image [https://i.imgur.com/XIZL0SH.png]

6 Months Later…

A lanky, pale man dashed through the woods. Hopping from tree to tree, his silky white hair swaying in the wind with each leap.

A chirpy, scream–like howl echoed out before him. He stared toward the noise and readied his wooden bow, which resembled a branch cut straight from a tree.

He stood still, the bark beneath his feet scraping as he widened his stance.

Green energy swirled between his fingertips and the bowstring, forming into a hazy, green arrow-shaped form.

The bushes beneath him rustled, and a large rodent that resembled a human sized hamster dashed through the trees, trampling several saplings on its way.

A giant fox, twice the size of a man, chased after it. Its fur was long and white, with red markings that resembled the sun. Each step it took was graceful, and it moved like a dancer on a stage.

The hamster darted from side to side. The man tried to follow it with his bow, but he couldn’t get a clear shot.

“Kitsu, now!!”

The white fox jumped in front of the hamster, which in response squealed and jumped up in the air.

The markings on the fox glowed red, taking in the sunlight from the surroundings. Sparks appeared in the fox's mouth, and it howled, creating a flash bang.

The Giant Hamster squealed, momentarily stunned.

The man released his arrow; it hit the creature squarely between the eyes. Its body slumped to the floor.

He heaved a sigh of relief.

The man hopped off the tree, landing next to the hamster.

The white fox sat gracefully, licking its paws. It was much taller than him, and its jaw looked like it could dispatch a man with a single bite.

“Good work, Kitsu.” The man said.

The fox chirped, nuzzling him with its head. He smiled.

He turned to the Giant Gerbil, pulling out a hunting knife fashioned from bone.

Just as he knelt down to skin the beast, Kitsu growled.

The man turned behind him in the direction Kitsu was looking. Thick black smoke arose from the woods in front of him, and flames illuminated the dark undergrowth.

“Poachers,” he said. His expression turned to one of hatred.

Kitsu raised its hackles, snarling toward the smoke.

“No, we have to run,” he said.

Victor tried to follow the man, but a hole appeared beneath his feet, swallowing him up. The darkness surrounded him. Victor saw the ground before he hit it–

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Victor tossed and turned in his bed. His sturdy frame was larger than the bed, and his legs hung off the edge of the frame.

Sweat trickled down his angular face, his expression contorting.

Victor’s eyes opened. His heart pumping rapidly, he shot up .

“Another… nightmare.” he said.

He panted, his body ached all over like he had just ran a marathon.

Rays of sunlight infiltrated his room and shone down on his face. The spicy smell of Sun Grain wafted in through the window, and villagers ploughing the fields shouted outside.

“Is it morning already?” Rubbing his eyes, he pushed himself to the side. Barely able to get himself off the bed.

“Oy, Victa!” a voice knocked on the door. “We could use a hand in the fields!”

“Blasted old man,” Victor said. “I’m not a farmer.”

He sighed and stood up. The Sun Wood floorboards creaked under his weight, and he ducked so his head didn’t smack into any of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Victor crouched over a bucket of water and washed his face.

He looked at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his bluish–grey eyes, and his bronze hair had grown to a length that needed cutting.

Next to it rested a plough that seemed comically small next to him. Victor picked it up with one hand and exited the door.

“Victor, you’re 2 hours late!” A brown skinned, toothy old man frowned at him as he exited the house. “We’ve already begun ploughing!”

“Apologies, Mr Kamal.” Victor said.

The old man muttered something about foreigners and turned around. He pointed a ‌muscular arm towards an empty plot of land out in the distance, about the size of an acre.

Why am I apologising? He thought. I never agreed to work on these damn fields.

“Since you’re late, you’re going to work extra hard. I want this entire field ploughed by the end of today!”

The surrounding villagers muttered as Mr Kamal said this.

“Go easy on the guy!” one of them said. “He can’t finish all that today.”

“Those who don’t work don’t eat!” Mr Kamal said. “Since you’ve volunteered, you can help him!”

“But… I’m the village chef!” The man’s mouth hung ajar. He was taller than the other villagers, though not as tall as Victor. However, unlike their toned brown skin or silky black hair, he had a darker complexion and wore artfully tied braids.

“A Djinn Nomad?” Victor sized the man up as he walked towards the field Mr Kamal had pointed to.

“What a ratty old codger,” The Djinn Nomad said. “The name’s Bronx, by the way.”

“I don’t need your help,” Victor said to the Nomad, who looked rather taken aback.

“If we don’t listen, Pawan will know,” Bronx said. “And I’d rather fight a Mud Jackal bare handed than deal with him.”

“Then he’s not that powerful,” Victor said. He had come face to face with the Head Priest once, back when he rescued that Sun Priestess. In return, he offered Victor an opportunity to live in an old spare tool shed temporarily.

