The Ol'Phanx Crossing was the most important piece of architecture in the Corvus Kingdom. That enormous bridge connected the fertile farmlands of the Green Edge to the Royal Road through Palos, which led to both the city of Posidon in the south and the Capital of Gilgamere to the East; from there, all other provinces of the Kingdom could receive goods through less-traveled roads essential to citizens of the Corvan Plains and River Towns. The Ol'Phanx Crossing and its connection to the Royal Road allowed commerce within the Corvus Kingdom as long as it remained filled to eight cart lengths across, from sun-up until the hush of night, every single day of the year. With so much traffic centered on the Ol'Phanx, the city of Palos gradually built itself around the bridge, evolving through the years into the only urban area within the Green Edge. The main attraction of the city was obviously the Merchant's District with its many alluring treasures for sale, but the city also held Palos Practical School—an academy of over eighteen thousand children, ages six to sixteen, from across the Green Edge. Palos was also considered the "drunkard's paradise" of the Kingdom for its abundance of local distilleries and breweries owned by descendants of non-Human Clans. The foreign flavors were a treat to any connoisseur when the alternatives were the same, predicable flavors found in alehouses outside Palos.
However, there were many, less enjoyable aspects that Palos' residents dreaded dealing with. The bridge itself was nightmarish to cross for anyone without supplies to trade when traffic reached its heaviest point of the day, sometimes taking longer than four hours to push through on horseback without disturbing the merchants or destroying their goods. Crime also had a habit of clinging to the most heavily populated areas of the Green Edge, and Palos was no exception. Theft was the easiest act of delinquency to spot on a daily basis, but there were far worse crimes that required a sharp eye to notice. The sale of contraband—unregistered firearms, controlled substances and the ilk—dominated an underground economy within Palos. There were many far more abominable trades within the city limits, such as unregulated prostitution, but Sachi had always been smart enough to avoid ruffians offering nefarious "products."
Worst of all, the city also sat on the border of the Corvan Plains; thus, it served as an important military checkpoint for anyone attempting to enter the True Kingdom via the Royal Road. Due to the increased security risk of all the above-mentioned criminal activities, soldiers of the Royal Military were easy to find on the Ol'Phanx—soldiers who earned a reputation for being especially unkind to locals in their path while patrolling Palos. Yet somehow, though the roads were busted and the residents had little to their names, young Sachi was proud to claim "The Bricks" as his hometown.
Sachi and Mira strolled west on the crooked cobblestones of the Ol'Phanx, spotting soldier after soldier, merchant tarp after merchant tarp, carriage after carriage filled with whatever goods were being sold that week. Feeling especially shaken from his experience in the walkways, Sachi couldn't help but stare at one of the soldiers of the Royal Military as they made their way through the crowd of beggars and vendors. An odd sense of comfort washed over the bruised child as he peered into the depths of the middle-aged soldier's decorative chest plate.
What is he? thought Sachi to himself.
He continued gazing at the guard's onyx-dyed attire, overlaid decoratively with iron insignias bearing various depictions of his Kingdom's royal crest; the burning crow of Corvus; anodized with chemicals until reaching an uncomfortably accurate blood-red.
He couldn't be a Lieutenant... maybe some class of Officer?
Sachi continued to study the soldier for his rank as they strolled past. He didn't bother taking note of the general aesthetic or creativity of the outfit, given the freedoms of dress allowed to soldiers as long as their attire conformed to the standard code of military-approved tones. Instead, the half-Elv tried his best to gauge the quality of material used to forge the armored plates, as well as any medals of significance welded to display rank. Sachi found no such medals on this particular guard, merely a single burning feather on his left shoulder; a participation trophy in the eyes of the Royal Military awarded to any soldier bold enough to pass entrance exams.
Sachi couldn't help but feel a heavy sense of shame as he noticed how blatant his fixation on the middle-aged man was. The shame hit twofold: once on himself for how harshly he judged the soldier for his less-than-impressive appearance. Doing his best to hide his judgment, Sachi turned from the man he had decided to hold the rank of Second Officer after the brief examination of plate quality.
