Mana, the source of all things and the paint that gives life to the canvas of the world.
The colors of Mana gave shape to the six lands, forming a wheel. Red, Yellow, Green, Cyan, Blue, and Magenta. In ancient times these lands stood alone, building great monuments to the color of their home, and war soon consumed the lands in a fight for superiority and dominance.
Until Mana itself intervened.
Manifesting a champion of its own, the first of the Manafest sundered the lands of the old colors. Proud and arrogant nations brought low, peace restored, and the colors of the land mixed anew.
Rose, in the north-west craglands, territory of the Earth-Shattering Kirorkamuy!
Orange, in the north-east volcanic hills, guided by Breac Dea-dhathach’s Flames of Inspiration!
Lime, the city of the east, enthralled in worship to the Resplendent Marianela the Mirage!
Mint, to the south-east plateau, protected by the Daughters of Bjørn the Gale!
Azure, to the south-west atoll, magnum opus of the Brilliant Hydrologist Kállos!
And Violet, the western woodlands, where the Ominous Silhouette of Salgado lurks!
From the first Manafest a promise was made: a manifestation of Mana would make itself known every two hundred and fifty five years, identified through pilgrimage. To prevent war and foul play, none would know where or when the Manafest would be born, following a pattern and whims known only to Mana itself.
Yet, war threatens the world again.
The time for a new Manafest has come once more, and nations and factions push for their own candidates. Pretenders to the title take advantage of those who put their hopes and dreams on them. Some seen as potential candidates are hunted, declared as blasphemous. Only the confirmation of the true Manafest can see the world return to peace once more.
~ Chapter 1 ~
Indecision
“Feck.”
The murmur of dismay was accompanied by a sigh of annoyance. Adjusting the straps on the pack hanging from her shoulders, the traveler shifted one foot behind her to turn and go back the way she came.
“Double feck.”
Standing atop dark, ashy soil between a row of grove trees yet to bear fruit, the hazel-haired girl was faced with the orange glow of burning trees. Perched on a hill as she was at the moment, the flames were safely below her for the time being. There was no grass or stray shrubbery to spread the fire faster, only the rows upon rows of trees that stretched across the hills and valleys for miles and miles. Even so, the orange glow cast across her pale, freckled face brought heat with it and the warmth was swiftly becoming uncomfortable.
One hand coming up to tuck stray strands of her shoulder-length hair behind an ear, brow furrowing and cheeks puffing out as she narrowed her round hazel eyes in thought. Glancing to one side, and then the other, the girl sighed again before starting to roll up her sleeves, tucking the baggy fabric in on itself to keep it in place. Donning a focused expression and taking a deep breath she brought her palms together, fingers splayed.
“Oi, youngwan!”
A voice called out, the flames exploding in intensity a moment later before burning themselves out entirely. Hands pulling apart to shield her face from the flash of heat, she blinked in surprise as she turned fully to one side. The source of the voice, an older man with a bushy brown beard that left his chin bare and flared out on the sides, hiked his way through the fresh ash that had been trees moments ago to snatch ahold of her hand and start leading her back down where he had come from in a hurry.
As he did, he spoke in a gruff, rambling way as the girl jogged alongside him in surprise. She didn’t catch everything he said, but being “off her head” and “an eejit” came up several times.
Hurrying along at a fast pace, the man’s gruffness proved itself quite justified as patches of the orchard spontaneously caught fire in their wake. One tree so close that she nearly stumbled in surprise, and as her gaze flicked downward she caught sight of slivers of glowing red peaking through the black ash. Glancing back up, forward and to the sides, her hazel eyes lit up in realization as she put two and two together - the trees that burst into flames were ones that had slivers of glowing red underneath them.
Cresting a hill, the pair arrived at a gap in the rows upon rows of orchard trees. Built tightly together, over a dozen buildings sat nestled along the hills in a small valley. Blocky and long, each building had pale stone walls and pointed thatched roofs. Curiously, each rooftop was secured to pegs in the walls supporting it.