“I never got her name.” Victor thought back to her beautiful face. He wasn’t sure why he stayed in the village after Mr Kamal had found him and started forcing him to work a few days ago, but here he was.

‘Those who don’t work don’t eat,' Victor recited.

“If I don’t work, nobody eats,” Bronx said.

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“You say you’re the village chef?” Victor asked.

“I’m in charge of the soup every night.” Bronx nodded.

“I see…” Victor wanted to jibe, but he knew that preparing magical beast meat was a process closer to alchemy than cooking. Most meats didn’t cook under regular flames, some required special tools or ingredients. Every meat had its own magical properties, deciphering them was difficult.

“Did you learn to cook in the desert?” Victor asked instead.

“The Desert?” The man looked at him quizzically as he swung his plough into the ground.

“The Djinn’s line,” Victor said. “Where you’re from.”

“Oh,” Bronx said. “I’ve never lived in the desert. My parents are from the Port City west of here. We have ancestry going back to the Djinn’s line, though.

“I mistook you for one of the Djinn Nomads,” Victor said. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Not that it mattered, anyway. “Your braids remind me of the traditional kind they use in the desert. You don’t resemble the other people in this village.”

“Well, neither do you!” Bronx laughed. “People born from the Southern Hemisphere have black hair and brown, yellowish skin. My skin colour sets me apart, as does yours.”

Victor nodded and said, "I grew up in the desert, though my ancestry seems to come from the Northern Archipelagos"

“I’ve seen Northerners at the Bazaar,” Bronx said. “They have pale skin like yours, same hair colour too.”

“I see,” Victor said. It surprised him that ships came all the way from the Northern Archipelagos to the Southern Hemisphere.. This was a journey that could take months, and chances of death were high.

The two of them continued chatting, Victor fell into a rhythm and felt himself sucked into the work.

2 hours later

“Hey you two! Quit yer yapping, I’ll make you plough double–eh?” Mr Kamal walked over to them, and his jaw hung open slightly.

The other villagers gathered and whispered around the pair of them. Victor looked up and noticed the Sun was setting. The Sky had turned from blue to dark crimson, and the stars twinkled in the atmosphere.

“Shit,” Bronx said. “I’m late for the harvest ritual!”

“What–” Before Victor could ask, Bronx tossed his plough and took off.

“Hmph,” Mr Kamal said. “I expect the same work from you tomorrow.”

Victor looked at his field and realised he and Bronx had finished ploughing the whole acre. Other villagers only managed about an eighth of theirs.

“Wow!” one of the younger lads came up to Victor. “You two are as strong as Bastodons!”

“Hmph,” Victor said. “This is nothing. I'm a Mythril Adventurer.”

“A… what?” The lad looked at Victor in confusion.

“Time for the Set Feast, everyone!” A monk wearing a white robe embroidered with a red sun came up to them. The villagers put down their tools and made their way to the Village square, congratulating each other on a good day’s work.

Victor followed them. The sky was getting dark. Normally, the set feast would have started by now. He wasn’t sure why they did it, not that he cared. He would take his food and retire to his cabin, just like every other day.

The streets of the village were winding and paved with slabs of rock. Lanterns fueled by Sun Energy adorned the wooden buildings and houses, providing a gathering spot for crimson fireflies.

“These fireflies are a different colour than in the northern archipelagos.”

Victor made his way to the town square, he walked behind a couple of younger villagers.

“What do you think the food will be today?” one of them asked.

“Idiot. It’s soup just like every other day,” his friend replied.

“I know that, dumbass. I meant the type of soup!”

Before they could actually eat, the Villagers performed a ritual summoning all magical energy in the surrounding area. Though it made a grand spectacle, Victor considered it a waste of magical energy.

The Ritual had already begun by the time Victor reached the feast. A granite, circular stage surrounded by thick, wooden bleachers centred the town square. Neatly arranged prayer mats covered the bleachers.

Villagers filtered into the bleachers one by one, each finding a prayer mat to kneel on.

On the stage, Bronx stirred an iron pot the size of 4 men. Sun Energy and flames crackled beneath the pot, heating the magical broth inside. Two men adorned in steel armour with red silk and cloth approached Bronx. Between them, they lowered a piece of tail meat the size of a man into the pot.

“That looks like Bastodon meat,” Victor thought. It now made sense. Bastodons were giant reptiles, double the size of Rhinos. They could regrow their tails once lost. This explained the village’s constant supply of magical beast meat.

Pawan, the chief and high priest, stepped onto the stage. His crimson red eyes shone from the stage, and his silver hair stood out like white flames. He wore a white kimono, adorned with a sash of red cloth embroidered with a golden sun. A garment only high priests of the Sun God’s church could wear.