Corvan soldiers and their armor had always been an interest of Sachi while growing up in Palos. This wasn't an uncommon phenomenon for the children of the Corvus Kingdom, a nation that worshiped its soldiers as royalty, and its royalty as deities. But for Sachi, the fixation dug far deeper. His father was a silversmith—chatty, but far from the most competent of his craft—who made sure his son could recite the basic ores of military wares by the time he could grip a hammer.
The famed Corvan proverb, "To live is to burn" came to Sachi's mind often when he daydreamed of adventuring with members the royal order of soldiers who protected their land's borders—fantasies where he stood proudly as one of those heroic guardians, fighting off whatever evils entered their lands and sacrificing his all for the innocents of his Kingdom. Due to his father's career, the young half-Elv was fortunate enough to meet soldiers of all lesser ranks who needed repairs while patrolling the Green Edge. This familiarity with military culture and uniform habits provided Sachi with a reference of how to envision his own custom-designed armor, strictly worn in the wars of his childhood imagination.
In those days, long before the rain that forced Camelot's God to weep, and far earlier still than the tears he himself would shed upon the World Stage, Sachi Van'Heatah yearned for more. Like most young Mortals in the Age of Arén, Sachi held a reckless dream of seeking glory. And it was a silly dream, especially when one considered that the Radiance of his Light had only demonstrated healing properties. However, Sachi was not alone in his idolization of those war-bound martyrs' far too many children of the Green Edge dreamed of earning sponsorships to the True Kingdom through a career in the Royal Military. For the vast majority of those children, these dreams would remain just that: illusions of grandeur to soothe them as they drifted to sleep each night. Unfortunately, in Sachi Van'Heatah's case, his youthful dreams would lead to nightmares, the likes of which he could never have fathomed.
Although his father had assured Sachi that no fortune would be found in joining the Royal Military, the young man still couldn't stop himself from idolizing the version of himself pictured in that custom armor. He was desperate to prove he was more than the size of his ears—that he too was capable of heroism in the eyes of Humans.
Sachi focused on the sky to stop himself from glaring at the grades of plate adorned by the men and women the pair of boys strolled by, feeling secure that the one-of-a-kind suit of midnight-and-blood-shaded plates he had forged in his mind was far superior to anything these soldiers could come up with. Had he ever been given the chance, the young boy would have enlisted long ago. But children were not eligible to take the entrance exam, and with another six months standing between himself and his sixteenth birthday, Sachi made do with his chatterbox father, idiotic older brother, and mediocre paper route. Somehow, despite the weekly fights with his non-Elvish classmates, Sachi was able to find bit of happiness in this life.
As the boys finally made their way off the bridge, weaving past over two-dozen solicitations for various products, legal or otherwise, their journey back to the Meadows finally began. As they marched west, Sachi couldn't help but take notice of the many diverse faces that passed by them. As Elves, Sachi and his father were among the rarest sights throughout the Green Edge.
However, members of the Blood Clan had made themselves a staple of the region's culture long ago, making up a heaping twenty-eight percent of the Green Edge's population. They certainly were a tall bunch, with most Blood women standing a full head over the tallest of Human men, and male Bloods standing a full head over their women. Bloods also tended to look frail, with narrow eyes and long limbs mostly devoid of muscle tissue. Yet even with their delicate statures, most Humans still wouldn't go out of their way to cross a Blood with insult or threats of violence. It wasn't just their famous piercing red eyes or elongated canine fangs that made the Bloods intimidating to walk past at night. Most Human children of the Green Edge were raised on tales of Bloods who lurked in the shadows—under your bed, in your closet, hiding just outside your front door—waiting for just the right time to steal you away and drink your blood when you misbehaved. With those ghost tales in mind, it was no wonder Humans shivered at the idea of making an enemy out of one of those dark fables.
