Alfred set his eyes upon the sprawling city of Lumen, which twinkled below him with the many lights that were put up to celebrate the coming season of Bloom. It was lively, despite the early hours of the morning. The Wizard sighed, his hand moving up to rub at his aging eyes. He had watched this kingdom grow for decades, and every year was a blessing.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer? Enjoy the festival for the night?” Alfred spoke out, his head turning around to look upon the armored soldiers and their mounts, the white feather raptors. The raptors were big winged creatures that stood on their hind legs, their winged arms kept close to their chest. Along with their tall stature, they had sharp looking eyes and deadly serrated beaks. Despite decades of being specifically bred to be less violent against Lumen troops, the raptors were still deadly to their riders. Which was why their beaks were strapped shut, their muzzles only coming off whenever it was time to eat. Alfred personally disliked the way they looked, as they gave him a feeling that made it seem like they wanted to gut him open and feast on his insides. Then again, it was probably natural.
“As much as I would like to stay, this job is much more important,” Arthur replied, the aging man currently tightening the muzzle on his raptor. The veteran’s graying hair and trimmed beard signified his age to be closer to Alfred. Yet he moved with the same practice motions as a young knight. The Wizard knew of Arthur’s blessings to be the kind that made his age irrelevant. While it was far from immortality, it was enough to keep the veteran spry and healthy in his late life.
As for where he got the blessings, the veteran was a former apostle of Delphine, chosen by her holy hand years ago. However, Arthur Clarke was far from a Lumen knight. The strange man had abandoned the goddess’ influence decades ago. He had chosen to walk his own path, despite being a useful asset to the kingdom. Alfred did not know why Arthur chose to keep himself separate from Delphine’s light, but decided not to pry into it any further. All he knew was to keep away from Arthur, as the man emanated a strange foreign aura that bothered even Alfred.
‘Probably for the best he’s not a Lumen Knight,’ Alfred thought.
“Tough,” William chuckled. The man next to Arthur turned to Alfred, a grin visible upon his sun-tanned face. He was clearly in his mid-thirties, yet he spoke and acted like a soldier fresh out of the barracks. “There is always next year, so it’s not much of a loss. Besides, there’s still the Midsommar festival to look forward to!”
William Thatcher was another not associated with Delphine’s light. However, unlike Arthur, William didn’t really have a choice. He bore the symbol of Azlene, the Goddess of Embers. He was her chosen, as decided from a battle he won years back during the height of the Outsider Wars. William still assisted the Lumen Kingdom, however, although not officially as a part of Delphine’s light, since he was the herald of another goddess.
Both William and Arthur were among the five specialists hired for the particular job of scouting out Valenfrost in search of the source of the ley line fracture. Both of them had ventured throughout Valenfrost, whether as soldiers of war or explorers. Their expertise was needed, as well as their non-association with Delphine’s holy light. Alfred looked upon the rest of the soldiers who were supposed to act as a security detail for the band of Lumen scouts. Alistair had assured Alfred that he had hired two bounty hunters to assist in the scouting. The two hunters would meet the three specialists at Norum, where they will depart and scour the southern islands of Valenfrost.
‘Then again, it’ll probably be two specialists meeting up with them.’
Alfred frowned. Gwenyth hadn’t arrived yet, and it was worrying the old Wizard.
‘I knew she wouldn’t show up. What was I thinking of recommending her for this job?’
Alfred chastised himself. He knew she had problems with authority, especially with the Lumen Kingdom. Even though Alfred had contacted her and convinced her to come, he was starting to believe that she had simply lied. He hadn’t seen her since that talk with her via spell crystal.
‘Did she run off?’ Alfred sighed defeatedly.
“I guess they’ll have to depart without her,” he muttered. It was a two-day flight from Lumen to Norum, and he knew the raptors wouldn’t be able to handle Northern Valenfrost’s deadly frosty nights.