Beside Pawan, a girl in her early twenties also stepped onto the stage. She wore a silky, Red Saree, gold earrings and golden bangles. Unlike Pawan, her hair was glossy black and her eyes were deep brown. The two of them raised their hands to the sky and began chanting.

“That’s…” memories flooded into Victor’s head. Him awakening on a mountaintop. A bloodthirsty growl, a girl’s voice…

‘I don’t want to die!’

She was the priestess he rescued 6 months ago. Or rather, she had rescued him.

“So, she’s his daughter?” The two looked nothing alike. But Victor noticed the same piercing look in their eyes, like they could see through everything.

It was only for a moment, but she looked at him.

Victor wasn’t sure if she recognised him, but something about those brown, golden eyes sucked him in. Her curly hair flowed down to her waist, and it moved with each of her hand movements, along with the sound of her bangles. The square was full of chanting, praying, and the sounds of fire. But to Victor, the sound of those bangles chiming stood out.

As the two of them chanted, her eyes changed to golden. The two larger, steel armoured men stood behind them, channelling their sun energy towards the two.

Victor sensed the Sun energy in the area gathering at the fingertips of the Father and daughter. For a moment, it looked like countless golden threads of light connected every villager to the hands of those on stage, and they were meticulous weavers, taking the golden threads and spinning them into a ball of pure Sun Energy. The surroundings lit up, and the faint dewy smell of the night was cleared away. Pawan created a ball of flame the size of a human above his arms, whereas the priestess made one the size of a hand. She handed it to Pawan, who combined the two, creating a bigger, hotter ball.

“Great Yiho, bless us with your light.” Pawan chanted.

“Bless us with your light!” Every villager followed.

“Embrace of heat!” they all said in unison, and the magical sun floated in the air above them.

“So begins the set feast!” Pawan called out, and the Villagers stood up from their kneeling positions. The sound of Tabla (AN: A type of hand drum, like bongos) began playing, and the villagers queued up in front of the pot to receive their food.

Victor’s stomach grumbled, and even while the surrounding villagers walked past him, his eyes were transfixed on that girl as she lifted her skirt and stepped off the stage.

By the time Victor realised, every single villager had already queued up, leaving him last in line.

“Damn it. This line’s going to take hours!” he said.

His stomach grumbled along with him.

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“There you are, Victor!” Bronx smiled as he ladled a spoon into his bowl.

“Shut up,” Victor snapped.

“What’s with the attitude?” Bronx gave him a scathing look.

“Learn how to serve faster!”

Bronx scowled, but just sighed. Victor felt a sense of satisfaction watching him give up.

“I’ll buy you a drink. Relax,” he said.

“You won’t find ale that gets me drunk,” Victor said. “I’m a Mythril Adventurer. My constitution is stronger than most.”

“Never heard of one,” Bronx said.

Victor ignored him, spooning mouthfuls of soup into his mouth. It was still hot, even after an hour of waiting, and Victor rotated a potato in his mouth to stop it from burning him.

“Slow down there.” Bronx looked at him in disapproval. “I make this soup to be savoured.”

“Up yours.” Victor took another spoonful. This time he got a piece of meat in there. It had a light, chicken-y taste but also a grassy, rich flavour you got in dark meat.

“Bastodon Tails also make great steaks,” Bronx said. “There’s a big bone in the centre, but the tail has an outstanding balance of muscle and fat. Good luck finding a fire hot enough to sear one of these, though.”

“You’d need a forge,” Victor said. He had once tried cooking some magical beast meat. He ended up enlisting help from a smithy just to get it to the right temperature.

Bronx chuckled and handed Victor a glass. “Here, to a good day's work.”

“I told you, this won’t do anything to me–”

Bronx tried to stop him from downing the cup, but it was too late.

Victor could feel a warm, spicy flavour going down his gullet. The scent of whisky diffused to his nose, and Victor felt a burning sensation in his chest like he had just eaten a hot pepper.

“Do you have any table manners at all?!” Bronx looked at him with concern.

“What… is thish shtuff?” Victor asked. His face felt hot, so did his ears. The lingering spicy taste assaulted his tongue, and he could feel his sinuses moving.

“That was high grade Sun Whiskey!” Bronx said. “You just downed it like a drunkard!”

“Heh… Sun whisky?” Victor licked his lips. “Give me another.”

Bronx sighed and poured another cup for Victor.

“Don’t overdo it, okay?”

“Yeah yeah.” Victor waved his hand and downed another cup. His face was flushed red. Normally, he couldn’t get drunk even if he wanted to. His constitution was just too powerful for alcohol to affect him. This whisky was much stronger than anything he’d had before.

“This is going to be a fun night.”