There are various mountains scattered across the continent of Begonia, and one of these mountains stands at a little over five thousand meters. Rapha Wellspring is the mountain home to the tribe of Halo. Scattered across the rocky face of the mountain, amongst the wisps of clouds, are an abundance of Huangshan pine trees. These trees have thick, fissured bark, dark as charred stone, and their trunks twist in spiraling arcs—some curving outward from the sheer rock faces before veering sharply back toward the sky. They are massive, reaching twenty to thirty meters tall, with trunks thick enough for three grown men to encircle. Halo uses these trees to build their houses, with some holding single-person dwellings and others grouped to form multi-person dwellings. For their shops, restaurants, and assembly house—a place where the tribal leader can address the tribe as a whole —they are situated on cliffside shelves or carved into the mountain. Connecting all the homes and establishments are wooden bridges, designed by Noctua to be sturdy enough to hold a horse-drawn cart, filled with wares, and wide enough for one as well. There are also tunnels dug into the mountain, as well as natural paths running along its outside.
Mingled amongst the trees and human constructs, there are a variety of waterfalls scattered around the mountain. From one of these waterfalls, a river is fed—the river Hallowrun, a river that stretches on for miles until it disappears near the city of Fallen Petal.
The city was built on an expansive field of flowers, comprising a diverse range of species, and part of its border ends at a sheer cliffside where, underneath, the River Hallowrun runs. To preserve much of the field's integrity, buildings were planned to blend with the natural foliage, and only minor terrain modifications were made. Houses were built with stone foundations, chisled from the native rocks. Above, the walls ascended in dark, polished wood with veins of pink, providing a colorful contrast. The roofs of the houses mimicked the tops of trees, greenery growing from them, and sometimes snaking down the sides. Connecting the homes are cobblestone paths and streets, their cracks filled with sand to provide a smooth surface for cart and wagon wheels. They are flanked on either side by beautiful flowers, offering choice nectar for the many hummingbirds that flitter around. During the springtime, the cityscape blossoms into a wonder that draws visitors eager to see the flowers in bloom. It is said that when the winds blow, they carry with them a floral scent that brings a calmness to whomever breathes it in, and that can travel downwind for miles. The smell is more prominent when walking in the city center, which she does not mind after spending nearly four years deprived of it.
As she walks along the street, there are a multitude of stalls, their vendors standing in front, hoping to ensnare a customer. Although you can find an assortment of items amongst the stalls, the vast majority sell nothing but herbs. It is because many of the flowers that grow in the city have properties that make them fantastic for herbal remedies. The remedies are designed for simple illnesses, such as headaches, minor aches, bloating, and the like; however, the herbs can only be found in Fallen Petal, making them a unique feature of the area. At one of these stalls, she spots a bundle of dried yarrow and stops to inspect it.
She already has yarrow on hand and is not close to running out, but the bundle she holds is of excellent quality. It would not hurt to buy more, as it is a primary herb she uses, so it will not go to waste. “How much for the yarrow?” she asked, grabbing the vendor’s attention. A woman in her mid-twenties acknowledges her with a smile and is about to give a price, but their deal is interrupted when she feels a pair of arms snake around her waist. A startled scream tears past her lips as she is spun around once before being tossed into the air. She flails momentarily, thinking she is going to hit the ground as she falls, but those same pair of arms catch her—one arm underneath her knees and the other steadying her back. “Why so frightened, Alma? You know I always catch you,” a voice said, and it is with trepidation that Alma recognized who holds her.
—————
“I am going to murder you, Cian,” Alma said, her voice not rising above a conversational tone despite being laced with apparent ire. Alma Tenshi, a girl the same age as Cian, and with whom he has been friends since they were children. She looks very much the same as she did when he last saw her, which was before she left for Rapha Wellspring at the age of twelve. Alma is dressed in a simple, long peach-colored tunic with a pale pink sash tied at her waist, and close-fitting cream-colored trousers underneath. On the back of her tunic is her clan’s insignia, which is an Angel’s Trumpet flower, ironically enough, in the shape of an actual trumpet. Her long off-white hair is pulled back from her face in a braided tail, and her already sharp eyes grow even sharper, their crimson color shining against her olive skin backdrop. Cian can admit she has grown into a young, pretty lady, but she is still the same Alma to him.
Her threat is even reminiscent of the countless ones he would receive when they were younger. It made Cian smile and goaded him to tease her further, riling words at the tip of his tongue. He does not get the chance because a hand cuts through the air and firmly chops him on the head. “It's unbecoming of a patriarch's son to act so inappropriately with a lady. Please forgive the transgression, Miss Alma.”