Yet all the Bloods Sachi knew were quite tame, nothing like the bloodthirsty night-dwellers in the horror stories he grew up on. Most were salespeople of some fashion or another in the Merchant's District. They were sleazy—sure—just as any merchant fighting for a living in Palos must be, and they would usually attempt to upsell anyone na?ve enough to listen to their sales pitches. But Sachi never once found reason to suspect any of his neighbors to secretly be assassins of the night or bloodthirsty killers. Some of the other Bloods Sachi knew in Palos were bartenders, wagon drivers or members of other service professions, but every one of them stayed within the city limits or on the Royal Road for work. It seemed to his young eyes that very few Bloods were suited for farm life out in the Meadows to the south and west of the city. But Sachi did not draw this conclusion from any place of superiority. He simply felt that careers within urban centers fit them best thanks to their sleepless work ethic.
The Hoof Clan, however, seemed to be quite the opposite of Bloods when it came to blending into Corvan society. Most of those large, horse-legged folk had settled in the Meadows, knowing how blatantly they tended to stand out in any urban setting. They were certainly a recognizable group of Mortals, with large Human-like faces and torsos, yet their lower halves and the horns atop their heads made them stick out like a white dress at a funeral. Some stood on four hairy legs ripped straight from a stallion to support them at the waist; others only had two meeker hind legs more resembling a fawn; and more still bore larger bodies with stronger, bull-like legs. Their horns had a ton of variation as well, from cute cow-like horns to wide fanned antlers like trophy elk. It was hard to miss any Hoof in Palos, no matter how busy one might happen to be that day. Even taller than Bloods, both males and females stood over nine feet from head to hoof, sporting prominent tails that hung lower than any actual horse or cow Sachi had ever seen. They were less common to see about the Green Edge than Humans or Bloods, with many of them now sharing lineage with Human families after decades in the Kingdom, now making up thirteen percent of the region's population.
Every Hoof of the Green Edge hailed from families that fled Hilbarth years ago, a land that both Sachi and Mira were constantly badgering strangers for information about. It was the closest Nation to their home geographically speaking, and the war-torn Hoof-lands even shared a border with the Green Edge's western side. Legends told of a great war that ripped the stables of their homeland apart over one hundred years ago—a war they knew still raged on to this day.
The outbreak of Hilbarth's Civil War was said to be so gruesome and filled with civilian casualties that most of the common folk were sent galloping for the hills when the first union of K.A.S.H. began their march through the Nation. They became a desperate people at that time, hungry for any safe land to call home again, and frantic—all too willing to endure any and all humiliations to gain their chain-holder's protection. A few lucky souls made it to the open arms of the Green Edge, while the less fortunate Hoof folk found themselves fleeing west to Kingdoms who were far less accepting of outsiders. Mira, who dreamed of one day seeing the whole world was captivated, and oftentimes inappropriately eager to ask Hoofs about how to reach the battlefield; for if it wasn't for the Western Wall, he would have run there himself by that point. Sachi, on the other hand, was fascinated by the history behind the Green Edge's refugee Clan, and what the origins of a war over a century old could have been. But to the boys' dismay, most of the Hoof Clan living in the Meadows kept quiet when it came to their roots, and they tended to give more riddles than answers when asked about their old home. But regardless of wars or cultural practices, the Green Edge wouldn't feel the same without the Hoofs trotting through it, tending to their farms where they still whispered prayers on southeastern winds to the Game Master of their motherland.
Eventually, the uneven brick roads ended, and the boys would walk on gravel for the remainder of their path home. This was the spot where Sachi always put his shoes back on, a place where the city limits of Palos ended and the Meadows began. Again, he let his gaze slip skyward, looking out for the many scavengers and larger birds of prey found within their borders. None were about, surely still awaiting spring's full awakening to show their wings once more. Instead, he let his eyes fall to the surrounding buildings—two- and three-story city shops built from the same mismatched bricks as the streets—faded as the stones they walked upon became more broken.
On either side of the gravel path the adoptive brothers found themselves on sprawled with uncut grass and rolling hills as far as the eye could see—an untainted landscape of fertile lands tarnished by the occasional unimpressive farmhouse, usually painted some shade of red, white, or brown. At that time, during spring's first warm breath, the meadows of the Green Edge had just shaken off winter's chill, revealing crisp grasses that permeated the landscape with a light-green hue.
