Although Ceraviehl is still called a kingdom, this description is quite misleading. The role of leading the so-called kingdom in truth falls to the Council, whose representatives elect a new spokesperson every five years. This spokesperson is often mistaken for a king or queen but holds almost no political power by itself.

The Council consists of different representatives, commonly referred to as “heads”. The head of crafters, for example, is chosen by the various crafting unions, which every crafter and artisan may be part of.

Having existed for almost a millennium, this system has proven its efficacy time and time again. Be it during the invasion of the barbarians in the year 534 a.f., or the war with the Drakh in 723 a.f., the Council and its spokesperson have preserved the peace and prosperity in our nation.

Excerpt from The political system of Ceraviehl by Thea Baros

Hannah’s sacrifice once more occupied Silas’ dreams. The barbarian’s axes seemingly stopped in midair before descending and taking her life. However, every time his sleep got disturbed Gnarly seemed intent on pulling him out of it, reminding Silas of its presence.

He knew Gnarly would not be able to protect him in a situation of real danger. Nonetheless, Silas felt comforted by its efforts.

Silas continued to sleep as the sun began its climb towards the sky, his body and mind needing the time to recuperate. Unfortunately for him, Gnarly didn’t need that much time to rest.

It soon began to assault Silas with a rush of new impressions, its curiosity overwhelming Silas’ mind and eventually waking him up. Blinking blearily he began to take in his surroundings.

Silas lay in a bed of furs and leather, sprawled on his back. His legs were covered in various bandages. Gnarly stood a few inches to his left, jumping up and down the bed with contagious enthusiasm. Waving around with its vine-like arms it gestured all around, fascinated by the unfamiliar sights.

The cabin Silas found himself in was quite small, with the bed being the biggest piece of furniture. To his left was a small stove, an old pot laying beside it. A small shelf with a dozen or so books was placed in front of him. A small table with quill and ink stood in the far-right corner, a leather-bound book completing the picture.

Feeling a bit confused, Silas thought back on the previous day. The last thing he remembered before spotting the old man by the fire was a sense of pride coming from Gnarly, which confused him.

He had wanted to get back to the road, so why had Gnarly led him here instead?

His legs hurt as he swung them over the bed. Silas slipped into his half-torn shoes that were conveniently placed in front of the bed. Gnarly meanwhile climbed up his arm, taking up its usual position on Silas’ right shoulder.

Unsteadily walking towards the wooden door of the cabin Silas took notice of a weapon-rack between the fireplace and the door. It held a bow along with a set of knives Silas was able to identify as hunting equipment. He briefly considered taking one of them, but Silas opted to just open the door.

If the stranger wanted to hurt him, he would not have bandaged him up in the first place.

Bright sunlight greeted him. Silas had to shield his eyes to the sudden change as he stumbled out of the door. There was a small incline after the door, so Silas had to grip the wooden frame to avoid falling.

“I would advise you to look where you’re going because I won’t carry you a second time,” a gruff voice greeted him.

Choosing to head the stranger’s advice Silas kept holding onto the doorframe, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. His vision became clearer after a few seconds, and Silas managed to lay eyes on the origin of the voice.

It was the same green-robed man from yesterday.

He sat by the campfire, slurping something out of a wooden boil while he looked at Silas, his expression blank. The two stared at each other for a couple of seconds, neither one doing so much as blinking.

Silas’ hand kept gripping the wooden frame while the awkward silence continued, and he strained to keep his legs from wobbling. He did not want to show any weakness in front of this odd stranger, even if he had bandaged Silas’ wounds.

Who would want to live alone in the middle of some forest, with Bryme a day’s journey away? Silas thought to himself.

Not enduring the silence any longer, Silas chose to break the uncomfortable tension.

“Hello?” he began.

“You should eat something,” the stranger responded in way of greeting and gestured to the bowl sitting in front of him.

A growl coming from his stomach reminded Silas of his hunger. Trying not to fall, Silas stumbled towards the small fire. There was a stool on the opposite side of it, so Silas quickly seated himself. He eagerly took the wooden bowl, filled with what appeared to be porridge.

The green-robed man sat in front of him, still slurping his bowl of porridge.

“Thank you for bandaging my wounds and carrying me into your cottage,” Silas said before beginning to eat the hot gruel.

It was nothing special, but Silas ate it as fast as he possibly could. He was so starved he almost forgot to use the spoon. Fortunately, the stranger didn’t seem to be bothered by Silas’ lack of etiquette.

Looking up at him, the stranger nodded in response without saying anything. Silas found his gaze a bit unnerving. While the stranger didn’t exactly stare, he seemed to look right through him, his face unreadable.

Silas somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from the stranger’s face. The events from last night were still a bit fuzzy, so Silas once more introduced himself to dispel the awkward silence.

“My name is Silas, by the way,” he told the stranger.

“So you told me yesterday already,” the stranger responded, still looking at Silas calmly.

