Automne 21st, 904 F.L.

(20 Years Ago)

The Beacon arrived at the edge of a sanctuary hidden among the peaks, its presence felt more than seen, a palpable serenity enveloping him like a gentle embrace. Here, amidst the silent majesty of nature's untouched canvas, the din of war that had rattled in his bones began to quiet. The contrast was jarring—a warrior, scarred and weary, standing at the cusp of an almost sacred tranquility.

The aftermath of the ultimate battle clung to him, and though the great evil had finally been vanquished, a dark cloud of loss and destruction that had nearly claimed his life and had taken so much from the world persisted. He had emerged victorious but at a cost so steep, it left his soul eternally bruised. This place, with its whispering peace, offered a respite he hadn't dared to hope for, a chance to escape the relentless shadows of his past.

In his hands, he held the sword, a relic of his countless battles, its weight symbolic more than physical. It wasn't the steel that burdened him but the heft of the lives it had taken, each one a heavy chain around his heart. Here, in the quiet of this unnamed haven, he sought to sever that chain.

The decision to bury the weapon was a silent declaration, an attempt to sever himself from who he had been. It was a gesture of letting go, of burying not just the blade but the relentless spirit that had driven him to the brink of despair. This wasn't just a place to hide away a blade; it was where he chose to bury the part of him awakened by war, a vow to find peace within himself.

As he stood there, the sensation of the place enveloping him, he felt the first stirrings of something long forgotten—hope. The ultimate battle had ended, but here, in this sanctuary, a new beginning beckoned. One where the Beacon, though unclaimed by this serene wilderness, could seek to heal, to rebuild, and to find a semblance of the peace that had eluded him for so long. In the embrace of this untouched wild, he dared to believe that even a heart as wearied as his could find renewal.

—

Somrstad 7th, 924 F.L.

(Present)

Garrick and Ember ventured into the woods two mornings after Vash’s visit, hunting for a special flower.

The plant, called the Rapturous Bell, held a necessary ingredient to brew a Potion of Rejuvenation. This potion had rescued Garrick more times than he could count in the past, chiefly because it would make the consumer feel as if they'd had a full night’s rest—perfect for the busy days a few weeks ahead.

The Rapturous Bell was found in many places in Bastion—but most were hard to get to. Not because of any monsters or traps or anything that might be particularly exciting, but because they only grew in deep sections of forest the few days after a rainstorm. This was, of course, perfect, considering the absolute havoc the most recent tempest had seen fit to pummel the area with.

“We’re going on an adventure today, Ember,” Garrick said, smiling as he saw the effect his words had on the little vulpid. She appeared to puff out her chest and striding forward with her back a tad straighter, confident that they were embarking on quite the journey. What he didn’t tell her, was that the adventure would require quite a few hours of marching through damp underbrush and slick mud.

Every story has its hardships, Garrick mused. I hope she doesn’t mind too much.

Garrick and Ember continued their trek, the ground under their feet more of a suggestion than a clear trail. Not many passed through this area, and the forest around them was reclaiming its territory, with branches and bushes encroaching on the path like nosy neighbors peeking over a fence.

As they navigated the increasingly wild drag, Garrick couldn't help but chuckle.

"At this rate, we'll need a machete just to find our way back," he mused, ducking under a particularly ambitious branch. Ember simply trotted alongside, her steps light and sure, as if she found it all very exhilarating.

Hours passed, and the path seemed to grow shyer, disappearing under a blanket of leaves and mud in places.

"Seems the forest's playing hide and seek with us," Garrick said, a smile in his voice. "But we're not giving up that easily, are we?" Ember's energetic wag seemed to agree, her spirit undiminished by their wild goose chase through the woods.

“That’s right,” Garrick agreed. “We’re persistent.”

Just when Garrick and Ember were making good progress, a scene of mild calamity caught Garrick's eye—a group struggling with a cart that had gotten stuck in the mud.

The cart appeared to be in quite the predicament due to the incline, the weight with which it was laden down, and the small size of the team trying to free it. Garrick could see a family—or at least he assumed so, considering nearly all of them had the same dark hair and burnished complexions—struggling to unstick the cart: two tiny faces peeked out from the wagon, wide-eyed and curious, while a woman, who he guessed was their mother, and a teenage boy wearing a red bandana around his head were pushing with all their might from behind. A bit further ahead, a sandy-haired boy who looked all of twelve was doing his best to coax the lone horse pulling the cart, but despite his enthusiastic encouragement, the horse seemed more interested in the grass beside the path than in exerting any extra effort.

What are they doing all the way out here? And with small children?

The cart itself had definitely seen better days. It was old, the wood chipped and only the vaguest reminder of what color paint originally covered it. On the side, an old emblem had been scrubbed away—likely by rain and wind considering the age of the thing—and was difficult to make out. There was evidence of hasty repairs having been made to both the frame and the canopy that was drawn over it. Garrick noted that one of the wheels was even made from a different type of wood than the others—maplewood versus the oak of the rest—and was slightly smaller by comparison.

