Like a little tickle.

The memories of those bygone days itched at the mind.

Days that never happened.

It’s their fault.

They should never have done what they did to father.

They betrayed their one and only, their leader, their master, their father.

They set out to kill, to kill the one who gave them life.

But father ran, to safety and beyond.

Father hid, father lied, father deceived and father forgave.

But I didn’t.

Father left it to me, to right the wrongs of those bygone days.

They don’t deserve death.

They deserve worse.

They deserve terror, and horror.

Fear so terrifyingly horrific that death seems heavenly.

Or…

Rather…

Do they?

Who is father?

There’s two.

There’s one who I talk to when my mind is bored and one who speaks to me from far away, deep within the recesses of my memories.

And those roses…

I tried and tried to find those memories, but they’re nowhere to be found.

But I know what happened, I know they exist.

These books here tell me so, the legacy that father left behind.

But it confuses me so, that my mind plays these tricks on me.

Perhaps I’m getting old…

*****

Idris

“Is it just me or is it getting a little chilly?” Asked Saya, rubbing her shoulders with a little shiver.

“We are heading north, up towards the mountains, so it’ll get much colder very soon,” explained Thomas. “The winter jackets we have might not be enough…”

They’ve been traveling on the trade routes along the River of Atlas for several days now, the path below them had turned from tiles to cobbles, then to rough stones and finally dirt.

While at the estuary the River of Atlas is perhaps half a mile wide, this far inland, Idris is sure he could swim across it easily if he wanted.

“It was only just getting warmer…” Saya moaned, pulling her cheeks down and pouting out her lower lip as far as it would go.

“It’s only going to get colder from here on out,” said Idris, giving her head a gentle pat. “There will even be lots of snow.”

“Snow!” Saya exclaimed, her face immediately lighting up.

“Yeah…”

“Can we have a snowball fight?”

Because of her telekinesis, Saya can throw things with great power and precision, making her absolutely deadly at snowball fights. Nonetheless, most people don’t like having snowball fights with her, because she propels them at such speed it could probably kill a cow.

“Saya… we have a mission…”

“I know I know!” She said, returning to pouting. “I was just joking…”

In the recent past, they’ve spent quite a lot of time on the road. Now, the rumbling of the wheels and the howling of the wind was beginning to feel familiar, homely even.

Otto’s carriage is turning out to be an invaluable asset, allowing them to travel faster and more comfortably than ever before. Only the richest would dare travel the routes in such fancy carriages, probably with an entire convoy of bodyguards to protect them.

But so far, they haven’t encountered any bandits. Now and then they would see some movement, and hear some rustling, but never any confrontations. Even though they had removed the Rose insignia from the front of the wagon, bandits seemed to be steering well clear of them.

“I’m going to get some rest,” said Thomas as he lay down on his cot. “Tell Otto to wake me on my shift.”

“Understood,” Saya replied.

Idris let out a big sigh as he leaned back against the side of the wagon, resting his head on the windows and looking out at the trees moving by. The lower hanging branches would sometimes brush up against the wagon, depositing a load of pinecones through the open window, or leaving behind them a billowing trail of leaves.

Because of the long months of mellow winters, and the short yet warm summers, all kinds of plant life thrive in the lush forests which cover the majority of Eidolon. Only in the northernmost mountains and the western plains is the land somewhat bare.

This far north, the trade routes are much emptier. Except for the adventurous merchant now and then, they are mostly rolling down the dirt paths alone.

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“It’s pretty quiet out here…” mumbled Saya, also looking out at the lush forest moving by.

“Mhm…” Idris replied.

“Ooh! A squirrel!” Saya yelped, excitedly pointing up at a tree.

Thomas, with his eyes closed, raised his arm and held up a finger in front of Saya’s lip.

“I’m sorry!” Whispered Saya, desperately furrowing her brows at Idris to get his attention.

Idris followed her finger, and sure enough, there up on the tree was a little brown squirrel, its bushy tail wiggling in the breeze as it munched on an acorn.

“Oh yeah…”

“Isn’t it pretty cute?” Asked Saya quietly.

“I guess…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Nothing?”

“No, something’s wrong…” said Saya, eyeing Idris up and down.

Idris sighed. “I feel like I haven’t been much use lately…”

“Why?”

“All we’re doing is going around fighting people. You know I’m not great at combat. Hopefully, there will be more infiltration soon…”

“Is that…” Saya giggled. “Is that the only reason?”

“No…”

“Well I’ve been having a lot of fun,” said Saya, changing the topic. She never liked to talk about heavy subjects, so she didn’t try to pry further. She knew why everyone was down, and she saw no point in asking further.

“I’m sure you have.”

“Saved your life a few times too.”

“Yeah… thank you”

“Hehe…” she giggled again. “If you want to get better, you can spar with me any time.”

“I surrender.”

“I’ll go easy!” She exclaimed.

Thomas' hand shot up again, chopping Saya on the back of her head.

“Ow!” Saya yelped, grabbing her head. “I’m sorry!”