“Alright, it seems like plans have changed. You both should be getting on before the sun rises,” Alfred called out to the armored men. He watched as they all nodded, their feet moving to prepare for the journey.
As the men readied their raptors for flight, the door leading to the roof suddenly opened. Everyone nearby turned in surprise, their gazes focused on what looked to be a woman stepping out of the doors. She wore modified steel armor that made her stand out compared to the basic armor most soldiers wore. For example, her left arm differed completely from her right. Instead of silver pauldrons or gauntlets, her arm was entirely prosthetic. It looked to be made of ceramic, but Alfred himself knew it was stronger than steel. Runes were engraved across its complicated parts, which glowed a soft magical blue. The arm was a bit out of place, yet held a bit of charm to it.
The rest of her armor glistened despite the lack of light, the engravings and glowing runes engraved onto it reflecting beautifully in the dim morning. The woman’s posture was that befitting of a mercenary, yet her pale flawless skin and silver eyes screamed nobility. Still, despite these features, the one thing everyone was focused on was her flowing silver hair, which was tied up behind her pointed ears. The strange hair had seemed to emit a light of its own, like that of an enchanted rune.
Alfred knew well who she was and what made her such an important and rare sight. Everyone else seemed to notice as well, as their eyes were focused on her reflective hair and pointed ears. She was a silver-haired elf, a rare species that was thought to be the origin of the common elf and possibly magic all together. They lived for centuries, outliving their distant cousins greatly. Still, despite their long, nearly immortal lives, they had all but nearly died out. The elf here was the last of her kind.
“Gwenyth Sterling. I didn’t think you’d show up,” Arthur greeted.
“I’m fulfilling a favor for a friend,” Gwenyth responded, her eyebrow raising. “It wouldn’t be right for me to turn it down,” she sighed. Alfred chuckled nervously. He recalled the days of his prime, back when he was a much younger man. He had nearly died saving Gwenyth on a quest and, in return, she had owed him a major favor.
“Well, to be fair, it is a courtesy long overdue,” Alfred said.
Gwenyth cracked a slight smile, her silver eyes locking onto his. “Never expected it to be this. Hunting down a stranger in the midst of Valenfrost.”
“He is no mere man to smile about. This ‘stranger’ fractured the ley lines,” Arthur commented. Gwenyth’s small smile vanished, her gaze sharply turning over to Arthur.
“Fracture? Is that even possible?”
“It is, if the ley lines are strained enough,” Alfred answered. “My bad for not briefing you all the details on our last call. Time was short.”
Gwenyth’s expression narrowed, her focus now on the elderly Wizard. “I’m pretty sure a ley line fracture would be the most crucial detail regarding a mission.”
Alfred internally cringed. It was the most important part of this. Hel, it was the entire reason behind this mission. “Look, Arthur and William here will brief the rest of the details later. As of now, you’ll have to travel to Norum on raptorback.” Alfred gestured towards the agitated mounts, all of whom were giving the elf cautious looks, as if they were unable to process what she was. Gwenyth sighed.
“Fine, but know this,” Gwenyth stepped up to the Wizard, her intricate left hand pointing towards Alfred. “If you hide any more details from me, I will tear open a new wound in your back.” Alfred shivered from her threat, his old wound tingling from painful remembrance.
Gwenyth turned to her new party, heading off to mount up on a raptor that was set aside for her. Alfred watched as the party of specialists and guards readied up. He recalled the last time he had seen Gwenyth. She had changed little from then, if at all. The silver-haired elf was still her usual threatening self. Alfred had known her for years, traveled with her back when he was a mage working to earn his Wizard pins.
‘I wonder. Does she still remember?’ Alfred thought woefully. ‘It is probably for the best if I don’t ever mention it. Besides, I’m going to get a new wound on my back once she finds out the nature of this quest.’