Cian immediately drops Alma to get away from Warden, rubbing his head all the while. The girl, for her part, was visibly offended at the unceremonious way she was let go, but she did not fall to the dirt, having caught herself. She straightens, offering a refined bow toward Warden. “No harm done,” Alma said, a kind smile on her face, but she did cast a scathing glare in Cian's direction. “I'm used to our Scion’s antics.”
“Although you would think he would've matured after being away for so many years,” Keegan said, drawing Alma's attention. Alma lit up, her face beaming as she scurried over to envelope Keegan in a warm hug. “It’s been so long, Keegan!”
“It has, dear sister.”
“Why does Keegan receive a hug?” Cian asked, grumbling, although it was hard for him to fight the smile spreading across his face. Alma is not actually Keegan’s sister, and Cian could never figure out why Keegan addressed her as such. He had assumed it was because they were close—he knew Alma for as long as Cian had, but Keegan said that was not the reason. “You will understand in the future,”—is what he remembers Keegan telling him.
“He doesn’t toss me into the air,” Alma stated in response.
“You know you have fun whenever I do it, and I wager you’ve missed the feeling of flying,” Cian said, spreading his arms out like bird wings, while leaning forward and balancing on the ball of his left foot. His antics earn him a deadpan stare. “And did you notice how much higher you went? I've grown in strength.”
“So Alma, when did you return home?” Keegan asked, smartly drawing attention away from his brother. “Are you here for a short visit, or have you returned permanently?”
“I arrived back a month ago, and I'm unsure about the length of my stay,” Alma replied, her mood shifting as she became contemplative. “Patriarch Galen had told me your father requested I return home. I assumed the Patriarch needed me, or wanted to see what I've learned during my time away, but he hasn't spoken with me. I will need to go back to Rapha Wellspring at some point, as I haven't completed my studies.”
Cian looked toward the ground, and his eyes began to shift in thought. Alma had initially been sent to Rapha Wellspring at the behest of his uncle. Her father, Chiron Tenshi, is a modest alchemist who produces helpful medicines, but not life-altering ones. That being said, he is still a knowledgeable man who began teaching his daughter the field of medicine as soon as she was able to talk. Now, that might not seem extraordinary, as any father seeks to pass on what they know to their children. What made Chiron’s situation different is how receptive Alma was. Her young mind seemed to grasp things almost instantly, and she readily put to practice what her father taught her. Whenever another child would get injured while playing, if Alma were there, they would go to her because she could offer them treatment. It came to the point that her father sought a healer to further Alma’s education, having recognized her potential. The healer took Alma as her assistant, and together they aided the people of Fallen Petal, but for only lower-grade illnesses. It was good work, but her mentor soon realized that it was not enough for Alma—the young girl needed more than the local healer could provide. So, her mentor sent a request to Archdoctor Ebenezer, the man who personally saw to the patriarch and his family’s health. She had asked that he hire Alma under him, stating that he would not be disappointed with her as an assistant. Ebenezer agreed, and with his tutelage, Alma grew. It came to the point that Ebenezer was so enamored with Alma’s capabilities that he discussed her future with Patraich Bomin. Ebenezer not only saw to the health of the patriarchal family, but if a commoner needed his expertise, then he would aid them immediately. To have another of his caliber would lessen his workload and provide the people with greater care. His words weaved the highest praise for her, and Patriarch Bomin agreed that their tribe could benefit from having two Archdoctors. She was then sent to Rapha Wellspring to learn all she could from the tribe of Halo.
His uncle is a purposeful man. It seemed too well aligned that Alma would be called home around the same time he and Keegan were. Disrupting their educations was no mere decision, especially when it came to Alma. It made him weary.
Cian teetered on the edge of his toes, but he leaned too far forward and stumbled, his arms truly becoming like wings as he flapped them. The action did little to help him, and he came crashing to the earth. He groaned loudly, stretching out a hand to no one in particular. “Help,” Cian said meekly. Instead of being grabbed by the hand, he was caught by the back of his robes and yanked up onto his feet by Warden. “I must apologize for cutting your reunion short, but if you would excuse us, Miss Alma. The patriarch had instructed me to bring his sons directly home once we arrived in the city, and I’d prefer to bring them in good shape.”
Alma chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, seeing as we are all home, we will have plenty of time to fill in each other later.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“See you later then, sister,” Keegan said, giving Alma another hug. Cian watched on, his face pouting like a sad pup’s, and it seemed as though Alma was going to ignore him, but after releasing Keegan, she strode over to him. “I’ll see you later too, Cian.” Alma opened her arms, and Cian happily wrapped his around her. When Cian pulled away, his once-smiling face became pinched. He had failed to dust himself off before hugging her, and unbeknownst to her, he had dirtied her clothes. Cian decidedly urged his brother and Warden to leave, pinching Keegan to quiet him as he had been about to point out Cian’s folly. They had backed away a small distance before Warden spoke up, his face impassive, yet there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, Miss Alma, you seem to have a speck of dust on your shoulder.”
