1017 AA

“Morning!” Maia shouts, pulling Avalel from his bed. The birds flutter away in such a disturbance, the grass bends back in shock. The old bed creaks as Avalel is dragged away from the comfort of sleep, groaning as he finds himself on the floor, his arms still stubbornly clinging to the bedposts.

“Let me sleep a little more,” he mumbles, still half asleep.

“Breakfast now!” she yells in his ears, “Or late for work!”

“Just a little more,” he protests.

“Hmph!” Maia storms away, her small feet rumbling with every step. In the distance, Avalel could hear the clanking of furniture, the grunts from Maia as she seems to reach for something, the scraping noises of wood as it drags against the floor. So she has left me alone. He crawls back to his bed, his hair a sprawling mess on his head. The scent of the damp air massages his nose, soothing him in a gentle lullaby back to sleep…

“Breakfast now!” Crack! Suddenly, Avalel feels a shockwave reach his back, stunning his spine. He opens his mouth in pain, but the air is promptly knocked out as another blow hits his back, jolting him, freezing his nerves for a moment. He gasps, saliva choking his throat.

“Now you’re awake.” The triumphant grin of Maia beams at Avalel, the light from the Elyfesta shadowed by a long broom. Satisfied, she pats Avalel’s head with the broom before heading out again. “Broom neater than your hair,” she jokes, breaking into ruthless laughter.

That brat… Avalel pushes himself up, brushing the dust off his hair. Slightly annoyed and his back aching, he tidies himself, changing into a loose tunic and shorts, held together by an old belt. Apparently these belonged to a certain friendly neighbor, but they lent it to Parha in pure charity, knowing the need for Avalel to wear it.

He enters the main room, expecting the usual grub, yet before his eyes lay an absolute feast. The fruits and vegetables colorfully arranged and cut into cute shapes, the breakfast grains roasted to near-perfection, emitting a warm aroma, the water decorated with lerila, giving it a slightly sour yet refreshing taste. For a village as isolated as this, a breakfast as such is simply a rare luxury.

“What’s special about today?” Avalel inquires, confused at the merry environment. “Such a fancy breakfast too.”

“You forgot?” Parha walks in, on his hands a plate of… sliced, preserved meat. Although common in Thille, here it is reserved only for festivities, birthdays, and weddings. “It is the first day of the fourth month.”

“Summer here!” Maia jumps in celebration, “Festival! Fun! And…”

“Maia will be fourteen years of age today,” Parha finishes.

“Oh, no wonder… what?” Avalel blinks in surprise. He looks at Maia, her small body reflecting that of a child. Compared to him, she might as well be ten, or even nine years of age. Perhaps the people of the village simply age slower.

“Surprise, isn’t it?” Maia beams at Avalel, jumping to reach his height, “Fourteen now!” On her neck hung a small necklace with four beads, the rocks smooth and the colors wave-like. There is still a faint scent of the seaside, the salt ingrained into the beads themselves. The string, repaired multiple times, hangs strong around her neck, like a guardian or barrier protecting its treasure.

“Her Dad gave the necklace when she was little,” Parha explains, noticing Avalel’s curious gaze, “Only wears it on her birthdays, keeping the scent, and with it her dying memories preserved.”

“Come, eat!” Maia beckons, tugging Avalel’s arm. They sit around the table, and in the welcoming early light of the Elyfesta, they eat, receiving the oncoming new day.

It has been less than three months since Avalel arrived at this village. As he quickly realized, it doesn't have a name. It is merely known as “the village”, a subtle nod to its isolation from the world. There are traces of technology from the last few decades, of course, but otherwise, it is like a time capsule, the people living as if they belong before the technological revolution over a century ago, living simply and happily, ignorant of the chaos around them. There are no dedicated weapons save for perhaps a hunting crossbow, a spear, or perhaps, although a stretch, cooking knives. Unlike the reaction of the people of Thille when they encountered the Anapadeia, the villagers here merely showed remote interest during the first week or so before treating it as if it had always existed here. Like a habit, he still practices and exercises using the Anapadeia, but the mysterious spirit has long gone silent. Unlike the ruckus during his months in the New Rule, it is far more quiet. He likes the place, of course.

After all, it reminds him a little of his home.

Just then, a fanfare of instruments blast their cheerful music, supported with the clap of what seems to be little explosives. Immediately, there is cheering outside, with the footsteps and chatter of people progressively becoming louder. Maia gobbles up her food, a resounding, satisfactory burp echoing from her throat as she gulps down the last bites of the meat. “Festival now!” she cries, “Hurry!”

Chuckling, Parha collects the tableware into a neat pile. “Follow her,” he ushers Avalel, “You don’t want to miss your first festival here. The plates can be cleaned later.”

Outside, the village is decorated with a multitude of colors, the people all streaming out from their homes, gathering around the central plaza. There, a small group of villagers operate what seems to be a complicated, custom-built machine, controlling a large variety of instruments. Dressed in pure white, they seem to reflect the light of the Elyfesta itself, shining on the people around them. As the music plays, the people begin dancing spontaneously, waving their arms and tapping their feet to the rhythm.

However, Maia, usually so energetic, stands still, to her right an empty space just enough to fit an adult. She looks at the people, so joyful with their dancing, celebrating the coming of summer. Compared to the crowd, she is like a lost child, anxiously searching for her long-gone parents. She raises her right arm, as if to hold the hand of some non-existent person. Unmoving and still, she stares at the performers, ignoring the moving, fluid body of people around her.

