“It’s time to wake up. Liliac?”

Liliac’s eyes jerk open, her vision still hazy as the soft morning light and salty air pulls her mind away from the burning and brimstone of the apocalypse. She quivers as the incoming ocean breeze pierces the thin linen sheets onto her sweat covered skin.

I’m… okay? I’m… okay.

Liliac thinks to herself, her head still throbbing as the jabbing pain slowly diminishes, affirming her presence in the physical world, escaped from the all too real nightmare

“Another bad dream? Its alright, my little flower bud, your father is here, nothing is going to hurt you anymore.”

Blinking the fog out of her eyes, Liliac slowly turns her head toward the large but warm palm gently brushing the wet hair from her cheek. It is a massive hand, capable of hiding almost half of her face. Covered in scars and calluses from years of labour, a deep golden brown from being constantly beaten by the sun’s rays, and firm muscles hiding the strength behind each gentle touch. Following the hand up the similarly weathered but powerful arm, broad shoulders capable of lifting an entire shark, and a wide chiselled chin holding up the face of a man that would normally be considered imposing and scary, but now trying his best to look tender. His eyes filled with worry and concern for his shaking daughter.

Liliac let out a light chuckle to affirm her worry wart of a dad that she was alright, before swiftly pulling her still aching body out of bed and start getting dressed.

“I’m fine dad, you know its not my first night of having these kinds of nightmares, I’m used to it by now. You don’t have to get so worried every time, you need proper rest too before going to work.”

“I know, I known. I just can’t stand seeing you so pained every time. The nightmares, the illness. I feel like I’m such a terrible dad for not being able to do something about it for my precious little flower bud. I just want you to live like a healthy kid.”

“You’re a great dad, dad”

Liliac says as she finishes getting dressed, waiting patiently as her father braids her long silky black hair into a neat ponytail behind her, before retorting in a bright and cheerful voice.

“And you got to stop calling me that, I’m 16 years old already, not a kid anymore. Furthermore, after today I will officially be a proud Cultivator of the Mistro Isles! I’ll be able to hold my own and contribute to this family!”

Liliac’s father let out a heartfelt laugh, nodding with pride in agreement with his daughter’s declaration. It is indeed an important day for the young ones of Mistro Isles, the once in every 3 years Broaden Horizons Ceremony is taking place tonight, where children are tested for their affinity for magic. Those that succeed will be able to plant a firm foot on the path of cultivation, gaining the capability to manipulate the very laws of nature, and opening the doors to transcend into a greater state of life. Power, prestige, opportunity, it is not an exaggeration to say that this day is the most important day of a person’s life, dictating their very future, their potential and how far they can go in their time on this earth.

As excited as Liliac’s father is for her, there is still an unshakable worry over this momentous day. Out of 10 people, only about 4 would have the capability to use magic. Those that cannot, the Commoners, typically ends up at the bottom of society, at the whims of the Cultivators, incapable of moving up in the world. This kind of shock is especially traumatizing for young kids, experiencing firsthand the moment their hopes and dreams are shattered, like a clay pot in the crashing ocean waves. The stoic man shivers as he remembered the countless times he had to dive off the steep Mistblade Cliffs in the following hours of the ceremony, pulling the small ragdoll bodies out of the raging waves, and seeing the lifeless eyes on those still breathing faces, devoid of hope. He is not prepared to see her face there tonight.

Sensing her father’s worry, Liliac turns to face the large man with a reassuring smile.

“It’ll be fine dad, even if I don’t have the talent, I still got my skills as a healer. I didn’t spend all those years plagued by this illness and do nothing about it. I bet some of the villagers even hope that I don’t become a Cultivator, so I can have time tending to them instead of being absorbed in training like all the Cultivators tend to be.”

Liliac and her father both chuckles a bit at the thought.

“Even if that is my future, it will be a good one. Now go get ready for work, I’ll be there with breakfast very soon.”

Liliac quickly shoves her father out of the room, before heading to the small kitchen of their modest home herself. Opening the creaky wooden window, a gorgeous view of the ocean horizon stretches out in front of her. The rising sun just cresting above the water surface, its light and the warm shimmering air makes it look as if there is still a strand of gold linking it and the ever-fluctuating horizon.

