Part 1: The Village Boy
The sun climbs over the eastern border of the Guardian Wall, the circular barrier casting a deep shadow over everything along its circumference, and a new day in the kingdom of Humania begins. A boy lies still beneath a tree, eyes closed and breath even, yet not asleep. No, he’s just enjoying the morning, that mystical period of time in which the world seems to stop turning. He feels light, as if a single breeze could take him away, far away, take him high into the sky and allow him to gaze down at all the world, and have a chuckle at just how small it all really is. In these kinds of mornings, there is no reason or need, there is only rest.
At least until he’s rudely interrupted by a knocking at the door.
His eyelids, seemingly bolted together, slowly wrench themselves apart and allow him sight once more. A small shaft of sunlight comes in from the window above his bed, the dust skipping around in the air, paying the desires of gravity no mind. Everything feels strangely far away, and he almost considers that he might have imagined the knocking. His eyelids slowly begin to collapse in on each other, as if pulled together by the very gravity the sparkling dust seems so impertinent towards, until the knock returns in full force.
Reluctantly, he throws the sheet off of him and swings his legs over the edge of his bed, thrusting his arms in the air, feeling his rusty limbs strain and stretch, a loud groan escaping through gritted teeth. Slowly blinking the sleep from his eyes, he finds himself, rather unfortunately, in his familiar room. A wardrobe sits nearly empty on the far wall next to the door, a sword in its sheath leaning against the side, and a desk cluttered with papers, books and a single lantern is shoved against the left, a map of the local area hanging above with several colored tacks stuck into it. More papers and books litter the floor, the sunlight draping from his window over the mess and bringing light to the shabby place.
The door creaks open, the familiar face of a girl poking through the crack, her long, golden blonde hair flowing in front of her sapphiric eyes. “Well well well, how kind of you to return to the world of the living.” Elizabeth chuckles, her eyes glittering like gemstones as she grins. Will grunts as he stands, his arms swaying from side to side to side as if on a loose hinge. He gives her a scowl, trying to look as annoyed as possible, but it doesn’t intimidate her in the least. The door opens further, revealing his older sister leaning against the doorframe, already dressed in a simple brown tunic, a belt with a golden clasp around her waist and her blue shell necklace hanging over her breast. Her arms are crossed, and her glittery eyes stare directly through her brother. “You better hurry,” she chuckles. “You wouldn’t want to make Momma angry, would you?” And with those final words of wisdom, she closes the door behind her, her footsteps indicating her leaving for downstairs.
Letting out an exhausted sigh, Will Newbie begrudgingly trudges over to the wardrobe, throwing open the doors and peering inside. All that’s in there is a single blue tunic hanging from a bar along the top, a pair of faded brown pants neatly folded and resting next to a pair of hiking boots on the bottom, and a heavy leather cloak hanging from a hook on the door. He quickly throws all of these on, before catching a look at himself in the mirror in the back of the wardrobe.
Staring back is the same gangly sixteen year old as ever, those sparkly blue eyes, slightly stuck out ears and thick nose he supposedly inherited from his father. What aren’t painfully normal, however, are the royal blue curls dancing over his eyes. He’s had blue hair for as long as he could remember, though he didn’t dye it. Apparently he was just born this way. Some take it as a sign from God that he’s somehow special, others just think it makes him look even weirder than usual.
Leaving his room, he’s greeted by the sound of clattering pots and pans, along with the smell of freshly baked pancakes, making its way up the stairs to assault his senses. His lips tilt up in a slight smirk as he makes his way down the hall, making straight for the stairs. There are three doors on either side of him, two the left and one on the right, these being each of their bedrooms. A window on the far end of the hall casts the only light into the gloomy passage.
Sliding his way down the banister and onto the first floor, the smell of his mother’s cooking hits him at full force, his small smirk turning into a goofy grin as he turns to face the rest of the house. The bottom floor is composed of just one big room, with the kitchen and dining area to his left, the fire room to his right, and the door to the rest of the town being dead ahead. The fire room is a carpeted area dedicated to resting and talking, with a fireplace embedded into the right wall and a couple benches with cushions tied down to them sitting around a table. The kitchen has a tiled floor, with all of the necessary appliances on the far wall next to the door. An oven and stove, an ice box that’s almost never used, and different tools hung up on the wall. A table with four chairs is placed just below, with his sister and mother already taking up two seats and devouring plates of pancakes.
