In the pre-dawn silence, with the world still wrapped in shadows, Garrick moved about his cabin with a practiced ease, the kind that comes from years of living in the same space. His movements were quiet, as if mindful of the sleeping world outside, as he made his final preparations. The cabin, cluttered with the evidence of a life fully lived, echoed with the soft sounds of his activity. He checked under the chairs, behind the curtains, and even in the slightly ajar cupboard where Ember had once amusingly decided was her new hiding spot—all to no avail.
“Hmm…” he wondered. “Where’s she gone to?”
With each unsuccessful search, his concern grew, not just for Ember's whereabouts but for the delay in their departure. The darkness outside wouldn’t last forever—and he needed a good head start if he was to make it to Bellwater before the third morning chime.
He stepped outside, the cool mountain air brushing against his skin, a refreshing contrast to the cabin's warmth. His eyes, now accustomed to the dark, scanned the familiar landscape of his home, searching for any sign of Ember. The garden, bathed in moonlight, showed no sign of her; the workshop, still and silent, was equally empty. He marched along the pathway to the stream and, finding hide nor hair, traveled back up. He even climbed the stairs along the bluff to reach the windmill.
With Levi/Tate having left in the evening, the windmill stood like a silent guardian over Garrick's little slice of paradise, its blades motionless in the still night. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, the soft creaking sound reverberated into the vast darkness within. The interior, a cavernous space filled with the scent of aged wood and grains, whispered with the soft rustling of the night wind through the slats above.
Garrick's bootsteps scuffed on the wooden floor as he peered around, his gaze piercing the shadows for any hint of Ember's presence. The moonlight filtered through the openings in the windmill's structure, casting a patchwork of light and shadow that danced across the floor and walls.
Garrick's gaze fell upon a plank that caught the moonlight in such a way that it seemed to beckon for his attention. Etched into the wood, almost hidden in the dance of shadows, were the initials 'L + E' enclosed within a heart. The sight of it halted Garrick in his tracks, a sudden tightness gripping his chest. For a moment, Garrick stood frozen, his eyes locked on the carved initials.
Oh.
His memory flickered to being and suddenly, it was if he was there, witnessing it being carved again so many years ago.
I’d forgotten all about that…
He observed the symbol silently, unmoving, for a few more long moments. Then, finally, with a heavy sigh, Garrick backed away from the plank. It was a part of his past that, though distant, still held a tender place within him. It wouldn’t do to linger—not with his rapidly approaching departure.
And I still haven’t found Ember.
He looked upstairs—but in the chaos of the creature’s ‘lab’ he found nothing resembling a little fox. So, he headed back out into the night air.
As he stepped out of the windmill, leaving behind the quiet reverie of his memories, he turned to look down at Respite in the dark.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
It’s almost dawn, he thought.
How long had it been since he’d been up here at the break of morning to see it from this perspective?
Years, he answered himself. Too long, in any case.
Garrick moved down the way, and finally settled himself into a sitting position at the bottom of the stairs, the first hints of dawn painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange. He decided to take a moment, stretching his legs in preparation for the journey ahead.
I’ll do this, and then find that little rapscallion, and then we can get going. If she doesn’t hurry up and reveal herself, then we might be late.
It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last that he’d be late to a very important event.
The world around him was quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant call of waking birds. Just as he leaned forward to touch his toes, a sudden weight landed on his shoulder with the softest of thuds. Startled, he turned his head to find Ember, her eyes gleaming with mischief and delight. The little fox pranced in place, her tail flicking this way and that, as if she had been the one searching for him all along.
Garrick couldn't help but laugh.
"So, you've decided to grace me with your presence, have you?" he teased, reaching up to scratch behind Ember's ears. She responded with a contented murmur, nuzzling against his cheek in a show of affection. “You worried me. Thought I was going to have to go on my adventure without you.”
Her little face seemed to scrunch up, as if to say ‘you wouldn’t dare.’ He chuckled again. The fox then leaped from his shoulder to the ground, darting around in circles before looking up at him expectantly.
Garrick rose to his feet, shaking his head in amusement at Ember's antics.
"All right, you impatient little spirit," he said, his voice filled with fondness. "Let's not keep the day waiting any longer."
Together, they started down the path that led away from the windmill, the first light of the sun casting down on them.
Garrick was almost halfway across his property when the horizon changed. It was then, in that magical moment when night greets day, that the first rays of sunlight pierced the darkness, illuminating the massive sword that stood as a decaying sentry at the edge of the clearing. The sword, a relic of a time long past, now overgrown and part of the landscape itself, seemed to awaken with the light. Ember seemed to notice it as well, and made a bee-line directly toward the weapon, barreling forward, nearly determined to reach it as quickly as possible.
Garrick couldn't help but smile at the sight, the absurdity and beauty of it washing away his earlier concern.
What’s gotten into her? He made his way toward her.
As he approached, the feeling of stepping into a moment suspended between time and memory washed over him. The sword, with its sheath of vines and rust, its patina of disuse, spoke of peace and the passage of time, in juxtaposition to its original purpose. Ember, having reached the blade, looked up, her eyes gleaming with the reflected light of dawn.
“You like the look of that thing, eh?”
It was odd. Something about the whole interaction was off to him. Why had she never acted this way before—in the light of day? What was different now—drawing her interest so suddenly to such an unwholesome object? Assuming a more urgent tone, mostly to quell his own feeling of foreboding he reached out to her.
“Well, shall we head out?”
In response, she looked up at the sunlight glinting off of the sword. Garrick followed her gaze, his eyes resting on the hilt. He studied the colossal sword, its once fearsome blade now softened by time and nature's unyielding embrace. A relic. The weapon of a bygone life and livelihood. As he beheld the monstrous tool of destruction, Garrick pondered. The hands that had wielded it, the foes it had felled. Was this what his dream had nudged him towards? The idea seemed ludicrous, yet the pull of the past was undeniable, a whisper in his heart urging him to remember.
He glanced down at Ember and she blinked, as if she understood the significance of the moment, her gaze, fixed on him with unwavering trust. Garrick's eyes returned to the blade, observing the dawn's light playing along its length, highlighting its roughness, the brokenness, the valorous shape of such a thing.
Memories of a different time, a different Garrick, flickered at the edge of his consciousness, their details obscured by the mists of years. He stood in silence, the world around him awakening, yet caught in a breathless pause. Ember nudged his leg gently. The sword, magnificent and daunting, called to him.
Garrick could take the sword and its advantages and its power—he knew it would help him. Or he could keep the promise that planted it in the ground all those years ago. As the day grew brighter, he couldn't tell which path was wise, nor which was folly. Ember looked up at him, waiting for his decision.
He sighed.