In short order the man led her down into the narrow walkways between the buildings, where the ground was paved with tightly packed stones and no glowing lines of red could be seen. Only then did he slow his pace, let go of her hand and bring his rambling to an end with a big, deep breath. Rubbing at her slightly numb fingers, the girl looked around curiously as the man turned to face her and sternly crossed his arms over his chest.
“Alright now, youngwan, mind explaining what you were doing out in the orchard? Even a girl your age should know it's not safe without someone that can tap into orange mana around. If I hadn’t noticed you, you’d be in bits just like those trees out there.”
Towering over her and more than twice as wide, the traveler had to crane her head back in order to look the man in the eye. It would have been intimidating, in most situations, except…
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“Your beard is on fire.”
The man blinked, and with a quick lick of his thumb and index finger snuffed out the flames gently burning away at the left side of his beard. One side of his beard was visibly singed now, and a bit shorter than the other, but aside from briefly scratching his fingers across his beard and a grumble he paid it no mind as he focused his attention back on her.
“Sure look. Anyways, what’s your name girl?”
“Bradán.”
“Strange name for a girl.”
Immediately, Bradán’s cheeks puffed out in a pout and she replied in a grumpy tone while turning her gaze off to one side.
“Sure look.”
The man got a chuckle out of that, bringing one hand down to give her a pat on the shoulder, the girl peering up at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Ah don’t mind me none, it's as fine a name as any other. More importantly,”
The man gestured at the buildings around them, and while stubbornly maintaining the pout on her face Bradán’s gaze followed where he indicated. A few villagers mingled about, some engaging in trade with the local smith or baker and others sweeping stray black ash clear of the cobblestones. Still others carried large baskets loaded with dozens upon dozens of apples, most of which were loaded up into wagons. Wagons drawn by fluffy orange-brown bears, of all things!
“No girls named Bradán live here as far as I know. You wander off from another village? Or a big city? Tot like you shouldn’t be traveling alo-.”
“I’m sixteen.”
Bradán interrupted, puffing her cheeks out even further and crossing her arms in front of her in a disgruntled display. The bear-drawn wagon she had been distracted by slowly started to roll by, and the man that had dragged her down from the orchard hills reached up to scratch at the side of his head.
“You been eating right?”
The immediate response and the deadpan delivery, along with the incredulous look on the man’s face, sent a flash of red to Bradán’s face.
“I eat fine.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re just a late bloomer and all that. Shoot right up any day now.”
The man laughed, waving his hand from side to side to side. When she didn’t perk up, he cleared his throat and held out his hand.
“Stéig, I’m the orchard tender around these parts.”
Letting out a puff of air and relaxing her expression, Bradán accepted the handshake. His hand dwarfed her own, and was rough and calloused. If he had wanted to, Bradán had no doubt that Stéig could swing her around like a toy by her arm. Letting bygones be bygones, she quipped with a laugh.
“You do look like a Stéig.”
“Been told that all my life!”
Stéig agreed, nodding as he pulled his hand away and gestured for her to follow him. Shifting the straps on her pack again, Bradán had to hustle at not-quite-a-jog to keep pace with him.
“So where you headed?”
“Los Lima.”
Stéig gave a low whistle at that, but any further questions that might have been on the man’s mind were left unsaid for the time being. Instead, him leading her to wherever they were going turned into an impromptu tour of the small village.
“This is Apple Valley. I doubt you’ve heard much of it, small orchard villages don’t usually get much fame. Though, they should! We grow the entire supply of apples for the entirety of the Orange Orchard Company, you know? Although a youngwan heading for Los Lima probably doesn’t give two figs about that.”
Bradán gave a wavering, uncertain smile at that. Stéig seemed to deem it suitably sheepish, if the side-eyed look he gave her was any indication, and continued with the tour introducing particular people they passed and what profession they had in the village. While she made sure to greet everyone politely, her attention was split with keeping an eye and ear on her surroundings.
What stood out to her most about the village, though, was the smell. The orchard itself had a bit of an applewood scent to them, especially where the trees burst into flames recently, but here in the village where apples were stored and chopped and baked in large quantities? It was practically the only thing she could smell, a mix of sour and sweet aromas in the air. Walking along at a more relaxed pace, not worrying about her surroundings quite as much, nodding along to Stéig’s explanations with the occasional comment chimed in. In such a cozy place with friendly people, Bradán couldn’t help but feel at ease.