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“Mornin’ hon, kind of you to join us, Will,” his mother chuckles as he takes a seat across from Elizabeth. “How was your trip to Dreamland?” Will pulls his plate to him as he looks over at the only two people in his life. Elizabeth, his older sister by three years, with her pretty face and sweet smile, always the talk of the other teens in the village. And his mother, Charlotte, or as a certain few call her, Charlie, a stout old woman with the capacity to switch from a gentle breeze to a whirling typhoon on a dime. Her curly brown hair falls down her back in waves, her curls being the only thing she seemed to have passed on to her son, with neither of her kids bearing much resemblance to her. Apparently they both look just like their father, save for Will’s curly blue hair, which is an anomaly unto itself.
Will and Elizabeth continue eating in respectful silence as Charlie lets them in on all of the town’s gossip. Apparently, Ms. Lingham, the old bat who was convinced Will was possessed by the devil (on account of his strange hair) was now raving about seeing Demons roaming the plains. Of course, this wouldn’t be her first “sighting” of monsters and devils, with her claiming to have seen a skeletal pale white figure walking about without a face, which was later revealed to just be a rather ferocious white cat. In other news, Clint, the local blacksmith, had attempted to woo one of the girls in town yet again, and of course ending in tears, yet again.
They spend every morning listening to the tales their mother will regale them with, gathering the news of their little town out in the middle of nowhere. It’s never anything fantastic or terribly interesting, but it’s enough to keep them informed about the goings-on, while also being rather entertaining. Besides, Will quite prefers being able to learn about his fellow villagers without having to go to the trouble of “getting to know people” or “socializing” or… “communicating.” He finds this to be much easier and much less stressful.
Elizabeth cracks a joke about Clint’s seventh attempt at hitting on her, one that all of the village remembers quite well, and the table erupt into laughter, Will desperately trying to keep his food in his mouth and not on the table or his windpipe, when he notices his mother looking at the two of them strangely. She’s smiling, but it’s not exactly a happy kind of smile, one that he’s seen on her a few times before. “What’s up, Ma?” he asks, a concerned look crossing his face. She looks from him to his sister, her uncertain smile unwavering. “You even smile just like your father,” she breathes.
Their father.
Will’s cloak feels ten times heavier on his shoulders as he thinks about him. His father had disappeared when he was just four years old, twelve long years ago. One day, according to the villagers, James and Charlie Newbie just walked off one day in a rush, and only she came back. The only thing she returned with was the same cloak Will wears every day now. He hardly remembers the man at all, the only image he can conjure being that of a gentle smile. And she’s right, it is his smile, and Elizabeth’s. Charlie never said what happened, and anytime they asked she’d get the same faraway look on her face, and she’d be in that state for anywhere from ten minutes to all day. She never cried, though, and thinking about it, Will’s almost certain he’s never seen her cry over anything.
An awkward silence fell over the table as each went into their own thoughts. Unable to stand it any further, Will abruptly rises to his feet and plants his hands onto the table. “Alright, there’s no use gettin’ all down-in-th’-dumps so soon in th’ mornin’,” he exclaims, rousing his family out of the deep pits of thought. “We got stuff ta do, right?” He gives his sweetest, million-gold-piece smile, his attitude infectious as Charlie and Elizabeth rise to their feet, too. “Yer right, sorry for bringin’ th’ mood down like that,” Charlie sighs as she hobbles her way to the oven. Elizabeth waves her hand dismissively, responding, “It’s no trouble, Mom. We all have feelings that slip out, nothing wrong with that.” Charlie turns around to her two kids, both giving supportive smiles. They really do look just like their father, the both of ‘em. But with both of them there, smiling happily, she can really tell the difference, too. The uncertain look in Will’s eyes, and the blinding radiance from Elizabeth. In many ways, the two are the same, but in so many more they’re different. It’s just unfair to compare them to a man they hardly knew. So, she smiles back, telling them, “I’m so lucky ta have you two.”
And another day begins.