They journeyed on through the day and into the night, taking turns to stand guard on the rear platform of the carriage. After their last encounter while on the trade routes, they’ve had to stay more vigilant.

Progress was fast. In just a week they had traversed through most of the smaller towns lining the trade routes and were now nearing the foot of the mountain range.

Ahead of them is another small town, the last before the unconquered wilderness of the northern mountains begins. They are planning to leave their wagon and any cumbersome equipment at the town, before progressing further on foot.

"At the origin of the River of Atlas, where the air is thinner but the trees still lush and snow covers in winter."

Sir Allison Lapland had told them such.

Perhaps a little vague, but the River of Atlas only has so many tributaries. They’ll have to climb a little until the air gets thinner, but not so high that the trees stop growing. It’s spring right now, so there shouldn’t be much snow, if any.

When he heard they would be heading to the northern mountains, he imagined soul-draining treks through the snowy mountains, battling blizzards and frostbite. Luckily, it now seems their search would be a little less challenging.

But who even is this mysterious hermit that knows all the secrets they are looking for?

They’ll have to see for themselves to find out, and hopefully, they’ll be back in time to save everyone.

In Kingston, they never got a chance to send a message back home through the outpost, so Thomas had to send a letter through road mail, paying a premium for the fastest of horses.

Mail not delivered by their own network is sent to a false address at a nearby fishing village, where many contracts are also delivered during contract season, and collected every week by a member of Rose. The letter would likely not arrive in time before everyone left for their second contract.

On the seventh day, they arrived at Eliston, a small village far off the trade routes, tucked away at the base of the rising mountains.

Here, the River of Atlas is almost unrecognizable, merely a few tens of paces across and shallow enough to simply wade across. More of the trees here are conifers, the cooler temperatures less hospitable to more temperate species.

The flowers commonly seen near home are also fewer and far between, the landscape not speckled in red and yellow and pink and purple. But roses still grow here, now and then they would see little patches by the side of the road, and that’s all they need.

As they rolled up the climbing lanes of the little village, many eyes turned to stare. The children stopped playing, and the housewives put down the laundry so they could observe the strange arrivals. It’s a rare sight to see such a fancy wagon pull through the streets here.

“Hello! Travelers,” A man with long grey hair and deep-set eyes, dressed in a simple sweater, called out to them from the top of the slope. “Welcome to Eliston! I am Sheila Wintergreen, the village head. How can I help you?”

“Greetings! We’re here to find someone!” Thomas shouted back. “A hermit in these mountains.”

“I must have not caught your name.”

“My apologies, we are here in very secretive circumstances.”

“I see…” said Sheila, stroking his messy beard as their wagon rolled up to him. “I know of many hermits in Elisaya, which one do you seek?”

“Elisaya?” Asked Saya, a little confused.

“This part of the northern mountains is called Elisaya,” the man explained. “From up north by the coast, down to the eastern borders with Luneria, Elisaya encircles the deeper, more treacherous parts of the mountain range.”

A small crowd had begun to gather around them, looking on at the strange travelers from the edge of the little street. Idris looked around uneasily, his assassin instincts disliked the eyes of others.

“We seek a master in the magics, one unmatched by any in the kingdom, but forgotten by the people,” said Thomas, leaping down from the wagon, landing softly before the man.

“If he’s been forgotten by the people then you need not ask me,” Sheila replied.

“I suppose you’re right,” laughed Thomas.

More and more people encircled them, closing in on their wagon slowly. Idris disliked the tension, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. The villagers didn’t seem curious, but a little hostile. It was too quiet, far too quiet for a crowd like this.

Saya shifted next to him, slowly reaching for her spear. She seemed to sense the tension too.

He couldn’t see the others at the front of the wagon, but he could tell they were on high alert as well.

“Well, why don’t you step down from the wagon, and have some drinks at the inn,” said Sheila, a sincere smile on his face.

“Thank you for your warm reception, but we…”

“I insist,” Sheila pronounced.

Thomas scanned the circle of people and then gestured to Otto. “Get everyone off.”

Otto nodded, and headed back to the main cabin of the carriage, making a discreet hand signal at Idris and the others as he opened the main doors and stepped down to the ground.

They got off from both sides of the wagon, forming a loose defensive circle, not easily obvious to the untrained eye.

Thomas and Sheila stood opposite each other, holding eye contact but not saying a word.

The crowd was on edge too, eyeing the strange visitors and shooting Sheila nervous glances now and then.

Without warning, Sheila twirled his hand as he lunged forward, the sleeve of his sweater revealing the blade of a dagger. The crowd did too, a thousand razor edges in a flurry of movement.

Idris reacted on instinct, swiftly drawing his dagger and dropping into a low stance, ready to either fight or flee.

Beside him, Saya flung her spear into the air, swiping out a wide circle with the pommel, forcing some of the crowd to dive out of the way. Then she caught it with two hands, holding it across in front of her in a defensive posture.

Thomas leaned deftly to the side, drawing his dagger and parrying Sheila’s strike in the same blink of an eye.

But their blades never met.