Sachi paused once his feet hit gravel to dig into his school satchel. He took out a fresh pair of socks and rolled them onto his dirty feet before lacing up his boots. He watched Mira as he tied them, still sour about what had happened under the bridge.
"I hope you know that I had that Faron situation completely under control." The red-headed teen popped back to his feet and jogged to catch up with his adoptive brother.
"Yeah, yeah," Chuckled Mira with a sarcastic tone. "And I can beat up Willy."
"I'm serious!" Sachi exclaimed. "My plan really would have worked this time if you gave me a chance."
"It looked like you were losing." Mira turned over his shoulder with a teasing smile. He then flipped his stance, beginning to walk backward, facing Sachi's emerald eyes with his own golden stare. "Maybe you should let me train you to fight. It would help a lot."
"I already told you, that won't be needed, Mira. I can handle my own fights." Sachi tried to pat away the dust off his shirt as best he could, but there were still patches of grime and drops of his own blood that remained. Sachi took a deep sigh as he stared at the stains. He focused deep within to spark his inner Light, only now realizing the immense pain of his swollen face. He stopped holding himself back, allowing his Light's Radiance to rush through his body naturally now that no one from school could tease him for his unimpressive power.
Small embers emerged from Sachi's wounds, concentrated on the spots of pain—embers that quickly crackled into pale-green flames enveloping the majority of his face. The gentle flames began to seal the cuts on Sachi's face and mend his burnt cheeks; the swelling on his face went down, and the nasty bruises Faron's flaming fists created slowly started to disappear.
"Besides..." continued Sachi in a moody tone, rubbing his face back into its normal shape. "You only ruined it because you were hungry."
Mira giggled at the accusation. "Willy said he had pork ribs in the oven."
"For the thousandth time!" Sachi growled as the green flames disappeared, the skin of his face emerging without a scratch. "Stop calling my father Willy! His name is Wilhelm, and you shouldn't be calling him that either. It's Mr. Van'Heatah to you—and you know that, Mira!" Sachi found himself reprimanding his brother all too often for the boy's lack of manners, but it never changed a thing no matter how loudly or often he yelled.
"He doesn't mind it, so who cares?" Mira turned back ahead, continuing their two-mile hike back home. If Mira really wanted to, he could be home in two minutes with the speed his Light's Radiance allowed him to run at, but he wouldn't leave Sachi to walk alone.
It's always been like this. Sachi couldn't help but think loudly to himself as he watched Mira step carelessly ahead of him. You're always saving me, and I'm always watching your back, trying to catch up. He thought back to the day he and his father met the strange blue-haired child, and how they had rescued him from certain death. Well... except for that day...
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There was a beach five years before that wasn't chilly at all; it was sunbaked and sweltering. Sachi and his father had sold out of their silver goods early that morning in the city of Posidon, and the pair managed to get back on the Royal Road early before noon. Sachi's father was so happy with their work that day he let his son pick out a souvenir, and Sachi chose a new shirt — a white cotton tee with the word "PEACE" scribed in bold, multicolored lettering on the chest. Sachi had no idea what the word meant, but he liked the colors, and he threw it on right away once it was bought. Wilhelm rolled their empty wagon behind him as the pair hiked up the gravel roads leading back to the Green Edge. On his waist hung a cloth pouch full of Copper Pigeons and Silver Cardinals that rattled with the soft clang of dancing coins at each step. There wasn't a cloud in sight for miles, the only sound scoring their walk being that of gentle waves from the distant shore of Black Feather Bay, hardly audible through the dense thicket to their left side that divided them from the waters. Then, it happened...
Boom!