Or maybe she was just sleepy after hiking up and down hills all morning and well into noon?
The building next to her burst into flames as they passed, and the cozy drowsy feeling vanished in an instant. Stumbling away from the burning building with a surprised “Feck!”, palms pressed together, Bradán leaned back too far and lost her balance as her heavy backpack pulled her to the ground with a thud. Stéig turned to look at her, then the swiftly growing fire, and scratched at his beard in calm contemplation.
Bradán watched at first with wide eyes, and then a raised eyebrow, and then a scrunched up nose and a half a frown twisting off from one corner of her mouth as the villagers… meandered away from the burning building, not even bothering to pay much mind to it at all. Down the road, people didn’t even stop what they were doing enough to look over. Then a few wandered out of the front door, some with plates and mugs in hand, and others pushing little hand carts full of dishes, clothing, and other odds and ends. The last to leave was a woman idly eating her lunch as she walked, giving Stéig a nod and a thumbs up with her free hand as she passed by.
Crossing her legs underneath her, hands dropping down to lightly hold onto her ankles, Bradán’s concern melted away into confusion as Stéig returned the thumbs up. Then he clapped his palms together, fingers splayed, and orange embers lit up in the crack between his hands. In one swift motion he slid them apart in opposite directions and sent a spray of orange glittering through the air.
The sparkling orange mixed with the flames, spreading along them until the burning building glittered orange in the sunlight. Stéig swept his hands forward again, palms glancing across each other like flint striking steel, and the fire exploded. A wave of heat and bright light washed over the area briefly, but harmlessly, and once more Bradán had to shield her eyes. When she peeked through her pale fingers, the fire had gone out and the entirety of the building had been reduced to black ashes, small red lines glowing faintly under the new layer of soot.
Rubbing his forehead with the back of his sleeve, Stéig let out a tired puff. Another man with a mug in hand stepped past Bradán to give Stéig a hearty slap on the shoulder.
“Been donkey’s years since that one last went up, was starting to think it’d outlast you.”
Stéig laughed at that, returning the shoulder slap.
“Gas and a half, you are. Go let the lads know we got some construction that needs done.”
“Thanks a million, Stéig.”
On that note the man took a drink from his mug and departed, and Stéig turned his attention back to where Bradán was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Offering a hand out to help her to her feet, he asked.
“Never seen a building go up in front of you?”
Getting to her feet with Stéig’s help, dusting off the back of her legs, Bradán shot the taller man an incredulous look and huffed.
“Don’t say that like I’m the weird one. You’re supposed to put fires out, not make them explode and act like nothing happened..”
Stéig frowned for a split second, then his face lit up in realization. Smacking his balled fist into his palm, he laughed.
“Ahhh I get it now, you’re a culchie aren’t you? How far out you from? Must be practically on the cragland border if you’re thinking all old-style like that.”
Blinking, and freckled cheeks turning red, Bradán fussed with the straps of her backpack and murmured.
“Sure look.”
Holding his hands up defensively, palms out, Stéig struggled to look apologetic despite the broad grin on his face.
“No offense meant, youngwan. Just, explains a lot, you know?”
Nodding, Bradán’s cheeks slowly returned to their normal pale color. Making a beckoning gesture and walking off down the road once more, Stéig called back.
“C’mere to me, and I’ll fill you in on how things are in the orchard proper.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, even as she followed Stéig's slightly-too-fast-for-her-height pace, Bradán objected.
“Not a kid, remember? I can figure it out.”
“Aye, you could, and you could burn to cinders before you do. Everything burns up when its time rolls around, nothing anybody can do about that, and I can’t in good conscience let you go faffing about all the way to Los Lima.”
Bradán’s cheeks half-puffed out in a false start of a pout, and she was about to reply before abruptly letting out a puff of air and conceding instead. Stéig must have heard it, because without even turning to look at her he gave a laugh and added.
“I’ll pay you back for setting an old man’s mind at ease with some lunch. You’re sure to get taller eating proper, Orange Orchard cooking.”
“I said I eat fine!”