Alfred sighed, watching the soldiers in front of him prepare for their long journey. Before long, they were already airborne; the raptors calling out in high-pitched whines as they spread their wings. Alfred watched for a while, his focus being on that of the reflective silver hair that flew in the wind. He watched as it grew smaller and smaller, before it soon winked out into the morning sky.
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Yorktown’s streets were lit by the warm light of the many lanterns that were strung about. People walked the cobbled paths, their hands occupied by either food, drink, or a companion. Sometimes, it was all three. The Bloom Festival was a celebration that the people of Valenfrost saw as an excuse to drink heavily, as it was a basic ‘congrats’ for surviving the harsh cold of Frost.
However, for the people of Yorktown, it was valued dearly as the people of this town had survived one hell of a cold season. This festival was a perfect excuse for them to let loose after everything they had endured during Frost. Music played out throughout the main courtyard, the small ragtag band using whatever they could as instruments. A broken lute, a makeshift harp, a couple of big pots used as drums, and a flute that was carved mere hours ago. The songs they sang were a mixture of shanties, storytelling hymns, and songs made up on the spot.
One song, however, caught James Holter’s attention.
“Here he comes, the man who bears the white raven! Strong and built like a horse, he protects us all and fights!”
“Oh, here he comes, coming to save us all! The raven flies overhead. It looks upon us all!”
“He commands over a terrible spirit. A draugr his enemies call him. He cuts them down and takes their souls. They’ll never fight again!”
“Oh, here he comes, coming to cut you down! Nobody can match him in strength and wit. His fights are absolute!”
James grimaced at the lyrics of said song.
‘Did they just call me a terrible spirit?’ Faust suddenly commented.
“You’re skipping over the part where they say I take souls?” James asked with a mutter. He was amused at the townsfolk’s perception of his own abilities, which were much more mundane in the perspective of the young man. Nearly every fight James had been in was won with the help of his friends.
‘The fact that they are already singing songs about you is strange enough. Usually, the hero dies before their story is sung,’ Faust said.
James shrugged. “Well, to be completely fair, I’m already halfway there,” he reminded the spirit.
‘Good point.’
James sighed. Bloom had come so fast and sudden that the council had barely any time to prepare properly. He wondered if the quick passage of time resulted from his shortened life-span.
‘Dammit.’
James shook off those thoughts. It wouldn’t do him any good to be constantly reminded of his fate. He instead focused on the ongoing festival. He watched as people he knew drank and conversed loudly throughout the crowd and the music.
Bjorn and Haggard were currently trying to out-drink each other. Haggard’s face was as red as it can be while Bjorn simply acted as if the mead he was drinking was mere water. Archibald was nearby and currently ignored the dwarf, his focus being on that of one of the female guards. The guard—Elizabeth, James recalled—was doing her best to let down the elf easily. Unfortunately, Archibald was as dense as a vern tree, his bragging enough to make anyone uncomfortable. James could also spot Lowe in the fold, the gnome seemingly dodgy as he eyed the men and women around him.
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‘I wonder what’s up with him?’ James wondered absentmindedly.
His eyes caught the gaze of Harald, the veteran resting with a mug of what he could assume was alcohol. He was at the outskirts of all the commotion, same as James. Both men locked gazes for a solid second, before the veteran gave James a slight smile and a nod. James chuckled and nodded back. Harald turned his attention to the festival, his expression reflecting that of solace. James turned back to the festival as well, his focus now being on the slight commotion Helen was making with Seamus. James couldn’t tell what was being said, but the gestures the ex-marauder was making gave a few hints.
Helen was obviously drunk, evident from her red nose and exaggerated movements. She was swinging around her tankard of booze, her other hand gesturing for Seamus to move. Seamus, however, was not willing to. He looked deathly nervous, his eyes avoiding Helen’s from time to time.
‘Wait, he’s not just avoiding eye contact.’
James realized Seamus was glancing at Kate, who was currently conversing with a fellow guard.
‘Oh gods, this is priceless.’ Faust guffawed within James’ mind. Helen was looking more and more agitated as time went on.