The Mistro Isle is a small island, one of thousands, dotting the vast ocean region of the Eastern Seas. It’s uniquely shaped in the form of a gravy bowl, with tall, steep cliffsides on all but the east side. Encircling a lush, gentle basin, the bottom of which is covered in a year long fog, giving the island its name. Not all islands in the Eastern Seas are hospitable for human civilization. Many of them barren of resources or are at a constant danger of destruction by the various supernatural ocean zones common in the region, zones of magically infused waters that defy the typically laws of nature. The Mistro Isle was lucky enough to posses the ideal characteristics of supporting life. More importantly, it houses a Mana Spring at the heart of the basin, which provides the necessary mana and mana stones for cultivation. Allowing the Mistro clan to support its own Cultivators, and becoming a small local power compared to few surrounding magicless villages.

Liliac’s home is located on the northeast tip of the island, atop the rim of the basin. The more prestigious Cultivator families tend to build their homes deeper in the basin itself, where they are closer to the abundant magic emanating from the Spring. While the magicless Common folk base their hovels on the smoother outer hill of the Eastern Slopes, outside the basin. Stretching their homes and businesses from bellow the island’s rim all the way down to the water’s edge, were the earth meets the sea.

While Liliac’s father is a Rank 3 Cultivator himself, a level on par with most of the clan elders, just bellow the clan head, his lack of a distinct Cultivator family background meant he was easily pushed out of the inner circle of power. A rare occurrence of a talented Cultivator emerging from a Commoner family, and no more. Father was okay this situation, he himself had no desire to squeeze into the tight-knit circles of the elder families, content with living his life free. His high rank and disinterest in politics made him a central figure in the freelance hunter’s community. And in his words, he much more prefers the open laughter of his fellow hunters, than the fake smiles of the elders. Plus, he can focus more of his energy on raising her.

Liliac enjoys living here as well. She loves being able to bath in the first light of day, feeling the warm, salty sea breeze wash away the chills of the night from her copper tanned skin. She loves staring out at the endless blues, its ebbing waves reflecting the amber light, bright like her amber eyes. She loves looking out at the expanse of roofs weaving delicately among the Eastern Slopes, with thin grey smokes sketching a painting of life. It made her glad to be alive.

Turning her wandering mind from the pristine island morning scenery to the bubbling stew in front of her, Liliac re-adjusts her ponytail around her neck before throwing in a slice of dried Hellion Halibut. Then, closing her eyes and interlocking her finger in front of her chest in a prayer.

“Thank you for your body that provides us with the energy to grow. Thank you for your death that allows us to live another day. Our conflict rest only in our common struggle for survival in this unforgiving world. Today you have passed so I can live to see the light of dawn, and tomorrow I may follow so someone else can say the same. Your time on this earth will be remembered through all those that have benefitted from your and know that your existence has brough happiness and hope to those of us that continue to walk it. For this, I offer you my sincerest gratitude. Pray that your soul finds peace behind the Gates of Life and Death, and your next life will also be full of happiness and joy.”

The people of the town have always thought of this little “ritual” of hers to be superfluous, even her father felt so, thou he never said it. She agrees that it can get a little inconvenient at times, causing a non-insignificant number of overcooked incidents. But she kept it up, no matter if she was working with meat or vegetable. Compared to the sacrifice those fishes and plants made, giving their life for the good of everyone else, those inconveniences are nothing to complain about. And hey, if a simple prayer can help ease the pains and grudges of death for these souls even by a little, it was worth the extra effort.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Liliac brought the finished fish stew out to her father, now dressed in his hunting garb. A slightly loose fitted green linen robe and pants that allows for large movements; sturdy sandals to protect his feet while on land; his toned and muscular right arm bare, holding a large ivory spear made from a White-iron Whale’s rib; and a crimson belt with the letter ‘3’, a symbol of his strength, etched on the buckle. The very image of a proud hunter of the seas.

The large man quickly wolfs down the stew, feeling a bit embarrassed by his daughter’s grinning gaze, before giving Liliac one final farewell as he heads out to the piers.

“I’m off. I’ll be back before sunset to walk you to the ceremony. Be careful down at the town alright?”

“Yes dad, I’ll be fine. Don’t forget to eat lunch, you need all the energy you can get when diving that far from the island.”

After waving goodbye to her father’s back as he rushed down the gravelly road to the ocean’s edge and basic clean up around the house is done, Liliac shuffles out a carefully packed wooden backpack cabinet from a small dry compartment under her bed. The aromatic scent of medicinal herbs gently drifts from its drawers. With it over her back, she starts heading down to the bustling morning of the Eastern Slopes, as the town of Mistro begin to stretch its legs for the day.

