The family did not return to that river town. Instead, they kept to the smaller roads, avoiding other people when possible, weathering the elements when necessary. As it often were. Every day was spent in silence, and every evening her parents, with a mix of fear and disgust reminded her of what she had done. Her unfiltered rage had gotten the best of her, and she had annihilated the structure, allowing wild magic to seep into the valley below, making both farming and simply peaceful living increasingly difficult for the people by the riverbank.
She had to push her feelings away. For weeks they walked westward, until one late afternoon they tasted a salty breeze. Emboldened by the smell and empty stomachs they followed the winds. Walking through the evening and into sundown. Cresting a hill they saw a large town at the mouth of Placidium River. An orange sea and small buildings far in the distance. Feet aching and legs burning. With an end in sight the months of travel weighed upon their backs. The last two hours were excruciating. Every step Syndra had to pull her leg after her, until they finally reached the town.
The structures were varied and vast, the view to the isle of Fae'lor across the inland sea was beautiful, and the dazzling of the sun's dance across the distant waves was truly breathtaking. What really struck Syndra as different was the salty taste on the air, and the smell of freedom and safety provided a promise of rest and safety to the young and weary child. As day turned to dusk, and they neared the beaches, lanterns were lit and mirrored the red glow of the sun setting in the west. Their stroll through the townscape was equally breathtaking.
The amount of houses and people was staggering. Wherever she looked, there was a new building, a new person, a new stall. Though the village she was from was the largest in the vicinity, there was no competing with these harbor towns. The bustle created a murmur Syndra could lose herself in. The travel had taught her not to wander too far from her family. The band meandered through the city, from teahouse to inn to docks. After the sixth rejection, they decided to move further from the waterfront, partially to get away from the ocean winds. Anywhere where they could sleep would do. The night had gotten dark and cold, the wind chilling through their tattered and patchy clothing.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
They passed by a teahouse whose lights shone with warmth. Syndra's father went inside in the hopes of negotiating a cheap place to sleep. Syndra curiously went to one if the windows. Standing on tippy toes, she attempted to peer into the cozy atmosphere. The small rooms had an uncharacteristically open design. Instead of creating small separate rooms, there were large, tightly placed tables. While the place wasn't fully packed, there was an energetic atmosphere. She spotted her father making his way to the reception desk. She couldn't hear what was spoken, but it was clear to see that the old woman manning the shop was apologetic.
She sunk back into the cold street awaiting her father. A look toward her mother who seemed as weary and tired as her. It invigorated her. Soon enough her father appeared at the door, but instead of providing bad news, he instead ushered his family. A surprise to be sure, but not an unwelcome one, she thought to herself. The inside provided the warmth it promised. A heat to treat the cold. They were crammed into a seating among strangers. Though plenty of free spaces were available. Syndra couldn't help but feel squished. Before long, tea was brought, and the tea-lady sat herself by the table.
"Now, fill your bellies, warm your soul. The drink and accommodation aint free, but I'll be content hearing your story!" She said. The boisterous energy surprising, considering the woman's size.
"Well, we have been on the road for some months now..." Syndra's father started. She listened quietly, sipping the tea offered.
Her father cleverly avoided the imposed exile, and the bouts of uncontrolled magical tantrums. The story was abbreviated in some places and exaggerated in others. An hour went by, the tea slowly emptied, drink for drink. The other patrons' conversations dried out, one by one. Until only Syndra's parents, spoke. Each shifting the storyteller role, and the narrative, slightly, depending on the speaker. As time went on, Syndra became more unfocused. A tiredness overcame her, and her eyelids drooped. Until she finally succumbed to sleep.