> Wynland, Saint Vaughn, ██████████.
> 1st of New Conception, 1316;
> 8:30 Aurum Time.
With the darksun, winter is dead and the preparation for spring is at hand. In the final month of such a season, the streets are no longer cold with violent wind, nor are they diluted in color by the imbalanced mana. A full reset of the worldly cycle.
Old towns with even older architecture like this, named after a monolith of the church, celebrate the coming spring with a hallowed feast every night until the end of the month.
Festive lights and other decorations are strung up from street to street, beginning to end. Then the townsfolk gather in their neighbor’s house, usually the biggest on the street, and if ever need be, divide themselves among several houses instead.
In Lauders Street, then the second house on the left from the entrance, Berringer Hold, we have one such party. Serving both as an upholding of tradition… and something else.
‘Goodbye and goodluck to Brother Aethel!’ reads a rather cheap looking banner above the dinner table. The table itself carries a generous spread of homely meals.
By an open window nearest to the front door, a mature fellow in priestly attire speaks, his voice quite deep, “I suppose I shall miss you dearly, though, I would not at all fight to keep you.”
His graying hair is tousled gently by the wind as he stands tall next to a younger man in their late teens.
Judging by the facts that the mature one has a natural hue of chestnut for hair and the younger one with a deep crimson, and how neither share eye colors; the mature, a kind of lilac; the younger, glorious gold, the relation is not so simple.
That young man smirks, his own voice quite cocky as he scratches his head in an impatient but certainly jestful manner. “Well now, is that your cold, old man way of saying this is what you wanted for me? I accept the sentiment if so."
“Oh, not at all— if it were up to me I would rather you applied yourself wholly to the service… It is just, well I know you have wanted to leave here, and more than that, to pursue better, more exciting things and opportunities for the longest time.” retorts the mature one as he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head slowly.
The younger man lets a few smart chuckles loose before replying, “Ha, so you can have a heart…? But seriously, I appreciate it, Father Dunward.”
This makes the other grin after previously delivering all he had said with a straight face.
“Please, by tomorrow you will not be bound to the sanctified oaths, call me Falkhein.” says the mature one, Father Falkhein Dunward as it were, he says this with a greater grin which threatens to grow into a full-blown smile.
After a small pause, the younger one gives his better a genuine look as he begins to speak, “Then… thank you, Falkhein… for taking care of me, for guiding me, for everything… Heh, I dare say you were even a good housemate.”
“This is my house, Aethel… but nevertheless, do not thank me, truly. Instead, thank the Goddess for all your blessings, and then yourself for using them well. Ah, if your mother could see you now…” replies Falkhein, his voice softened while laying a hand on the younger one’s, Aethel’s, shoulder.
Suddenly a raspy, energetic voice cuts in, a woman’s, “Alright enough of the sappy exchange— Come here, Aethel, we’re gonna take a photo before we begin! Oh and you included, Father.” After saying, she grabs onto Aethel’s hand, dragging him towards the dining table.
Her brown hair begins to trail behind her, and as she looks back to Aethel, her blue eyes seem to catch his gold ones. That interaction makes both of their gazes divert. Fortunately, it is a rather short trip to the dining room; the awkwardness could not last long.
Around that table a small group of a dozen, mostly young people, standby. All of them were waiting for Aethel’s presence, and as he was brought to them many cheers and greetings resound. Aethel responds in kind; a quick smile and a small word for each.
“You can stop pulling now, Bryn!” fusses Aethel as he turns towards the woman, otherwise Bryn, with a vise grip on his hand.
Her smile wide and brows raised, Bryn does not turn to Aethel as she begins, “Quit your complainin’ and say…” she pauses for a second, “Cheese!”
“Wha—!” Aethel manages to yelp before a bright light and loud sound rings out in front of the group. Flash! Click! Photo taken, and after the first one, there was a second, then a third…
Then all the voices around him scream out, “Goodluck Aethel!”
Certainly, Aethel was annoyed by this turn of events; having his photo taken while he was off his guard, but that feeling soon dies down and gives way to a merrier spirit. He was in the company of friends, after all, and they are here to celebrate him.
That night passes in a flash as all things done in the presence of fun do and Aethel lies safely in his bed. As his eyes crack open they allow the dim light, courtesy of the season, to stream through and decisively banish his sleep.
He groans for perhaps five minutes before finally picking himself up and tidying whatever mess he leaves in the act.
> Wynland, Saint Vaughn, Berringer Hold.
> 2nd of New Conception, 1316;
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> 5:18 Sol Time.
The water runs cold, it has run cold for a while now, at the very least it ensures no grogginess sticks around as the day begins. Hastily, after washing up, he puts on some clothes:
A long sleeved white shirt; a red, imperial style coat with a high standing collar, the coat itself extending down to his knees; greyish-green pants that are held up by a black belt with a silver buckle; heeled shoes, the same color as his belt; to tie it all together, a black choker made of silk with an eight pointed star in the middle.
Taking one last look at his luggage before bringing all of it downstairs, he prepares a breakfast for two. It looks to be nothing complex, just whatever will get him and his housemate through their day and then some. In the middle of eating, Falkhein appears, not in his priestly attire but in casual wear.
Taking hold of a piece of toast and with it a spoon lathered in some kind of jam, Falkhein speaks calmly, his hands occupied with applying the jam to the toast, “Everything is in order, then?”