A bolt of blue boomed down from the peaceful skies, striking the beachfront beside them. Sachi turned at the thunderless blast and ran towards it without hesitation, feeling that something must be amiss to cause such unpredictable weather. Wilhelm called out to his son as the boy sprinted into the thicket, but it was no use. Sachi was stubborn as an oxen when he wanted something, and on this day, he wanted to see the aftermath of this surprising storm. When the half-Elv made it to the shoreline, he was stunned at the sight before him. The gorgeous beach had been turned into a crater being filled with waters from a restless sea. Sachi was immediately able to make out skid-marks in the sand along the coastline, and at the end of those shore scars he spotted the tiny, shattered figure of a boy. Many bits of that event were a blur in Sachi's mind, but he remembered calling out for his father to get down there quickly, then making a frantic dash towards the child. When Sachi saw Mira for the first time, he almost vomited in disgust. The boy's legs were twisted, with a jagged bone sticking out of one of his shins. His stomach and sides were ripped open and soaked with blood after skidding against the coarse sand. Mira tried to say something to him, but Sachi couldn't make out the words because of the boy's shattered jaw. What he remembered most from that day was how Mira reached out to him with his bloody hand, and how the boy had stained his brand new shirt.
The next thing Sachi remembered was his dad yanking him back by the shoulder to get out of the way. Mr. Van'Heatah patched up Mira on the beach as Sachi trembled and cried helplessly. As an Elv, Wilhelm mastered a Radiant Art that allowed him to heal those he shared his Light with, even from the most critical types of injuries. Wilhelm had told Sachi this ability was a well know technique among members of their Clan, but Sachi had never been able to do it; only himself. After Mira's major injuries had been taken care of, Sachi's father carried the nearly comatose child back to their home in their empty wagon. Later that night, they found out the strange child had no home to return to.
After that strange meeting, the Van'Heatahs adopted Mira. Sachi objected at first when he found out that this meant sharing his bedroom with the strange island child, but having a sibling changed Sachi's life in all the best ways his father hoped for. As two children without friends or mothers, the boys quickly became one another's closest companions. The reclusive half-Elv also had no choice but to open up socially when the blue-haired boy moved into his bedroom, with most of their twilight hours being filled with the same speculative nonsense that most boys gabbed about when having a sleepover.
Sachi always thought that for a kid who came from a tropical island, Mira's accent was as exotic as white bread. He knew the most common vernacular of Battle, Romani Imperium, yet it was some broken form of it where the boy constantly added in odd phrases from his homeland, like "Yoo!", "Nah!", and "Lame!". The blue-haired speedster was truly an anomaly in the Green Edge, causing people to stare wherever they brought him around, but the Van'Heatahs cared for him all the same.
As the adoptive brothers made their way home, Sachi kept a watchful eye over his shoulder for the purple-cloaked figure he had spied in the walkways. No violet shadows revealed themselves, so instead he greeted neighbors out tending to their fields as brothers passed by: first the Oliviers' two-hundred-acre, then the Lancasters' hundred-and-ten-acre, then the Chardwoods' eighty-acre. The snow had mostly melted away, but some of the agriculturalists of the Green Edge took it upon themselves to clear up the leftover frosts. The Humans made easy work of this, most of them eager for any opportunity to show off the unique Radiances of their Light, all involving the ability to produce or control flames in some way or another. For farmers from other Clans, clearing the lingering snow would be a slower process, but they still stood outside with shovels doing as best they could to prep their soil for the coming weeks of good weather.
Most of the folks from the Green Edge were like this—hard workers no matter the circumstances; the kind of folk who didn't mind going an extra mile or two for their families and their passions. Sachi's father was no different. Most mornings, Sachi wouldn't even get a chance to see Wilhelm before heading east to school. The big Elv would already be hard at work in the smithy behind their family shop before dawn most days, usually only catching three to four hours of sleep a night—a phenomenon he claimed was common for full-blooded members of their Clan, yet another one of his father's abilities that Sachi lacked.
The boys arrived at the Van'Heatah home in the East Meadow just as the Holy Sola began to dip out of sight, turning the sky to a vibrant blood-orange hue. The Van'Heatahs' two-acre property was one of the cheapest bits of land in the Green Edge. The soils surrounding their property were nutrient-deficient, so farming any crop was completely off the table for their family. The only things that grew on their strip of mud were mighty oaks too old to be bothered by the poor soil quality, trees Sachi and Mira had climbed regularly only a few years ago.