"Well, they're certainly having quite the time with it, aren't they?" Garrick said to Ember, who tilted her head as if agreeing with his assessment. Watching the family's struggle, frustration evident in their efforts, Garrick couldn't help but feel bad for them.

"Seems they could use a hand—or two," he mused aloud, already moving towards them. "Let's go see if we can't lend some strength to their cause, eh?" he added, rolling up his sleeves as he prepared to help the family in their sticky situation.

As Garrick and Ember made their approach, the sounds of the family’s struggle became clearer.

"Keep…pushing, dear, but for the love…of the woods, do try…to stay…upright," the woman huffed, clearly out of breath, her voice anxious.

The boy, exerting every ounce of strength he had, flashed a quick, sweaty grimace back at her.

"I'm…pushing as if the whole world…depended on it, Mum! But this mud's slicker than…an eel's back."

The woman, her voice threading through stress and affection, apparently couldn't resist a playful jab. "With all the…practice you get navigating the…mess in your room, you'd think…this mud would be no challenge for you," she teased.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Mum, really?" he huffed, the corners of his mouth twitching downward as he gave the cart another heave. "Here? Of…all places?"

Garrick, feeling as though there was no good time to do so anyway with as focused as they were, chose that moment to announce their presence.

"Need a hand with that?" he called out, intending to offer assistance.

Oh, that was too loud, he thought. It’s going to startle them.

His sudden intrusion indeed caught them off guard. The mother, hair askew, screamed. The teenage boy, surprised by Garrick's voice and his mother’s wail, lost his balance and fell with a splash into the mud.

Ah, cripes, Garrick thought. I knew it.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry for startling you, we just saw that you were in need of—" Garrick began, but his apology was cut short by the sudden appearance of the younger boy.

The sandy-haired lad, abandoning the horse, had circled around the cart with a dagger drawn, his stance brave yet inexperienced.

"Begone, bandit!" he shouted, determination in his eyes. “Else I’ll carve ye up!”

Garrick paused, taken aback not only by the boy's bold accusation but also by the unmistakable green glimmer of a burgeoning mantle around him.

Well, isn’t that something?

“Jeromie!” the boy’s mother scolded. “Where’d you get that dagger?!”

“‘T’were m’dad’s, Auntie,” he said proudly, his intensely-focused eyes never leaving Garrick. “Swiped it a’fore we left!”

Garrick raised his hands in a gesture of peace, a slight smile playing on his lips despite the misunderstanding.

"I assure you, I'm no bandit," he said, trying to infuse his tone with as much friendliness as possible. "Just a traveler offering some help—nothing more."

The boy's stance wavered for a moment, his resolve flickering as he assessed Garrick's sincere expression and the lack of any real threat. Garrick took note of the shape of the blade, tapered at the end with a fluted handle.

Ceremonial, he thought, but caught sight of the edge that had been scuffed—roughly hewn into sharpness. Resourceful young man, I guess.

Before the tension could ease, the two small children—a boy and a girl—tumbled out of the cart, their squeals of delight cutting through the air as they spotted Ember.

“Don’t—” the mother cried, but she was interrupted.

"Puppy!" the little girl exclaimed, both of them scrambling over with the fearless curiosity of youth, ignoring their mother's calls to come back.

Garrick hesitated, not sure if he should try to stop them as the children reached Ember, hands extended and voices bubbling with excitement. But there was nothing to worry about. Ember, ever the gentle soul, sat patiently, allowing the small hands to explore her fur, her tail wagging softly in response.

They're quite young to be so deep in the forest, Garrick thought to himself, estimating them to be around four and five, reminiscent of Skylark at those tender ages. The forest, with all its beauty and mystery, could also be unforgiving, no place for children to be so enveloped in the heart of.

The mother, finally catching up, pulled the children away with gentle admonishments, her eyes flicking to Garrick with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, they're just—"

"No harm done, ma’am," Garrick interjected, his gaze softening. "They're just kids, after all. It’s their nature. Bold and inquisitive." His attention turned back to the boy with the dagger, the green glimmer around him still noticeable. "And you, young sir, I’d tell you there’s no need for weapons, but you and I both know the world isn’t so simple, right?”

He winked, and that seemed to placate the boy slightly.

“However,” Garrick said. “We're here to help, not harm. You can keep that blade trained on me all you like, but…it might make it difficult to help with the cart. But it is ultimately your decision."

The boy, Jeromie, seemed to struggle with the idea, his grip on the dagger loosening but not quite disappearing.

"A’right…but I'm watching ye, old man," he said, a brave attempt at authority in his young voice.

Garrick nodded, understanding the protective instinct driving the boy.

"Fair enough. Now, how about we get this cart unstuck?" he suggested, ready to put the awkward introductions behind them and focus on the task at hand. The teenage boy, finally wrenching himself out of the mud, stood up then, staring at Garrick.

“You? Help?” he demanded. “How?”

“I’m sorry,” Garrick said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you’re not exactly young…” the boy said.

“Basil!” the mother admonished again, shooting a mortified glance at Garrick before glaring at her son. “I apologize—these boys aren’t usually so rude to strangers.”