Before long, her breaking point was hit. She grabbed at Seamus’ shoulder, drunkenly rambling to him. However, her words could not be heard throughout the music and constant talking of the surrounding people. Still, James could hazard a guess at what she said, since Seamus’ face turned a pale white. The young Halvorson then pleaded to Helen as she made her way to Kate. Thankfully, his pleas weren’t unheard. Helen stopped and turned to Seamus with an expression that clearly signified that Seamus had one more chance to reconsider. After what James could assume was a compromise, Seamus finally made his first steps towards the young guardswoman.
James leaned forward, ready to watch what was about to happen.
“What are you doing this far from the celebrations?” A voice suddenly caught James’ attention. He turned, only to see Dahlia. The shaman was dressed in her traditional clothing, reminiscent of the first time James had met her. Necklaces of different varieties hung around her neck, showcasing makeshift talismans and trinkets. She wore bracelets of blue beads and white bone, which made jingling noises as her arms moved. Her tunic’s sleeves were rolled to reveal her runic tattoos, which wrapped around her forearms and snaked their way up her arm. Dahlia’s hair was pinned back to allow her eyes to see. Her hair’s short length made it nigh impossible for Dahlia to tie it up into the multiple buns she had before, so her traditional look took considerably less time to prepare. James noted the way her amber-colored eyes glinted in the torchlight, a sight that hypnotized him.
“Hey, are you listening?” Dahlia asked. Her fingers snapped quickly, as if to get James’ attention. The blond man blinked, realizing that he was distracted.
“Yeah, I was just a little distracted,” he admitted.
Dahlia laughed. “Did I overdo it?” she asked. “I knew I shouldn’t have over prepared this time…”
“No, no, it’s fine. You look great!” James assured the shaman. Dahlia raised an eyebrow at James, but her smile remained.
“Well, that eases my worries a bit,” she breathed out. James smiled, his eyes running over the shaman’s outfit.
“Still, is it all necessary?” he asked. Dahlia’s expression turned that of suspicion.
“Really?” Dahlia sighed. “It’s tradition, James. These talismans and markings are used to ward off any unwelcome spirits.”
“Spirits?” James asked.
“During Bloom and Midsommar, the barrier between the spirit world and the living becomes weak. It is the result of the gods changing the seasons of Azura so drastically from Frost to Sommar. It is why people will usually use this time to give offerings to their ancestors and dead family members,” Dahlia explained.
James thought back to the beginning of the festival, back when he had watched the townsfolk construct a small shrine at the town’s edge. He had seen many give their offerings to it, all while speaking to the shrine as if it was a person. He had never connected the Bloom Solstice to it, whether it be from stress or too much on his plate.
“During this time, we shamans wear these garments,” Dahlia continued. “It is to keep away the terrible spirits that threaten to ruin this time of celebration, all while allowing the harmless and wandering spirits to come and spend this time with their living family.”
James nodded, his eyes moving to the shrine that was still visible from the outskirts of the courtyard. He could see the many offerings of food, bottles, gold, and even swords. He could feel his heart itch in remembrance of his father’s small shrine back on Earth. James used to place his father’s ashes on that small makeshift shrine in his old apartment room. Every year on his birthday, he would place an item of importance on it to pay respects. Whether it be a candy bar his father enjoyed, a piece of the woods he had taken pleasure in camping in, or a bottle of liquor the man drank whenever the occasion arose.
James tried to recall how long it had been since he had paid respects. His body tensed up at the thought. He had realized what today was. James wasn’t the best at math, but he could figure things out when given the chance. It had been months since his initial summoning to Valenfrost. Most of his days were blurred and merged. Still, the seasons here were somewhat similar to Earth, albeit different in some ways.
