Syndra was tired. They had been walking for days since the last farm they could stay the night. It had been a lonely road, with no oncoming traffic. Early morning had come, and with it a wind that brought a fresh smell. She rested on a rock and ran her thumb across the bristles of her comb.

Something that once would have provoked ire from her mother. She looked back at the camp where her parents were packing their bags and fastening her brother. The lush forest around them, had swathed them in purple colours, native to this part of Navorri, shielding them from the wind. The grown-ups seemed to pay her no mind, as she distractedly thrummed away at her comb. Before long, her parents had finished, and carried onto the road. Syndra packed away her comb, threw on her pack and hopped down from the rock. She had always loved the purple colour surrounding her when she grew up, but now it seemed ominous. Full of danger and the unknown. Long as they had travelled, she knew they would have to travel longer. Walk until there was no chance of them ever being recognized. To a place where none would notice a family of clanless. Away from the mountain valley of their origin. Where the snow never fell, where strangers and travellers were manifold. To a place where none would know the name Syndra.

The road stretched far long, but thankfully not so muddy that they couldn’t walk through it. The source of the lack of travel revealed itself. An ancient tree of enormous proportions had fallen across the road, blocking it entirely. Seemingly a dead end, with walls of green on either side. The group pushed themselves into the forest, hand on log, deeper and deeper in the forest. They had travelled by the log for several minutes, before finally reaching the roots. An deep cavern had formed from where the tree had fallen. Seemingly it had transpired months ago, moss and fresh grown grass covering the dirt. Within the hole was a small, but permanent-looking campsite, in which a young man resting on his back. His head turned to see the family walking by.

With a hail and a wave, he pushed himself off the ground and climbed up the side of the hole. The man was lanky and scruffy. Dirty from days spent close to ground. He himself seemed unkempt, yet the clothing he wore, while stained with soil, was finely woven. Now that he was closer, it was clear to see his vastayah heritage. A bushy tail swished from his backside, what previously seemed to have been thick hair, were floppy ears, hugging the sides of his head. Eyes large and mostly black.

“Hey there friends. Not many…” He paused and gave them a thorough lookover “… wanderers? Around these parts. Merchants neither. On account of this:” He pat one of the many titanic roots he had used for shelter. “What brings you out here?”

The energetic demeanor of the young man was a breath of fresh air to Syndra. Rarely did her family speak of anything but the bare necessities, and especially not to her. Always he would lean, shift his weight, fiddle with something. A body both relaxed and animated.

“We don’t want trouble” Syndra’s father stated.

The young man gave a large, toothy smile revealing sharp and large canines “I aint no trouble, friend. I’ve just been travellin’ by my lonesome. Say, would you mind a traveling companion?” He proposed.

Syndra’s parents looked evasively to one another, no doubt trying to figure out how to turn down the enthusiastic individual. Panicked Syndra spoke up.

“Sure”. She coughed; her voice was hoarse. She took a shy step back, realizing these were the first words she had spoken in three days.

“I’ll take that. Thank you very much miss” He bowed to Syndra. Before facing the parents.

“You’ve raised a very generous girl, you have. Thank you as well.” He turned and jumped into the loose dirt leading down to his camp.

She looked to her parents, who glared back. Their gaze radiated annoyance. The most attention she had received for days, her face flushed with embarrassment. She looked away, down to the camp, where the woodsman was frantically taking down his camp. He could not carry everything, picking through his belongings he quickly chose that which he wished to keep. A few moments passed as they waited for him to finish up. In the end he scampered up the side with a burgeoning backpack, still leaving much of the camp behind. Signaling the family to follow along.

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“What of the rest?” Syndra’s mother motioned into the grotto of wood and soil.

“It’s only right to leave presents for the next souls, to require shelter” His face as genuine as a new pup. “Name’s Ratakhan by the way. Pleased to meet you.”