There is never shame in retreating—Cian would argue with anyone who said otherwise.
—————
Near the edge of Fallen Petal’s border, by the River Hallowrun, there is an elongated pond that sections off a considerable plottage. Connecting one side to the other is an arched bridge created from woven vines, roots, and blossoms. A flower bridge that has held firm for many years—a braided mass of resilient stems and deep-rooted plants, anchored into the earth on both ends. Wooden planks make it easier to cross over bridges, and are the only human touch; otherwise, it is a natural formation. Before stepping onto the bridge, there is an arch crafted from steel, rust tracing its lines from the many years it has withstood. Across the span, words have been forged directly into the arch, following the curved path. The words read—“We are not afraid for peace is with us.”—the tribes inscription.
Cian takes a moment to halt before the arch and read the inscription he has not seen for close to three years. A feeling of giddiness spreads throughout his body, pushing him to cross under the arch and walk along the bridge. He then meets a graveled path that he immediately sets off running down, Keegan calling out his name in startlement before running after him.
On the other side, off in the distance, stands a massive mansion poised atop a gentle rise. The gravel path Cian ran down eventually met up with a larger patch of gravel in front. From this patch, broad steps of stone led upward to the entrance of the mansion—a set of dark wood doors framed by curling vines and flowering branches. Flanking the steps are sculpted bushes, shaped to mimic humming birds, and between each bush were lanterns that lit the way at night. The roof of the mansion was crafted with sweeping tiles with upturned eaves, lacquered wood beams, and delicately carved lintels.
Standing at the foot of the steps are two soldiers, dressed in violet, form-fitted robes that conceal the chain mail they wear underneath, white, tight-fitting trousers, and a yellow armband around their left arm. Their fossil-gray hair is uniform in style; a tail of hair, bound high at the back of their heads, cascades down like a plume. Attached to their hips, each carries with them a sword, their hands on the hilt in preparation for attack. They are the first to spot Cian, and upon recognizing who was running toward them, the soldier on the right pulled a small horn from the pocket of his robes.
Soldiers on watch are given three horns, each of which produces a distinct sound, and the one the soldier uses is meant to signal the return of the patriarch if he has been gone for an extended period. The horn is also used in the same way for the other members of the patriarchal family. Its sound rings clear across the grounds, and soon enough, the front doors of the mansion burst open. Spilling out through the doors are a young girl of eight years old holding a baby no more than five months old, and a young boy of ten years old.
Bedisa is their younger sister. Dressed in a long-sleeved gown that hugged her torso while the skirt billowed outward in gentle folds. The color on top is violet, the skirt white, and around her waist is a yellow sash tied at the back. Her off-white hair is straight, billowing behind her as she hurries, the strands kept out of her face by a crown made of wild pansies. Starting behind, but quickly over-taking her is Destin. He is wearing a simple violet tunic, white trousers, a leather belt, and an open yellow robe. His hair is partially kept in a high bun, the rest of the long off-white strands running free down his back.
As the two older children run, the baby in Bedisa’s arms begins to squeal in excitement at the rushed movement. Dove is their newest addition to their family, and their youngest sister. She is wearing a baby’s gown that is a monochrome of violet, yellow, and white. Tufts of hair, whiter than snow, sit atop her head, and her short locks dance in the wind. Her crimson eyes sparkle with delight, and her skin, the same olive hue as her siblings', is smooth and supple.
Destin reaches them first, charging into the awaiting arms of Keegan, who catches him with minor trouble. Cian thinks he has it a bit harder as he scoops up Dove when she is within range, spins her around, before shifting her to one arm so that he can grab Bedisa and twirl her as well. “We missed you, eldest brothers!” Destin exclaimed. Bedisa voiced the same sentiment, and after sharing one more hug with her, Cian handed over his two little sisters to Keegan, and he took Destin. Home, Cian was finally home.
“So much ruckus, I would have thought we were being invaded,” came the voice of a female, sharper than any knife, causing everyone in the vicinity to stand at attention. Walking with a grace only a woman of refinement would have, Mila, wife of Patriarch Bomin and mother to the five children, came down the stone steps. She wore flowing robes layered in deep violets and soft yellows, the fabric draping from her shoulders like a gentle breeze. The outer layer swept behind her with each step, edged in white patterns of flower petals. Her sleeves were long and wide, fluttering like banners when she moved, and a yellow sash cinched her waist. Her silver, cloud-gray hair cascades loosely around her shoulders with a single braid on the right side. Fluttering around Mila is her pet hummingbird, Pipio, and the small bird matched its master’s fineness in how it moved.