The Van'Heatah land sat directly between the inconvenience of living outside the city and the inconvenience of living far from the shores of Lake Mizva, and it was obvious Sachi's home was far from the tallest or prettiest in the Green Edge. It was a two-story cabin with two bedrooms, and from first glance anyone could tell it was built over a hundred years ago. The lumber, once painted a bright red, had almost fully chipped away, revealing the ugly rot hidden underneath. The once eggshell trim around the door and windows had also faded and peeled after years of weather damage, but Mr. Van'Heatah was far too busy with his silver to be bothered with replacing the wood casings or putting on a fresh coat of paint, and Sachi's time as of late had been consumed by his schoolwork and paper route. The only one who truly had the free time for these home renovations was Mira—but good luck getting him to do it.
Even if Mira agreed to paint the house, the Elves were certain the boy would mess it up somehow. Disasters were common when Mira met housework. Sachi and Wilhelm eventually learned that the best thing to do with Mira was to let him roam free like an independent house cat. He loved to run, possessing a Radiant Art capable of producing massive amounts of lightning, he was damn good at it. The Radiance made Mira too fast—the fastest person Sachi had ever met. Mira spent most of his days running through the Meadows and the deep woods of the Green Edge. In fact, just this morning, Mira ran all the way to the northern border of the Green Edge, snuck into the Uskwood, and swam in Lake Mizva for a few hours—all before Sachi even took a break for lunch at his Practical School.
"Hey, Father! We're back!" called Sachi as he creaked open the front door of their home. To the boy's surprise, the living room was empty, and there wasn't any peep from Wilhelm's bedroom on the second floor or the backyard in response to Sachi's call. The inside of Sachi's home was small, less than six hundred square feet between two floors. Their front entranceway on the north side of their home, opened to a living room, albeit a tiny one, with a single couch built for three that faced east. At the spot along the eastern wall where eyes naturally fell when sitting on that small couch sat a pathetic bookshelf, nearly bare, separated only a few feet from the couch by a small coffee table of darkly stained maple. Wilhelm Van'Heatah was not much of a reader, but he brought a few of his favorite books with him to the Green Edge nearly thirty years ago. The books were mainly legends and fables that Wilhelm collected on his trek to the Corvus Kingdom from Camelot, with titles like The Travels of O'Lycka Drake, The Golden Age Chronicles, and The Red Night of Allaine. He loved to share these stories with Sachi, who found them to be silly, and eventually Mira, who was mesmerized by each legend.
Along the south end of their living room was a staircase that led to the two bedrooms upstairs and the only bathroom of the home. To the west of the entrance was the family's dining room table. It was small, but they were a small family, so the stained oak piece that barely sat three didn't feel out of place. To the south of the dining area was a small kitchen tucked next to their back door. Finally, in the corner of their kitchen, next to the sink, stood a tall wood-fired oven that leaked a recognizable odor into their home.
Mira called through the house as he let their front door swing closed behind him, "Yoo, Willy! Where are you?"
Sachi slapped his brother on the shoulder. "I told you—stop calling him that!" The boy then paused instinctually, sniffing at a scent in the air that didn't seem right. It took the boys a couple of whiffs before they pinned down the culprit of the odor—something was burning. They rushed into the kitchen and saw thick, black smoke leaking from the black iron stove.
Mira lunged at the oven like an animal, releasing an in-Human wail to match as he stabbed his fingers towards the door. "Not the ribs!" He slammed the heat-resistant door open and caught the handles of the red-hot cooking tray inside without thought, burning both palms and most of his fingers in the process. "Aaaahhh!" He wailed out in a sharp scream, recoiling in pain and grasping onto each burnt hand with the other in an effort to dull the pain of so many quickly forming blisters. Using his brain, Sachi ran to a cupboard drawer and pulled out their green oven mitts. He removed the pork ribs in a swift yanking motion, placing them gently onto a wood-block island tucked between their oven and sink. When recalling this day in his later years, Sachi would often chuckle when reflecting on how foolish he really had been in that moment; for the idea of a boy with healing abilities such as himself wasting the time it took to find those useless oven mitts was the truest form of comedy his world produced. But in this moment, he wasn't laughing at all, and Sachi glared with frustration at the pork still roasting before his eyes, now coated in a disgustingly thick layer of chewy ash. Mira stared at his burnt hand, then over at the crispy ribs with a solemn look of defeat.