The small, twisted streets of the Eastern Slopes is extra busy today. Children around Liliac’s age are all up and about, filled with anticipation and energy for tonight ceremony. Some chasing after each other in an elaborate game of tag, weaving between the clustered stone houses, jumping over the various shop tills, trying to showcase their physical prowess and garner the interest of various groups of Cultivators traveling to their stations, as if proclaiming ‘The future is in our hands now!’. Some gathers under the shade of a building or tree, discussing excitedly about their numerous ‘educated’ perspectives on cultivation, striking cool poses, and shouting the names of their would be ‘special attack’. The older generations, be it 20ish years old young Cultivators, or elderly Commoners, all look upon these fledglings with a warm smile. They are this town’s future, who will continue to protect and fight for the island, bring prosperity for Cultivators and Commoners of the Mistro clan alike.

“Good morning Liliac! Are you ready for your big day?”

“Miss Liliac! Miss Liliac!”

“Lil! You’re opening the clinic today as well? That’s too kind!”

“Miss Lil, you mind giving me a hand here?”

“Quack! Quack!”

Liliac cheerfully returned the greetings from the passionate Common folks, from the elderly shop keeps, to the enthusiastic children. Patiently help hold the basket of cloth for the middle-aged women as she fixed her hair, even passing the right of way to a family of ducks. Finally, she arrives at a small stone hut, just barely 10 foot long on either side, that she had setup years ago. A small turtle shell sign painted with a green leaf hang just bellow its thatch roof, advertising its purpose as her little house of healing.

Not now, not today…

“Cough… cough…”

Liliac suppressed the sudden painful urge to cough behind her sleeve, not wanting to dampen the joyful mood throughout the streets. She begun learning about medicine the moment this mysterious illness first racked her tiny body, sapping strength from her limbs and occasionally sending her into terrifying coughing fits, as if there are burning coals in her lungs. It was strange, while the illness brought her near endless amount of pain and almost caused her father to go bald way before his years, it never posed a true threat on her life. Her strength would return somewhat after a good meal, and the coughing fits, while heart-wrenching, would always end before she was pushed beyond the edge. It was as if the illness was simply delighted with causing her suffering and will not allow her the relief of death.

While her fathers many efforts seeking a cure, and her own journey into medicine yielded no results, Liliac did manage to pickup some skills as an herbal healer. Ever since the previous Commoner doctor passed away and requesting healing magic from Cultivators was far too costly for the Common household, Liliac decided to take up the mantle as the people’s healer. Setting her office of operation in the lower section of the Eastern Slopes, where injured farmers and sick children alike can seek her treatment.

Perhaps it was her natural eye for identifying illnesses plus deft fingers in concocting remedies; or the fact that she did not reject any single patient who came to her doors, no matter if they were just feeling down from the flu or was rushed in from losing an arm; maybe it was the dedication and hope in her eyes when faced with even the most fatal injuries, her encouraging words to even the most lost of causes. Either way, Liliac earned the respect of the Common folks of Mistro. In a time where aid was unreasonably far, she was their saint.

Even today, with the town buzzing in excitement for the Broaden Horizons Ceremony, the small clinic is as busy as ever. Mr. Gregory’s knee was acting up again from the moisture and cold nights; little Tommy cut his hand while playing by the shore yesterday and is now having a fever; Kelp keeper Agria and her team needs bandaging and disinfection after being attacked by a school of Shadebreams during their night watch; etc. etc. Liliac’s hands did not stop as the sun slowly drifts across the sky, meshing herbs and monster parts, brewing up nose jerking tonics, carefully removing fragments and spikes from the various dangerous ocean wildlife that left their mark in the tender flesh of her people.

It was tiring but rewarding work, one that she often finds herself absorbed in and losing track of time. A bright smile constantly resting on Liliac’s delicate teardrop face, an infectious one that spread to the faces of each person that she tends to, and further fuels her own to be even brighter. Bits and pieces of dried fish, vegetables, or mana stone fragments finds their way into a drawer of her medicine cabinet as the patients leave satisfied. There was no sign indicating the price for treatment, and no consistency in value between each payment, but Liliac gave a cheery nod of acknowledgment to each deposit. She started this clinic only to help those in pain, to ease that terrible feeling of which she knows all too well. But as the wise grandpas and grandmas of the town had once told her when she first started: ‘Ya gatta demind som’ pay lass. O’herwise the’ll jus take ya fer grannit!”