James turned to Dahlia, his cheeks burning a little. “It’s my birthday today,” he revealed. “At least, sometime around today,” he admitted. James’ birthday was a couple of weeks before the spring solstice back on Earth. Adjusting with Valenfrost’s janky calendar and lack of leap years, James’ birthday landed around the Bloom Solstice.
“Oh? It is?” Dahlia’s brow raised in surprise.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“How many years?” she prodded, now somewhat interested.
“I doubt it matters honestly, with how much time I have left.” James chuckled, brushing away the topic. He then noticed the expression on Dahlia’s face. Her previous cheery self was now different, her brow furrowed and her smile gone.
James quickly backtracked, his heart dropping at the realization that he let his tongue slip. “Ah um, twenty-six,” he answered. “I’m twenty-six now.”
Dahlia let out a breath, her smile slowly returning. “Funny, I took you as older.”
“Really?” James asked, his pride slowly crumbling behind his smile.
“No, I’m just jostling with you,” Dahlia chuckled. “Still, I wonder why you’re all the way out here, away from everyone.” She gestured towards the ongoing festival nearby. “Everyone is having fun. Why aren’t you out there with your friends and allies?”
James sighed. “I’m not really sure, to be honest.” He turned to the festival, watching as Seamus and Kate converse, their cheeks tinted red. Helen was beyond drunk, doing her best to stand up straight whilst also parading around with Haggard. Bjorn was sharing drinks with Lowe, who was on the verge of falling down. Even Felix was having fun, the guardsman eating his fill at a nearby table full of food and steaming broth. The music had changed as well, now much louder as more men with instruments joined in.
They all deserved this night. Most of the people here had risked their lives for Yorktown and for James. Many had lost people they knew. James himself had also more than deserved this night, yet he still kept away from it, instead opting to watch from the sidelines.
“I think… I think some part of me doesn’t think I deserve this,” James muttered.
Dahlia blinked. “What are you saying?” she asked in disbelief.
“In a way, I caused everything bad that has happened to us. I was the reason behind every Yorktown raid… I brought those knights here, I brought that abomination to life, I was the reason why—”
“Stop,” Dahlia suddenly interrupted.
“Shut up now and listen to me.” Dahlia grabbed at both of James’ hands. “You are not responsible. Even if you were, then that means Seamus and I are also at fault. I brought you back to life. Seamus washed up here. I fractured the ley lines. Seamus brought the marauders.”
James frowned. “But—”
“Shut it,” Dahlia silenced him. “Back with the marauders, you stood up to them and bought everyone time. Because of you, we didn’t have to resort to sacrificing Seamus. You saved him and rallied the town.” She squeezed his palms.
“We kicked their ass and killed that abomination. Even when those knights came, you held your resolve. You did what you thought was best. Hel, I would even argue that you made the right choice. We stopped the spread of those abominations and that ‘disease’. You rallied an entire crew for our ship within a single day. Even after that, you inspired a group of mercenaries and a whole town!” Dahlia’s smile grew with every word, her voice full of admiration.
“You fought off those orc bastards at Aldren! You fought back against Gryff even when it could’ve meant certain death! You and Faust are both amazing! You both risked yourselves and fought to near death. Yet after all of that, you still think of yourself as unworthy of a night of celebration?”
James stared at Dahlia for a few seconds, his cheeks burning hot. He had doubted himself for so long, even though she had thought the world of him.
“I… I never knew you felt that way,” he responded finally.
“Well, now you do,” Dahlia let out a small laugh. “Please, let’s enjoy this night.” Her hands tugged at James lightly. The young man couldn’t help but smile, his head giving a slight nod.
“Yeah. Let’s.”
Both the shaman and the man from Earth joined the festival ahead of them. James could feel how Dahlia’s fingers intertwined with his, her amber eyes locking onto his as they walked through the many townsfolk who were busy drinking and singing along.