"That's odd..." said Sachi looking at their burnt dinner. "Father is usually so careful. I'm sure he must've been saving these for days. He would've never forgotten them like this."
"But... the ribs..." whimpered Mira, reaching out to the crispy bones with his still-smoking hands.
Outside, a large gust of wind decided to slam against the south side of their home, rattling their window shades and making the decrepit walls of that old farmhouse creak as if about to crumble under the wind's strength. A monstrously loud crash bled through their property at that moment, accompanying the sudden burst of weather in flawless unity. Sachi and Mira stood frozen in their kitchen after the loud boom, turning their attention away from the remains of pork ribs and towards the woods.
"Father?!" Sachi exclaimed. "What is he doing?" The brothers rushed through the kitchen door and into their backyard, running past the single-story forge just outside and toward the oaks. It didn't take long for them to find what had caused the noise. The mass grave of freshly fallen trees, at least a yard each in diameter, littered the snow-crisp ground for at least half an acre. The pattern of freshly slashed stumps was unnatural in every sense, like a cone or funnel had ripped through the treeline. Close to the home there were only three or four fallen trees, but the further south they walked into the woods, the wider the area of effect was. There were even some moments on their mad dash where neither could make out a single uncut tree in the distance on either side.
Standing at the center of this warm destruction was none other than Wilhelm Van'Heatah, breathing heavily, a light sweat on his brow. His back was turned to the boys, toned, rich-brown, and dampened by the day's work. Both children remained frozen with confused faces, as the Elv swung a cheap hatchet with a long, cracked handle over his right shoulder. Today, Sachi's father wore no shirt under his denim overalls. His wide shoulders and exposed back muscles defined as if sculpted from basalt, obsidian, or some other dark stone instead of flesh. He wiped his face and hairless scalp with an already-wet rag, the same he kept in his back pocket on a daily basis as he worked in his forge. He took a moment to recognize that someone was near him, and after what seemed like an eternity, he turned to his children.
Mira whispered to Sachi, making sure to cover his mouth with the back of his hand as he spoke. "Your dad's cool, but he's a total clutz."
"Like you're one to talk!" Sachi snapped back.
Mira couldn't help but laugh under his breath at the comment. "Rude."
Wilhelm waved over to the boys with his signature smile—perfectly imperfect, always welcoming. "Sorry boys—didn't mean to startle!"
When folks around the Green Edge met Wilhelm Van'Heatah, the first thing they would notice was his ears. They were longer and more pronounced than Sachi's, fanning out and slumping over at the tops due to their immense weight. On Wilhelm's left ear shone the same silver Qia'Dāv as his son. The man had awarded Sachi a clasp six months ago, on his son's fifteenth birthday. He was large and exceedingly bald, so much so that his shiny head occasionally resembled a billiard ball under the right light. Yet it was clear the youth of Sachi's father was fleeting, for more, and more wrinkles had settled into his cheeks and forehead over the last few years.
Wilhelm never liked to talk about his age, but at one point he had let it slip that he was well over one hundred years old. Still, he had an energetic look to him, looking younger than most Humans in their late fifties or early sixties, and having far more vigor, too. Sachi thought it was strange at first, having such an old father, but he knew now that Elves lived longer than Humans. So, for all he knew, a hundred years for his father might be as little as twenty years for any Human man. Wilhelm's jaw, square as his face was long, clenched as he looked down at the two confused boys. There was no doubt that he had strong features, but they fit him, especially with how his lack of hair helped to hide how big his forehead was. Lastly, in his eyes burned a gaze like emeralds, just like Sachi's.