“About as much as I could hope for it to be, yeah.” Aethel manages to reply, his cheeks full up with food.
Falkhein looks at him incredulously as he scoffs slightly, “I am not even going to say it today. You are on your own with those bad manners.”
After speaking he takes a bite of that jammed toast.
“No one will even care in the city, it’s not like here, it’s… something else entirely. They say it's a whole new world that you have to see to believe, and I want to see it. I hear everything is tall and concrete or metal, that all of it is very modern looking.” muses Aethel whose mind now seems elsewhere; at the very least he swallowed his food.
Finishing up his toast before asking something, Falkhein smirks a little seeing how awestruck Aethel seems to be, “You are quite taken with thoughts of the big city. Did you know that long ago I was once like that?”
“Spare me the story, yes, you’ve told me plenty of times about the capital here. But— Kane City is different from Goldwyn, the cathedral and academy isn’t even the biggest thing to look at in Kane.” answered Aethel, stuffing more food into his mouth as he does.
Falkhein admits, “Fair enough.” as he begins to dig into breakfast more deeply.
> Wynland, Saint Vaughn, ██████████.
> 2nd of New Conception, 1316;
> 7:52 Sol Time.
As the car screeches to a halt, the two men exit to a considerably empty parking space. Darksun is never a popular season to visit anywhere, not that anyone would come here, so they pay little mind to this and continue on their way towards a modern building with a sign that reads: ‘St. Vaughn Train Station’
“End of the line.” warned Falkhein with an unreadable, but more than likely facetious, intent.
Bringing a hand to his face, Aethel gives a rather disgruntled reply, “Har har, very good… that was… hilarious, you should consider being a comedian as well as a priest. Hold a comedy night at the parish—”
“If I did, I think my congregation would appreciate my jokes more than you would.” Falkhein delivers his words dryly, much to the un-surprise of Aethel.
Aethel scrunches up his face with a gremlin’s smile, then bringing his voice to a much higher pitch, he retorts “I’m sure the Goddess would too, but oh well, too bad I won’t be there to knock you down a peg.”
“But to be serious, past the river from here is the wasteland. This is the end of the line for any trains, if you get on here, there are zero stops on the trip. Moreover, no returns for a long time.” sighing, Falkhein explains.
Eyeing his companion suspiciously, Aethel asks, “I’m well aware… are you trying to dissuade me now?”
“No, just making sure that you understand the gravity of this train ride. Next time we could see one another is next year if, but only if we are lucky.” Falkhein muses, scratching his chin.
The two enter the station after another quick bout of bickering and as expected not many folks, if any, are inside. Most of the staff look and probably are bored out of their minds, the screens which indicate timetables are almost tragically empty, and the general atmosphere is so pitiable that the wind is silent.
It is a small station with only two platforms. Security is lax, there are only four guards, and the employees only number to about seven. The building side of it only covers the lobby and the employee’s lounge, with everything else being in open air, of course, roofs above them to stave off any weather conditions. Speaking of, it seems ready to rain.
Spying the aforementioned screen which has only one arrival and two departures scheduled, Aethel cannot help but frown. Perhaps it is the emptiness of the station but something is definitely hitting him where he did not expect it.
Two entries locked for departures, the first reads: 「8:00 — BRDR STAT 04 — PLAT 1 — ON TIME」
Aethel looks at Falkhein who stands watching the long stretch of tracks, he watches him for a good few seconds before finding the courage to speak, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I’ll miss this place.”
“Please, this is not the time to start the waterworks. Cry on the train if you have to, if you do it now I might have to join you.” turning to look at Aethel, Falkhein gives out a genuine albeit snarky response.
Voice wavering, Aethel allows himself to let out a small sob, “Hah… piece of shit…” which turns into a big one as tears begin to stream down his face.
“Come here, son.” Falkhein tightly embraces Aethel as tears begin to well up in his own eyes, he continues, “I, heh, also forgive you for swearing this one time…”
Aethel draws back with a sad smile, he argues a good point, “Kh… I’m not under oath anymore, old bastard.”
“That is true, but still, I cannot stand crass language, especially if you say it. You are practically the son I could never have had, you know? I even taught you everything that I would have loved to be taught myself.” says Falkhein as he returns the sad smile.
Lightly punching the other’s arm, in between a few soft heaves, Aethel manages to grumble, “Don’t say that shit now, man, you’ll make me cry even harder.”
“You deserve it for leaving.” Falkhein shrugs as he wipes tears from his eyes.
A woman’s voice rings out from a loudspeaker, blaring out a message, “ATTENTION: The train headed to the fourth Border Station is arriving, if you are a passenger on this train please check your things and head to platform one to prepare for boarding. I repeat—” the message repeated two more times.
“End of the line for your time here, but the beginning of a new life over the river. Go, Aethel, go forth now.”
With that declaration by Falkhein, Aethel simply nods and starts for platform one. Before completely passing the threshold he turns to wave one last time at the man who raised him, that wave returns to him with a reluctant joy. That done, he continues on, heart only full enough to do as Falkhein says and go forth.
As he boards, a drizzle begins to start, quite the real moodsetter. Even more, as the train begins to start up, it turns into a veritable downpour.
Farewell Saint Vaughn…