“Ah. Houses.”

Avalel nibbles on what little remains of his rations, his dry tongue licking the crumbs at the side of his lips. Dragging the Anapadeia behind him, he trudges forward, his fatigued eyes barely open, squinting even in the face of the Elyfesta.

How many days has passed since the battle? Seven? Eight? Ten? He had lost count. Compared to the thousands of individuals roaring, screaming, shouting on the battlefield, this silence and loneliness feels far more peaceful, far more comfortable.

He doesn’t even know where he is, let alone where the others are. Head east. That’s all he can think of. After all, Thille is to the east, right? Well, there are houses in front. Perhaps he can catch his breath for a short while before he heads onward.

As he approaches the houses, he finds a small village lying in front of him, a small river running through the center. It’s not an especially advanced settlement, with the simple houses, small numbers of artificial lighting, and what seems to be a lack of connection to electric sources. Unlike Thille, there are little people roaming about, possibly only about seven or eight. They stare at him strangely, not unlike how one observes an exotic creature, but they don’t seem to pay any further attention, only silently going about their daily lives, buying and selling goods and talking amongst themselves, sneaking glances every now and then towards Avalel’s direction. He attempts to approach them, but as soon as they realize, they shy away, with even the shopkeepers averting their gazes.

Finally, he sits at the center of the square, spent and defeated. He lays the Anapadeia by his side before rummaging through his makeshift bag, a simple bundle made from some of his clothing, trying to find anything edible, yet… I’m out of food. Feeling his vision spin in dizziness, he lies down on a worn-down bench, the paint faded and the metal rusted, vines crawling, choking the hand-crafted wood. For some reason, it is oddly comfortable, reminding him of his village, his home. The simplicity of life, isolated from the chaos… If only I could return there. Slowly, he drifts into sleep, his hand softly touching the gem of the Anapadeia.

“Hello there,” a rough voice calls, awakening Avalel from his brief slumber, “Don’t see you around ’day, eh?”

“What… is it?” Still dizzy and starved, Avalel opens his eyes, just to stare straight into the face of a round-faced girl, her long, tangled hair brushing against his cheeks. Wearing a loose, dirty tunic, traces of mud on her fingers, it is as if he encountered a “Wild One”, those who spend their days in the wilderness. Yet within the appearance of ugliness, he smells traces of a fragrance, like the fresh air of the grass and flowers when he wakes up from his home back in the village. Somehow, there is a sense of nostalgia in it.

“Can’t sleep here,” the girl explains, her dialect’s rasps hoarse yet comforting to Avalel’s ears, “Up you go.” She tugs at Avalel’s sleeves, attempting to drag him off his bench. “Up. Up you go.” Reluctantly, Avalel tries to lift himself, but his weak arms only quiver before collapsing, limp again.

“Can’t get up?” she asks.

Avalel nods slightly. “Hungry,” he mutters, his strength rapidly depleting. Is this what they call starvation?

Swiftly, the short girl grabs Avalel’s arms and wraps it around her shoulders, removing him from the bench. “Go to home,” she says, “There’s food.” Dragging Avalel’s feet behind her and carrying his bag and the Anapadeia with her teeth, she marches past the quiet marketplace, taking several turns before arriving at a clearing, and in the center, a house.

“Here is home,” she announces confidently. Yet to call it a home, or even a dwelling, would be a far stretch. Rather, it is merely a squarish brick building, the walls worn, the ceiling made of a collection of wooden planks, the door just a sheet of metal, and the glass windows long smudged with dirt and dust. Even compared to the dry, grassless area around it, the house is bland, unnoticeable even.

“Hey!” the girl shouts as she kicks open the door, the metal clanging as it slams into the wall, the hinges rattling a little. Inside is a single muscular man, his thick hands delicately placing what seems to be some leaves on a plate filled with various vegetables, along with two bowls of soup on either side of the table. The interior isn’t filled with much either, just a table, three chairs, three beds, a closet of sorts, a stove, and various unrecognizable furniture. In a sense, it is more like a temporary lodging than a permanent home.