"Don't worry about it!" replied Mira as he looked around with glee at all the fallen trees. "We'll have enough logs for the next two winters with this much wood—even longer, I bet."
Sachi frowned at his father's lax attitude and Mira's disregard for the situation. "What were you doing out here? You know the Lancasters up the road will run to the Council if we bother them anymore—especially after that stunt Mira pulled last week..." He glanced at his brother with disgust and shook his head.
"Whaaaat?" Mira chimed in with a groan. "It's not like I hurt anyone! I just knocked over their clothesline. No harm other than a few dirty undergarments."
"Well, dirty fabrics or not, Mr. Lancaster told me we're on thin ice." The crimson-haired boy aimed a finger at his brother. "The last thing we need is the Royal Military coming down here and asking questions because someone feels like filing a noise complaint."
"Aye, Sachi. You're right—it was my mistake." Wilhelm's voice was gruff, but he always spoke in a friendly and proper manner. He pointed to an oak on the ground closest to him. "I got distracted felling one of these tough bastards, and I ended up cutting half the damn lot down." He sank his axe head into a stump beside him, the polished silver knob at its base facing their still lingering star in the west. "It won't happen again. I know better than anyone that we don't need the City Council or Royal Military poking about in our business." He looked down at Mira and grinned. "How'd I do on the ribs?"
"They're dead..." Mira sulked. "I'll still eat 'em, Willy, but they'll be tough as a boot."
"Ta-ah-ah!" roared Sachi's father in laughter. "Sorry, little buddy. I'll make it up to you next week. I'm sure I can get some more pork ribs from the Torwins down south—they'll give me a fair price, too." He looked back at Sachi, who was still frowning. "Say, Mira, how about you run inside and see what else we have stowed away. I'd like to talk to Sachi for a minute." Mira turned to his brother, and they exchanged a glance. Sachi looked like he didn't know what his father wanted to talk to him about either, so Mira shrugged and turned his back on Wilhelm.
"That's cool. I'll meet you guys inside." With that, Mira took off in a blue streak of sparks back to the kitchen to search for dinner.
Sachi looked over to his father with a huff, unsure if he was in trouble or not. Wilhelm took a seat on the stump where his hatchet rested and looked up at his son with a proud smile.
"You got in another fight today, didn't you?"
"Wha-! No, no!" Sachi waved his hands frantically in front of his body. "I wouldn't do that again... Why would you ask?"
Wilhelm smirked at his nervous son. "Did you win?"
Sachi's face sank; he grew embarrassed and scratched his shoulder. "No... Mira had to come in and save me again."
"Kha!" The big Elv tapped his hand over his heart and cursed in High-Etherial—the tongue of his father's homeland. Sachi understood the word was equivalent to the Romani cuss for excrement. "I was really rooting for you this time."
"Uh... thanks?" said Sachi, unsure if the words were encouraging.
"So, what was it about this time?" Wilhelm shifted from fan mode to dad mode, gazing patiently at his son with eyes eager to pass on words of wisdom.
"Well... it was about Mother again..."
Wilhelm's eyes grew wide at the mention of his departed wife. "...I see."
Sachi continued, "One of the kids at school, he... he said we're dirty. And that she deserved what happened to her..." Tears began to form in the corners of Sachi's eyes. "I don't get it! Why do they do this to us? Why do they beat me and hate me so much for being an Elv? They don't even know how to pronounce our Clan's name right! What did we do?"
Wilhelm rose to his feet, towering over his tall son. He placed a hand on the frustrated boy's shoulder and pulled him in close. "I'm sorry, Sachi... this is my fault." Sachi looked up at his father, who peered into the distance as if he was looking into another world. "I always knew that I should have taught you more about my side of the family. I wanted to spare you the painful past of my people—our people. I thought you would have a more peaceful life than mine if you could remain unburdened... but it seems this world may never forgive our Clan." Wilhelm crouched to his son's eye level, meeting Sachi with an aged mirror of his own emerald eyes. "I think it's time for you to learn about the sins of the Elves..."
(To Be Continued...)
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