As the sun begin its descent to the westward horizon, a familiar face pops into the small hut.

“Evening Lil, still as busy as always I see, even on today of all day?”

Liliac turns to face the boyish voice. A young Commoner man in his early 20s stood leaning by the door frame, the setting sun’s light giving his tanned brown skin an almost metallic shine. Choppy blond hair rest messily atop a pair of baggy green eyes. A tight brown tunic hides his sturdy frame, stained even darker by the mud from the rice fields.

“Evening Kapin, done your work for the day? There’s a pot of peppermint tea in the corner, feel free to pore yourself a cup.”

The tired young man’s eyes lit up as he shuffles over for a cup of tea. His tense shoulder slumps, letting the warm liquid flow through his aching muscles.

“Thanks Lil, I know I can always relax at your place.”

Kapin shifts uncomfortably in his spot, staring at Liliac as she continues sorting the array of ingredients in her drawers. Moving the cup away from his lips multiple times as if trying to say something, before ultimately catching himself and sinking back into it.

He’s doing that thing again, always like this when he’s anxious.

Liliac thinks as she speaks up, attempting to draw out whatever is bothering the nervous young man. Her hands still hard at work but her attention now focuses on him.

“What is it Kapin? Don’t hold it in, its not good for your health.”

“I… Its just… no, its nothing…”

He mumbles, unsure of how to frame his thoughts. Liliac pauses her hands as she gave him a deep and reassuring look. Speaking in an insistent but jokily tone, trying to ease the awkward tension emanating from the buff young man.

“Spill it, Kapin, don’t make me ask you thrice! Besides, this isn’t like you, you were always the one to speak your mind and fight for your beliefs.”

“That’s not true…”

Kapin mutters, shifting his gaze from side to side but not meeting hers. Like a boy caught lying by his mother, a strange sight coming from this 6’5 man with the toned muscles of a fighter.

“Its true! Remember the time when you fought and won against those Cultivators that refused to pay for Old Nancy’s lobster rolls? You stood up for her when no-one else dared, and…”

“They were just Rank 1 brats, barely count as proper Cultivators, bet they didn’t even properly train after becoming one.”

Kapin cut Liliac off before she could continue her ramble, looking a bit more confident in himself before speaking up.

“Wait no, that’s beside the point. I… I was wondering if you… if you…”

An awkward silence hangs in the air, before the young man quickly makes up his mind.

“If you were looking forward to your ceremony tonight!”

Kapin shouts, then quickly turning his head as if afraid of hearing her answer.

“Of course!”

Liliac replies immediately with a cheer in her voice. A brief look of dismay flashed across Kapin’s face, then frustration, before finally replaced with a sadden acceptance.

“When I become a Cultivator, I’ll finally be able to use healing magic. Then I’ll be able to treat a lot more people, and a lot more serious injury! Right now, working with all of these herbs is really killing my back.”

Liliac locks gaze with Kapin, and the young man sees the seriousness in her eyes. A determination, a kindness, burning away any dark thoughts in his mind. After a brief pause, he burst into laughter.

“Hahaha! Of course. Of course, that’s what you’ll do. How could I have thought any different!”

Liliac laughs alongside him, the setting sun painting the small room in a warm amber.

Before she could talk with Kapin further, a loud, dominating, but charming voice, like crystal chimes in the wind, pierces through the thin hanging curtain that serves as the door to her little clinic.

“Ooooh Lillll! Are you ready for our most important day of days!?”

Liliac’s smile stiffens a bit as Kapin’s brow furrows. Turning sharply in his place to face the door, the curtain now lifted by a young lady about Liliac’s age. Dressed in a fanciful purple robe with silvery embroideries that highlights her developing beauty without being tacky; Wavey black hair adorned with a series of coral studded pins and ornaments, functional and cute; Slender eyebrows, thick rosy lips, and a pair of large starkly blue eyes. A beautiful doll like face, which but moments before was filled with joy and excitement of meeting up with her bestest friend to embarking on their wonderous journey towards a magnificent future together; now, twisted into a frown as if she had just stepped on a cockroach.

“You.” “You.”

Kapin and the girl says simultaneously, in a strange harmony of disapproval. Liliac slowly buries her face into her hands.

F**k.