Something about that statement didn’t really ring true to Garrick, though. Especially the boy with the knife—he was too quick to act with it to be a first-time offender.

Still, Garrick couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's blunt observation. "Age might have its drawbacks, you’re right—but it comes with a bit of wisdom and plenty of experience," he replied, brushing off the remark with good humor. Turning to the mother, he extended a friendly hand.

"I'm Garrick,” he said before gesturing to his fox companion, “and this delightful young kit is Ember."

The woman, taking his hand, gave a weary but grateful smile.

"Pleasure. I'm Agatha, and these miniature whirlwinds are my children, Sam and Lucy," she gestured to the two tiny ones who had been enamored with Ember, "the stubborn mule here is Basil, my oldest. Jeromie—the one with the dagger—is my nephew."

"Well met, all of you," Garrick said, then knelt down to be at eye level with Jeromie, offering him a conspiratorial wink. "And you, young protector, how about we use that bravery to help free this cart?"

Jeromie, now looking a bit sheepish, nodded, finally tucking the blade away.

Garrick stood, surveying the stuck cart. He nodded to himself.

I could push this out easily enough… he thought. But that won’t help them if this happens again once I’m gone. And I have a feeling something like this might happen to them again before too long.

"Well, first things first, we'll need some leverage,” he said. “Mr. Basil, Mr. Jeromie, see if you can find some long, sturdy branches. They'll serve as levers to lift the cart a bit.”

As the boys scrambled to find suitable branches, Garrick turned to Agatha. "And for the horse, coaxing works better than shouting. A gentle touch and a calm voice can work wonders. Maybe a bit of those apples I see peeking out from under the tarp could persuade our four-legged friend here."

Agatha laughed, and made a show of stretching to mimic the sense of tension easing from her shoulders. Garrick noted that this, however, seemed to be a pretense. He watched her eyes flick to the apples almost hesitantly, and then to her children.

"Of course, why didn't I think of that?” she said. “Sam, Lucy, would you like to feed the horse an apple?"

The children, thrilled at the prospect, nodded eagerly.

Garrick, intrigued by the woman’s behavior, but satisfied with the plan in motion, clapped. "Alright, team, let's get to work.”

A short while later, a final communal shove got the cart out of the mud and over the hump of the hill. The family celebrated, with Agatha looking so relieved Garrick suspected there was a bit more to her worry than this simple snag.

“Thank you so much, sir,” she said, wiping her brow with the back of her arm. “I was beginning to think we’d never be freed.”

“I’ve run into more of those than you’d probably believe,” Garrick said, watching as the children continued to celebrate.

“You’re kind to offer your assistance,” Agatha continued, her gaze drifting to each of her charges. “Don’t know what we would have done without it.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’d have been perfectly fine,” Garrick fibbed. “You’ve got a good little crew here.”

He noticed the little ones, Sam and Lucy, had picked Ember up to hold her triumphantly between them before taking turns peppering the top of the fox’s head with kisses. Ember was a good sport about it, simply accepting the affection.

“How long have you been out here, then?” he wondered. “In the forest,” he added quickly.

“Oh…uh, not long at all. A day, perhaps?” Agatha said. Garrick noticed as she spoke, she kept casting fleeting glances down the trail they'd come from, her eyes flicking back as if expecting to see something—or someone—emerging from the shadows of the trees. It was a subtle thing, but to Garrick, who had spent a lifetime reading the unspoken language of body and eye, it spoke volumes. There was a weight to her relief, a depth that went beyond simply getting a cart unstuck from the mud. She wiped her brow again, and Garrick noticed dark stains under her nails.

Trying to keep the conversation light, Garrick ventured, "So, where is this journey taking you all, if you don't mind my asking?" He watched her closely, curious about her answer.

Agatha paused, her response coming after a noticeable delay.

"...Oh, we're headed to Tiller's Crossing," she said, her voice a bit too casual. "Thought we'd visit some old friends, you know?"

Garrick's brow furrowed slightly. He knew the place—he’d once spent a few weeks there in his first year in Bastion, trying to complete a quest that just would not be resolved (after many, many hilarious attempts.) Because of this, he spotted an issue with what Agatha claimed. Tiller's Crossing was in the opposite direction and, more importantly, it had been abandoned for years after a flood made it uninhabitable. There was no logical reason to head there, especially through the forest and with small children in tow.

He caught the lie immediately but chose not to call her out on it. Instead, Garrick stretched his arms above his head, feigning a yawn.

"Well, if you don't mind, perhaps Ember and I could accompany you for a bit? My legs could use the rest, and it sounds like we're heading in the same direction for a while."

Agatha's eyes darted to Garrick, then to Ember, and back to the trail behind them. Her hesitation was nearly tangible, a silent debate raging behind her gaze. After a moment, she nodded, albeit with a stiffness born of caution rather than agreement.

"Of course, we'd appreciate the company," she managed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Garrick nodded, understanding the unspoken boundaries. He wasn't here to pry or to uncover secrets she wasn't ready to share.

But, we might want to stick around for a bit anyway. Just in case.