“Mine is Tom, in case you have forgotten,” he replied.

The confusion was obvious on Silas’ face. Tom was hardly a common name, especially around these parts.

“It’s short for Tometheor,” he added, noticing Silas’ doubt. “But call me Tom.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom,” Silas began. "I only found you and your cottage because I smelled the smoke, but I was trying to get back to the road,” Silas explained.

Tom only grunting in response, shoving another spoon of gruel into his mouth.

“So what have you been running from? Few people walk through these woods with little more than scraps, their body half-covered by thorns,” Tom remarked.

“I was traveling with my family on the road to Bryme. We were attacked by Bar…” was all Silas managed to say before his throat started to constrict, tears welling up in his eyes.

He again remembered how he sat uselessly on the ground while his mother sacrificed herself for him. The familiar feelings of guilt and loss rose up from within him.

Silas struggled to breathe.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Tom said with a surprising amount of emotion in his voice. For the first time, Silas detected a change in the man’s facial expression. He seemed genuinely concerned as he looked at Silas.

Taking a spoon to gulp down his feelings, Silas took an unsteady breath.

“They were both killed by a group of barbarians. My parents died trying to fend them off, while I couldn’t even stand up. I just sat around, too afraid to do anything,” Silas told him painfully.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now. The barbarians can’t find you here,” Tom said with certainty.

While he appeared to believe Silas, he also didn’t look overly surprised that barbarians had somehow entered Ceraviehl.

“But you can’t blame yourself for their deaths,” Tom continued. “There was absolutely nothing you could’ve done.”

To Silas however, these were just empty words. The blame had ingrained itself deep into his being, and no amount of words could hope to change that.

Noticing how Silas didn’t listen to him anymore, Tom tried to divert the boy’s thoughts.

“Help yourself to another bowl of porridge if you want. I can’t imagine your hunger to be sated, seeing how you gulped the first one down,” he said, gesturing to the pot hanging above the small fire.

Silas filled the wooden bowl in his hands, nodding absently. Silence reigned for a moment, Silas too occupied with his thoughts and Tom considering what to say. Gnarly had stayed silent during the whole conversation.

It sat on Silas’ shoulder in a carefree manner, legs dangling off to the side.

It seemed content to study Tom while they talked, who now returned its gaze. Both stared at each other for a moment. The old man suddenly appeared to come to a conclusion, starting to mumble to himself incoherently.

“You earlier mentioned you wanted to get back to the road, so I guess you have family in Bryme?” Tom asked Silas after seeing his vacant stare.

“No, I want to go to Bryme because I want to join the Guild of Mages. My parents were traveling merchants, so I don’t have any real family left,” Silas explained bitterly.

Tom shook his head slightly, frowning as he did so.

“The Guild of Mages may not be what you seek. Especially not with that little friend of yours,” he said, gesturing towards Silas’ shoulder where Gnarly sat and watched the conversation with curiosity.

“What has Gnarly to do with anything of this?” Silas asked with confusion.

Tom’s expression was one of utter disbelief. “You seriously named your spriggan Gnarly? That has to be one the worst names I have ever heard,” he stated. “And trust me, I have heard a lot.”

“It seems to like the name, so what’s the problem?” Silas said defensively.

Closing his eyes and putting two fingers on the bridge of his nose, Tom took a deep breath before reverting to his usual calm self.

“What I mean to say is that a spriggan is a very, very rare companion,” Tom explained patiently. “The Mages of the Guild tend to be a bit… proud of their affiliation. They will likely either force you to cut the bond with Gnarly so they can bond with it themselves, or try to analyze its origin,” he clarified.

Silas’ eyes widened. He hadn’t considered the Guild would do something like that. But he didn’t know anything about his new companion either. Neither had he heard of anything like it before, not even in his father's stories.

“How did you even get yours? Judging by its size, you must have bonded with it quite recently,” Tom remarked.

Suddenly very protective of Gnarly, Silas eyed the old man in front of him with suspicion. Then again, if Tom wanted to take Gnarly away from him he probably wouldn’t have told him how rare it is in the first place. Also Gnarly didn’t seem to think of Tom as dangerous, and Silas trusted its instincts.

“I don’t really know to be honest. The night before I slept inside of a very large tree not far from here. Gnarly just stood in front of me when I woke up. I think I bonded with him while I was sleeping,” Silas told the old man a bit reluctantly.

Noticing it was being mentioned Gnarly immediately tried to make itself known. It creaked a few times at nothing in particular, puffing its wooden chest out as it did so.

“You don’t mean that big tree with the arm-thick roots all around it, do you? The one so tall you could use one of its leaves for a hat?” Tom inquired, glancing at Gnarly.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s the tree I found Gnarly in,” Silas responded, slightly confused by Tom’s odd comparison.

The old man only looked at Silas for several long seconds. Suddenly the muscle beside his right eye started to spasm uncontrollably, while the rest of his face remained completely calm.