It didn’t take long for James to get a drink in his hand, his world slightly spinning as he sipped from his horn full of mead. He didn’t even know where it came from, only that at some point, he had it. Dahlia herself was getting her fair share of drink as her nose turned pink. They both stuck together despite the movement of the crowd. Still, there were times when their clasped hands were nearly separated. Such an example was when Helen burst through the crowd like a woman on fire, her sickly-looking face telling James that she had one too many. Following quickly behind her was Seamus, who held a bucket.
The night continued to progress, with James and Dahlia trying out the many foods the townsfolk had prepared for the festival. Meat pies, smoked fish, tasty broth, and even a strange meat James couldn’t place his finger on. It was delicious, nonetheless. By the time they had sampled everything, James was still hungering for more.
“How can you still eat? I feel as if I’m about to burst!” Dahlia exclaimed with a laugh as she watched James wolf down a piece of pie.
Truth be told, James was holding back on his hunger. Anytime food was present, the young man ate as if it was his last meal.
‘It’s one of the many side effects of having another spirit inhabit my body,’ James thought as he swallowed.
‘More! Get more of the apple pastry! Gods, is it heavenly!’ Faust exclaimed hungrily, making it clear to the young man that the spirit was currently experiencing the world through James’ senses. James chuckled, ignoring Faust as he shrugged at Dahlia.
“What can I say? It’s good food!” he called out through the loud commotion of voices and shouts.
The shaman laughed at that. “Well, it is to be expected, considering you have Faust in you. Two spirits are sure to build up an appetite.”
James couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Well then, what should we–?” James started, before halting. The music had suddenly changed, with the band of townsfolk reaching a crescendo. He turned to the source of the instrument players, watching as they started the music again in a slow steady beat, which slowly hastened.
Dahlia’s eyes sparked, her hand pulling at James. “Should we dance?” she asked in an excited tone.
“I mean, I’m a terrible dancer—”
“Just follow my movements,” Dahlia interrupted, her hands dragging James to the center of the courtyard, where most of the townsfolk danced along to the steady beat, their feet stomping on the ground in sync as they clapped.
James felt Dahlia’s hands bring him closer to her. He could smell the faint scent of incense on her, along with traces of smoke and mead.
“Stomp your feet like me,” she instructed, her right foot stomping on the cobbled ground a couple of times before she switched over to her left. James followed, his gaze focusing on her movements. “Don’t look down. You’ll get too distracted. Listen to the beat,” she spoke.
James nodded, his eyes moving back to hers. She smiled softly.
“Now clap your hands every two stomps and grab my waist like an actual man when you’re done,” Dahlia teased. James did as instructed, grinning as he stomped and clapped. Dahlia giggled. “Now, we spin slowly as the beat raises,” she continued. James nodded and slowly got used to the strange dance.
The drums in the background picked up, and with it, James moved faster. Before long, both the shaman and young man were dancing like naturals, their movements quickening to the point where James felt as if his hands and feet were going to go numb. The drums then reached their peak, before the musicians shouted out in celebration a word James didn’t understand. The entire crowd cheered and shouted the word back before the music went back to a normal tempo.
“What did they say?” James asked in confusion.
“Vriska,” Dahlia revealed. “An old quote from a forgotten language. It is also a saying from Orpheus, God of Alcohol and Music. It means ‘May our lives have joy’,” she explained.
“A lot of words coming from something so short.”
“To be fair, the rest of the saying had been lost to time. Vriska is basically a shortened version of it.”
James smiled. “Well, I wish you a happy Vriska.”
“That’s not how it works,” Dahlia laughed, her eyes glinting in the warm lighting. James found himself hypnotized once more in Dahlia’s amber irises. He slowed his dancing a little, his hands pulling her waist a little closer. Dahlia bit her lip.
“I wish this moment could last forever,” she muttered.
“Me too,” James whispered. He leaned in closer to the shaman, his eyes closing as he guided her chin upwards. The two kissed, all while ignoring the surrounding commotion. Right now, James was in his own little bubble, accompanied only by Dahlia.
It was pure bliss.