Mila is a beautiful woman with soft olive skin and long lashes that flatter her half-lidded, crimson eyes. As the wife of a patriarch, she must reflect her husband’s status, adopting a confidence that earns her respect from the soldiers and common people. She can be quite formidable and is known to be the harshest instructor when it comes to training soldiers. That is why the younger children step aside, Dove being handed over to Bedisa, so that Cian and Keegan can bow to their mother in a formal greeting. Ignoring her sons, Mila addresses the soldier from the Lamb’s Guard. “Thank you, Warden, for bringing my sons home safely to me. You are indeed a capable man.”
Warden crossed his hand over his heart and bowed deeply. “It’s a pleasure to be of service to my patriarch and his wife.”
“As a reward for your diligence, you are granted freedom from your duties for the rest of today and the following three days. You must be exhausted from the long journey, so please take advantage of your leisure time to recuperate.”
“Greatwife Mila, you’re too kind.”
Mila nods at him. “You are dismissed, Warden.”
Warden took his leave, and finally, Mila turned her attention to Cian and Keegan, who still kept their heads bowed. She stood towering over them, her lips in a thin line before they suddenly quirked at the end. In a flurry of movement too fast for the eye to see, Mila engulfed her sons in the biggest, tightest hug she could manage. She squeezed the breath out of them before letting go and rapidly checking them over, poking and prodding. “You’re too thin, Keegan! Haven’t they been feeding you? Ah! I forgot! Cian, your ribs! Did I hurt you, little duck? Have both of you been resting? Why didn’t Warden bring you in a carriage? Perhaps I was too quick to reward him. Oh, but he did bring you safely, and now my ducklings are all together!”
As much as Mila is terrifying in most aspects, she is also the most doting of mothers, and a frazzled woman when not in the public light. Her children, or ducklings as she affectionately calls them, have great respect for her stern demeanor, but prefer her more ditzy nature. She brings with her a mother’s warmth that Cian has missed, and does not fight as she draws him and Keegan into another hug. He holds her tightly as he takes in her familiar scent of freshly sprouted magnolias. “Mother, you’re smothering us,” Keegan complained lightheartedly. “I have to make up for the days and months I wasn’t able to! I’ve missed you ducklings so much.”
“And we’ve missed you, Auntie,” Cian said with sincerity. Eventually, she pulled away from her sons, but only after giving each of them a kiss on the forehead. “Are the two of you hungry?” she asked, and her question prompted Bedisa to jump in front of her mother. “Mother has been teaching me how to cook! I can make you both something if you’d like.”
“Word of warning,” Destin interjected, his voice carrying a teasing note. “She can only make pasta dishes. Anything else, and she overcooks it.”
Bedisa scowled. “I only overcook chicken! Other dishes involving beef or fish come out fine.”
“If you consider dry meat to be fine.”
Destin’s words had the desired effect of provoking Bedisa, and she looked ready to tackle him to the ground, but Cian stepped in. He took Dove, who Bedisa was still holding, to keep his baby sister from being caught in the fray, before lightly rapping the back of his middle finger against their heads. “Enough,” he commanded in amused exasperation. “We are, in fact, hungry and won’t deny a meal from our sister if she wants to cook.”
“Besides, the two of you have never had Keegan’s cooking. It will bring you closer to God, but not in the way you want.” Cian yelps at the swift kick to his behind. “I’m holding a baby, you monkey!”
It becomes a squabble of voices as the children become animated, making their way up the steps to their home. Behind them, Mila is chuckling at the disruption her ducklings cause to the peace that had been, because although they are loud, their voices bring life to the otherwise lifeless mansion. “Auntie, where is my uncle?” Cian asked, his voice rising above the cacophony of his siblings. He watched her pet Pipio after the bird landed on her shoulder. “He is home, but I believe he is busy in his study. You most likely won't see your father until dinner.” Cian frowned—he had assumed his uncle would want to speak with him and Keegan immediately upon their arrival. Perhaps all is not as serious as he thought?
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my love,” came the voice of none other than Patriarch Bomin. His uncle stood with both his hands held behind his back. He is wearing long, layered robes of similar color to Mila’s, flowing and formal. The outer layer, draped over his shoulders and falling to his ankles, was tailored just enough to suggest refinement but loose enough to allow for unrestricted movement. The inner garments peeked through at the collar, and his sleeves were broad, and a belt wrapped firmly around his waist. Two long strands of his charcoal-gray hair framed his face while the rest fell behind his back, kept that way by a headband similar in color to Dove’s gown.
“Before you eat, Cian, I would like to speak with you in my study alone.” His uncle added the last part after seeing Keegan ready to follow. Cian nodded, handing Dove to his Aunt, and rushing up the steps to do as his uncle asked. The older man wasted no time in turning around and leading him through the entrance of their home. Cian looked back once to see the rest of his family going back to their light bickering, thinking nothing of the situation, except for Keegan. His brother watched him walk away with an uneasy expression on his face.
Perhaps it is as serious as he thought.