Tom closed his eyes, putting two fingers on his nasal bone. He then took a very deep breath, mumbling to himself incomprehensibly.

“For decades I tried getting it to talk with me, and now this little brat comes along and…” the rest was lost in his beard, and Tom had to take several more deep breaths before he raised his head to look at Silas.

“I don’t know how you managed to bond with one, but the spriggan most likely comes from the tree you slept in,” Tom elaborated. “For reasons I can not fathom it decided to gift you one, so treat it with care. You see, spriggans very rarely reproduce naturally. They are mostly born, or to be more specific, made from ancient trees like the one sitting on your shoulder right now.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Silas fondly looked at his new friend. It seemed so innocent, with its huge, almost marble-like eyes and its unbridled enthusiasm.

“Don’t worry, I will take good care of it. By the way, do they need water and sunlight like other plants do?” he inquired.

“First of all, a spriggan is not a plant, but a living being. Secondly, almost every living being needs water and sunlight to survive. Therefore the answer to your question is yes, they do indeed need both of these things,” Tom told Silas with a deadpan expression.

“I was just asking since it ate a few berries yesterday,” Silas grumbled, taking another spoon of porridge.

Cocking an eyebrow, Tom asked “A few berries you say? How did it even eat them, as little as it is?”

Feeling bold, Silas decided to give Tom a taste of his own medicine. He laid down his spoon, looking directly into Tom’s eyes.

“With its mouth,” he replied, enunciating each word clearly.

Tom didn’t say anything in response, but the muscle beside his eye started twitching again.

The two stared at each other for a tense moment, neither saying a word before Gnarly broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Creak creak!” it vocalized happily.

Silas found Tom’s stare a bit unsettling, so he was quite relieved by the sudden interruption. By now Silas had finished his second bowl, putting it on the ground next to him.

“Thank you for the food and saving me, but I have to tell you that I can’t pay you back,” Silas began. “I don’t have any valuables on me, and I can’t go back to where my pare…”

“It’s alright,” Tom interrupted him, the earlier tension having been dispelled by Gnarly.“You can stay here and recuperate for a few days. After you feel better you can do a few chores and we’ll call it even,” Tom reassured Silas with a wave of his hand.

“That would be nice. I will help you as soon as I can,” Silas promised.

“Great, my garden always has weeds that need to be plucked out,” Tom said.

“You have a garden?” Silas asked Tom disbelievingly.

While growing a few vegetables in one’s backyard was a common practice, the gruff and stoic man didn’t strike Silas as the kind of person to be into gardening.

“Yes. I planted a few vegetables behind my cottage. They grow quite large under my care if I might add,” Tom told Silas, straightening his spine.

“Ahh,” replied Silas, blankly looking at the old man in front of him.

Not noticing Silas’ lack of enthusiasm for his gardening, Tom started to list all the various vegetables he had planted behind his cottage.

“I even have three different kinds of carrots, and tomatoes so sweet they taste like candy,” he informed Silas, his talking speed increasing the more words came out of his mouth.

Apart from his various vegetables he occasionally rambled about the rabbits, which he hated with a passion.

Silas however had already zoned out, staring at the stranger incomprehensibly. Mistaking his disbelieving stare for fascination, Tom proceeded to educate Silas. This time, it was on how to best keep the rabbits at bay.

“You won’t believe how deep I had to dig the fence to keep those little monsters at bay! It’s almost three feet deep now, and they still managed to get through somehow!” Tom exclaimed, wildly gesturing with his arms.

Meanwhile, Silas was so shocked he didn’t know what to say. The man seemed like a completely different person to him. Where before he had the image of calmness, he now radiated enthusiasm like a child that had just gotten its first toy.

Not wanting to be rude to his new host Silas kept on listening, still perplexed by the abrupt change in Tom’s personality.

“I even went so far as to put rabbit bones and skulls all around the fence to deter them, but guess what? They simply hopple over their own dead! Implacable, savage little creatures,” Tom rambled on.

That shook Silas out of his thoughts. Just how crazy was this stranger? Putting skulls and bones around one’s garden to stop rabbits? Silas didn’t even want to know what else he had tried before resorting to such… unorthodox methods.

His earlier befuddlement at the old man’s antics quickly turned into discomfort. He knew there was something off about this old man when he first saw him yesterday. Searching for a way to excuse himself, Silas spoke up again.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if I rest for a bit? I still feel a bit off,” he said, trying to look dizzier than he felt.

“Oh,” replied Tom, momentarily stopping his tirade about rabbits. Strangely enough, his stoic expression returned the second the topic had changed.

“Of course, rest as long as you want. There is a canteen next to the bed. I’ll be out hunting, so don’t worry if I’m not there when you wake up,” he explained to Silas.

Not needing to ask him what he intended to hunt, Silas thanked the stranger again before heading towards the cabin.

‘I definitely need to get away from here as soon as possible. Odd does not even begin to describe that fellow,’ Silas thought to himself.