“Hey!” the man responds, his deep voice booming, “Who the boy?”

“Don’t know. There food to spare for him?”

“Oh, he’s hungry?” The man strolls to a cupboard, picking up another bowl and filling it with soup. Taking Avalel from the girl, the man places him on the free chair.

“Yes,” Avalel manages to utter, “Starving.”

“Oh, that’s serious.” Quickly yet steadily, the man opens Avalel’s mouth, trickling the soup down his throat. Gradually, the color returns to Avalel’s skin, his mind clearing as he stares at the two strangers before him. Now that he could see them clearly, he notices the man, although intimidating and muscular, had lost his youthfulness long ago, while the girl, although small and bears the face of a child, has an aura not unlike that of Rasu: one of determination and perseverance. Not that it bothers him at the moment, anyway. Seeing the appetizing food before him, he uncontrollably devours his soup before feverishly stuffing the vegetables in his mouth.

“You must be really hungry, aren’t you?” the man laughs.

“Don’t take all the food!” the girl shouts before joining in on the frenzy, locking her spoon with Avalel’s. Almost instinctively, Avalel turns his utensil, knocking the spoon out of the girl’s hands before pointing it at her face.

“Oh, you want to feed? No food on the spoon though,” the girl says in surprise. However, the man watches Avalel with a new interest. Those few moments earlier… He’s not any traveler or even any possible runaway. That delicate movement of the fingers, the rapid, instinctive response to a perceived act of aggression… It’s the response of a seasoned warrior. Why is he here, then?

“May I ask how old you are?” The man speaks to Avalel, his voice formal and the dialect removed, “You look very young, but you do not give the sense of immaturity of other children.”

“Sixteen years of age,” Avalel replies, confused as he shrinks back his arm. Why did his tone suddenly change?

“You certainly look like one, but don’t act like one. May I ask how you came here?”

“If I have to be honest, I came from a battlefield to the west, I believe. I was supposed to act as a lone diversion for my comrades, but I…” Avalel pauses, suddenly realizing his mistake, “You could say I fled in the face of capture.”

“You were a soldier? One who walked so far to escape his destiny?”

Avalel slowly unwraps his bag, revealing his armor, the dried blood stubbornly clinging onto the metal and fabric. “Here is your answer,” he replies, subtly looking away from that gruesome reminder. Unbeknownst to Avalel, the man’s eyes widen in familiarity, as if reminding him of some long gone memory.

“Grandpa, enough,” the girl warns, “He’s hurting too.”

“Grandpa?” Avalel blurts out. He certainly doesn’t look like an old man.

“Yes. Grandpa. Almost eighty years now.”

Eighty years of age?

“Sorry, Maia,” the man slightly lowers his head, “And to you too… What is your name?”

“Avalel,” Avalel responds.

“A beautiful name. Sorry, Avalel. For someone as young as you to encounter such horrors… I’m sorry.”

They continue the meal, yet unlike the liveliness shortly before, there is only awkward silence, save for the loud slurping and munching noises from Maia. The old man would every now and then sneak glances of Avalel, while Avalel avoids his gazes, staring down instead at the food. I wonder how Kavlina and the others are doing? Perhaps they already returned to Thille? He could only guess.

He is a peculiar boy, the old man thinks, What boy as young as him would be a soldier at this age? Just what has he experienced to become this? And the sword… Why would he carry such a bulky object around? It looks familiar, though.

He sighs. Perhaps I have removed myself from the world for too long.

As the last scraps are cleaned from the plates and bowls, they collect the dishes before piling it in a tub of sorts filled with water. As Maia departs with the dirty dishes, only Avalel and the man remain in the house, sitting silently, both of them staring off into space.

“Uh, Avalel,” the man finally speaks, breaking the silence, “May I ask which faction you’re fighting for?”