“My name is Orum, this is my wife Isha and our children Evard and Syndra.” Syndra’s father stated.

“So you’re northerners? Welcome down the mountain friends. Where’re you headed then?”

“South, to the coast.”

“That’s great. I’m headed for eastward myself, so we’ll can follow the same route round the mountain.”

The group now possessing a fifth member, moved along the other side of the large tree, through the thick underbrush and back onto the road. In the distance they could see the exit of the forest. Like a tunnel of green, a clear sky shone brightly in the distance. As they neared rolling hills invitingly rippled through the landscape. Cliff and rock broke the surface as a replacement of the trees that had otherwise covered the terrain previously.

Ratakhan always seemed to have something to talk about, the beings of the forest, the people of the mountain steppes on which they walked. The coast by Fae’lor, the island of Bahrl, The Placidium, resting place of The Spirit of Ionia itself. A place of magical tutorship, learning, and understanding. Syndra was enraptured. The stories and tales awakened her fantasy. Her mind had been dampened from weeks of walking, working and the weight of her transgression, and now a spark was alit within her. Ratakhan’s enthusiasm rubbing off on her.

With the sun setting and camp being set up, Syndra neglected her duties fully in favour of listening to Ratakhan’s tale of The Kinkou Order. The clan of mystical warriors would uphold the peace and balance across all lands of Ionia and do battle with evil spirits in their Pruning of The Tree methods.

"Do you know of Pruning the Tree? It's a saying of The Kinkou. The holy warriors who fight and kill monsters to adjust the balance between the spirit realm and the physical. The spirits of those who have passed, but also the soul of that which lives. The physical is what we see around us. It touches us as we touch it. All magic comes from the spirits, dontcha know? It leaks from that other place, and into ours, and we can take this dew, and make it into water. Nevertheless, The Kinkou. When more than just dew flows through the cloth, they come, and when we trespass into the realm of magics and bring imbalance to the spirits, they come for us. Pruning the tree. Always keeping it in order. Pruning the tree, they call it. to This story is of an old master who fought a lesser demon. An azakana named Huitol preyed on children and wanderers on the southern isles. A great boar of hate and bile. With him he brought a great club he had fashioned from the trunk of a tree. The master had hunted the southlands for weeks when he came upon the dead. Humans and trees alike crushed to splinters. But worst of all, the spirits had left the area. This azakana brought disharmony to both soul and body... A truly evil being. The master took his bow and snuck through the underbrush. For weeks they were caught in a deadly dance. A game of cat and mouse. When finally, Huitol was cornered at the coast. They had only met because the azakana had stopped to feast upon a travelling family, and their vastaya companion… The battle was titanic. The lesser demon sheared hills with his strikes, but the master avoided them all. Whilst arrows barely pierced its hide. In the end the holy warrior's ammunition had run dry, savee for on missile. What he did was climb the cliffside. Now eye-level with the monster he shot an arrow at its eye, enraging it. The massive club impacted the mountainside with ferocity that shook it from peak to root. Great rocks, ancient as The First Lands, careened down the mountainside. Crushing the azakana under the weight of its own anger. The beast was banished, but the master was never heard from again. It is said that he still stalks the woods. A protector of balance.” He looked to her, expecting an impressed face, but instead saw a girl worried and scared.

“What’s wrong child?” His concern palpable. “Will the Kinkou come for all who are out of balance?”

“Well yes, if you are a danger to your surroundings, but you should have nothing to worry about”

She quietly thrummed at the bristles on her comb, but Ratakhan took it from her. She would have felt annoyed but had gotten used to it by this point. Instead of it being removed, she instead felt it go through her hair.

“Tell you what. I have another story that is sure to cheer you up. The girl who journeyed to The Placidium”

Syndra gave only half an ear. She stared across the hills of the valley, half expecting one of these famed warriors to reveal themselves upon the crest. His presence was comforting, even if she didn’t truly listen to his story that night.