“Is Maia like this every year?” Avalel asks, looking from a short distance.

“Have been, ever since her Dad passed away,” Parha answers, “Every year. Eventually, she would let go, melting in and dancing with the others. Back then, I would hold her hand. One day, she told me she wanted to just stand like that. Alone. She always comes back crying.”

“Why is she so excited then?”

“It’s a rare time to be with her Dad, celebrating her birthday and the summer together.”

The loss of a parent. Avalel understands it a little. Sometimes, he just wants to be alone, reminiscing the times he had with Faresoenn. Perhaps Maia is feeling a similar way.

“You can join her if you want,” Parha says, his eyes still on Maia.

“Well…” Avalel mentions sheepishly, “I don’t know how to dance.”

“It is nice to teach you, but why not ask Maia?” Parha suggests.

They look at Maia’s arm slowly lowering, her feet slowly shuffling into the crowd. At first just tapping to the beat, she begins to move her small body, swinging, clapping to the rhythms. The gracefulness of her movements are like delicate threads woven into a fabric, the gentleness a sharp contrast to her usual personality. However, it is lacking in rigor and strength, as if she is a reluctant dancer at a show of sorts. Her nimble toes guide her steps, but there is no dust rising from the ground as she makes contact with it. She laughs, but what comes out is only a hollow noise of loneliness and longing, wishing for only the impossible.

Suddenly, she feels a light tug at her arm, reminding her of a little memory from her early childhood. She turns in expectation, but only sees the figure of Avalel, his awkward steps approaching her, stumbling through the crowd.

“Teach me,” he says, stepping into the empty space.

Her face of disappointment changes to her usual grin, amused at the silliness of Avalel. “Funny Avalel,” she comments, playfully slapping his wrist.

As the music continues to play, Maia guides Avalel through every step. Unlike his fluid motions in battle, Avalel trips as he struggles to move his legs to the music, following the natural rhythm of Maia’s dance. Like two children they play, Maia kicking Avalel’s shins lightly when he makes a misstep while Avalel groans as he tumbles over, even accidentally bumping into a fellow villager. Even directly under the Elyfesta, they feel no extreme heat, only enjoying the passionate, brisk dance as sweat drips from their necks, backs, and hair. For a while, they forget all their troubles and worries, only the complicated but spontaneous dance.

“Let dance be natural,” Maia advises, remembering her father’s words, “Don’t think. Breathe. Relax. Dance.”

Avalel puts his right foot firmly on the ground, freeing his left. In a strange move, he spins his body, much like how a drunkard dizzily walks in an empty street. However, as he quickly steadies himself, he notices the familiar pattern of his steps, the efficient but swift taps on the ground to halt his movement while simultaneously preparing to propel himself forward for a lunge. A commonly used move in melee fighting.

He swings his leg, scraping up the dust as he points a finger at Maia, as if he is holding the Anapadeia itself, poised to strike. “Relaxed enough?” he jokes, his muscles tensing, not in nervousness, but excitement.

“What?” Maia looks at Avalel’s pose in confusion before bubbling into laughter. “Silly, silly Avalel!”

Still, they continue to dance as the music begins to pick up speed and intensity, Avalel stepping back and forth, imitating the movements from battle, swinging his arms in repetition, almost pretending to wield the Anapadeia. Maia jumps and leaps around, the violent shakes from her waist preceding an abnormally high jump at certain climactic points in the music. She effortlessly “dodges” Avalel’s movements, responding with her own creative “strikes”, tapping Avalel’s outstretched arms and legs. Gradually, Avalel discovers the rhythm, syncing his own movements with the music flawlessly. It is, as he realizes, just fighting, but far more beautiful and fun.

As the day goes on, the people slowly disperse, enjoying themselves in a variety of games and food in the market as they bathe in the warming light of the Elyfesta, all while the music continues to liven up the mood and revitalize the people's energy. Compared to the festivals in Thille, it can barely be even called a large celebration, but the joy it evokes is a feeling that none can easily replicate. As Avalel and Parha follow behind, Maia rushes forward, always buying portions for four and playing each game until she has won. As she gobbles down the delicacies, Avalel stares increasingly worried at her bulging bag of goods, filled to the brim with the extra portions she has bought, as Parha stands nearby, chuckling to himself.

“For her father?” Avalel inquires, eyeing the bag.

“Of course, although she will finish them before tomorrow,” Parha answers, “It is a ‘gift to Dad’, in her words.”

Suddenly, a cloud blocks the Elyfesta from view, casting its shadow on the village. The celebrations abruptly stop as people even hover their teeth over their food, about to take a bite. Avalel looks around curiously, amused at the reaction of the people and the sudden silence that has descended on the entire village. “Huh?” is the only word that escapes his mouth.

“It is a celebration of the coming of summer,” Parha explains, “A few years ago, one of us joked that it’ll be funny if we all paused when the Elyfesta is obscured from vision, as our celebrations cannot reach it if it is hidden. Who would have known it has become a tradition nowadays?”

A streak of light cuts through the clouds, slicing it cleanly in half, revealing the Elyfesta once again. The people, feeling the sunlight on their backs, resume the celebration, their eyes focused on their activities. However, as Avalel looks up, there is a second streak, then a third, a fourth… until eight streaks of light completely split the cloud into thin slices, racing to the eastern horizon. There is no scream or even a hint of sound, but he recognizes the tail of white smoke the light leaves behind, too familiar for him to shrug off.

The shifting battlefield is near.