick melody. The notes flew with the wind and intertwined together, and at first, joined in a cacophonous mess.

The clashing cultures could not bring themselves together, but, to the surprise of the musicians, if either by nature, luck, or skill, the unlikely trio joined their noise into a wondrous anthem.

Within a moment, and as if by magic, the fast and slow tempo joined together, tree and man giving birth to a whole new sound.

“What a beautiful mess,” the sailor thought as he heard the shared work of the three musicians.

Never before had such a thing been heard in the world of Aelia. But the trees and the bard knew they had found something amazing: a powerful chaos spiraling itself back into order and harmony.

The bard joined in the fast tempo as the tree couple took up his slow ballad. The song started to slow down further. The bard reunited with the forest folk, and in perfect harmony, they brought their song to a slow, slow halt.

Perhaps that was why, to the surprise of everyone, in perfect coordination, Rorrick, Vania and Agar, raised the song once more, launching into a great crescendo, before finishing with a few peaceful notes.

As quickly as they started they finished, and all three of them gasped for air. Vania, however, mustered the last of her energy and raised her arms in the air and clapped excitedly to their performance. Even Agar smiled at the trio's talent.

Rorrick couldn't do much, except raise his fist into the air and let out an energetic yelp of victory.

“A good performance, Mr. Rorrick,” Stein said as he revealed himself from behind one of the rocks.

“Oh, thanks. Mr. . . .”

“Stein. I'm the former scribe of Lord Jameston. I'm in charge of teaching Ms. Vania and Mr. Agar our language. As per Her Highness’s request.”

“How did you know who I was?” Rorrick asked, curiously.

“You are carrying a lute, you speak with a middle-Gwenian accent, you have blonde hair, and you look like a vagrant. I think it fits the description,” Stein said with a slight smirk.

“Hey! I guess that's true,” Rorrick said, considering. “Still, I was marooned. I usually look better, I swear.”

Stein nodded awkwardly toward the bard. “Uh uh. In any case, their break time is over. We need to get back to studying.”

As the couple heard that last word, their smile changed to an annoyed expression and they each let out a melodious groan.

“Oh c'mon, listen to them—they even sing their groans. Let me just, uh, give them music lessons. Just take some more time off,” he tried to charm the other man.

Stein sighed. “Fine. Just this once, you can ‘teach’ them music a little longer. I have some business to take care of now anyway.”

Rorrick raised his fist into the air. “Thank you, Stein!”

The scribe gave the bard an old Imperial salute and left a smiling Agar and Vania with Rorrick.

“Encore!” the bard said as he strummed his lute, with the tree folk joining him in another song.

The scribe searched the shores of the “wave-watcher” island in search of a quiet place to reflect.

A little way off from the camp, Stein spotted a lonely rock on the edge of the sand and the calm roaring sea.

For a moment, he rested on it. The air was fresh but not cold; the sun shone brightly with its mid-day intensity; the waves brought a calm breeze and a gentle current. In the distance, Stein heard the bustle of the human camp and leaves singing in the wind.

It had been a long while since he had the time to relax. For a bit, Stein forgot about his royal superiors, about his work and even the forest couple. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves, the breeze, and cleared his mind.

As he felt the heat from the sun, and the refreshing breeze, Stein felt his anger give way to a peace he had not felt in a long time.

“Sweet silence. How I missed you,” Stein thought, remembering the calm gardens of the palace of Silvin and the dusty quiet library that he was head-scribe of.

Thoughts of tomes returned: tomes of history, theology, fables, and even some forbidden books of magic the library kept hidden. They all echoed back to him.

Stein reminisced about his favorite book, The Lenian Bestiary, an ancient guide to the beasts of the old Lenian Empire, the country that once spanned the entire heartlands of Vaelia, as well as pieces of the western approach.

Its pages, decorated with beautiful multicolored icons and images of wild beasts, were made by the artist clerics of the goddess of poets and artists, Lilith; and its words and research were conducted by the clerics of the god of knowledge and wisdom, Sigurd.

By the magic of his own memory, Stein returned to a happier time: a youth blessed by the now-rare privilege of reading.

Sneaking out of his quarters and silently making his way to the library to spend his nights reading by moonlight the tales and lessons that accompanied each creature of the known and unknown world.

The great desert mud-moles, peaceful and so diligent; the flotsam blue hawk, ever vigilant and protector of men; the royal white stags, the manifestations of purity and royalty.

But in it too were the great monsters; the bog eaters, dreadful opportunists; the stone slithers, insatiable ravagers of mountains, men and building alike; and the war chargers, an unstoppable force of chaos and destruction.

But among the creatures of the One and the scattered Voidlings, there were also creatures that were only rumors, who lived beyond the reach of the Lenian Empire. But stranger among these was a memory that had been unearthed by his deep-sea savior: an old, nearly-forgotten tale of an ancient tribe that set to the seas, supported by Aqua herself.

“Could it be?” Stein muttered to himself as he leaned back and watched the gently rolling waves. “The myths were vague, but they fit the description.” Stein debated, and as he stared deep into the blue vastness and its depths an idea crossed his mind.

“Of course! It's a longshot, but maybe it will work.” Stein raised himself from the rock and paced back and forth on the beach, trying to remember something he had studied superficially a long time ago.

The ancient Varzense language, the language of the tribes that inhabited the coastal lands of Vaelia, and the language of the first great human empire, the Oldport League.

Stein found the spiral, multicolored shell that his savior had given him. He stared at it, and then back into the ocean and proclaimed, “We'll meet again, and I'll thank you properly next time, my savior.” The scribe put the shell back in his pocket and made his way back into the camp as he wondered whether he had brought with him the book he needed to talk with this lost sea tribe.