“The New Rule,” Avalel replies, “I don’t know why, but I guess it’s to repay a favor to someone that helped me and my friend some time ago.”

“The New Rule… So that’s what it’s called. I haven’t seen someone wearing that armor for a long time.”

“You know of the faction?”

“No. This is an isolated, unimportant place, after all. But this armor… It reminds me of my son.” Rummaging through a pile of boxes, he tugs a large, metal box, marked only with a name: Tairun. As the man lifts open the lid, Avalel sees a set of what looks to be a set of armor, similar to his, only more bulky and less streamlined. The armor is clean, almost without blemish, but on the visor, there is a single hole, the perimeter charred and burnt.

“They sent this along with my son’s body all those years ago. One of his friends, at least it seemed to be one of his friends, told me that my son fought well, protecting a group of families, that he never fled, not even in the face of death. I never understood what he fought for, even to this day. I only remember him leaving the house one day, telling me that he is going to ‘protect the world’, leaving Maia in my care. I didn’t know what he meant, but I let him go, telling him to never back down. He was a strong boy, following those words to heart until his death.”

“Is that why there are three chairs and three beds?”

“It was Maia’s request. She wanted to pretend her father was still alive, still watching over her. Her loudness is just to protect her broken self. Her mother had died at childbirth, something rare even for a place as primitive as this village, so she had looked to her father as her ‘mother’ as well. I don’t know this war well, but I do wish it will end.”

“Don’t we all?”

“You are very eloquent for your age,” the man compliments, “Are you from a large city?”

“Not for most of my life,” Avalel answers, “You speak well too even for your age. Much more different than Maia.”

“Well, I did work in the old capital as a young boy,” the man laughs, revealing a set of surprisingly clean teeth, “I would like to visit there one more time before I die.”

“The old capital?”

“Achien. A beautiful city, so filled with activity and life back then, but maybe less so during this war. All those buildings reaching towards the sky, some even in the sky itself. I’ve even heard of an underwater district, protected by some sort of barrier. It would be a mesmerizing experience for anyone going there for the first time.”

“Maybe I’ll travel there after the war, once everything settles down. For now, though, I need to continue on my journey and return to my comrades.”

“Why not stay here for a while?”

“Wouldn’t I, as an outsider, intrude into your lives?”

“You need some rest. This village has never once been caught in a crossfire, even though we know of the war surrounding us.. Perhaps it’s our insignificance, perhaps it’s luck, but we are all glad we live in such peace. I don’t know what you’ve experienced, but you deserve some rest.”

“What if, one day, the war arrives at your doorstep because of me?”

“Then we’ll have you protect us. You are a soldier, aren’t you?”

“What about the villagers?”

“We are a very tolerant group of people. So long as you help us run some errands, the villagers will likely accept you as one of their own. We never had a proper police force or a guard, so it would be massively helpful for a person such as you to step in, even if just for a short while. Maybe when you eventually have to leave, you can even bring your friends here, where you can live a simple but peaceful life.”

“What about your granddaughter?”

“Hey!” Maia steps in, interrupting the conversation, “Whatcha talking about? And why not including?” As Avalel turns his head, he is shocked by the person standing before them. Her formerly filthy body is completely cleaned, her tunic removed of all dirt. Although her hair is wet, there is a sort of flowery aroma to it, drifting and spreading across the house.

“Maia,” the man turns to her, “Want Avalel to stay here for a while?”

“Yes!” Maia exclaims in excitement, “Don’t have to be so busy now!”

“There is your answer,” the man grins.

“Well, I have no excuse now,” Avalel shrugs, ignoring the flashing of the Anapadeia, “Maybe I can stay here for a few weeks to rest up.” Maybe I can forget about the war for now, forget about Nasition. Maybe I can even figure out what magic is all about, using it other than a weapon. Kavlina, Tarak, I wish you can come here too, away from the chaos of war.

“Oh, I forgot!” Avalel suddenly realizes, “What is your name, Old Man?”

“Parha,” the man replies, “Welcome to our village.”