As the milkbirds began to chirp the morning bright, Dmitri slowly awoke on a bed of filthy rags. Over the years of sleeping on the streets, it became easier to reject the pull of slumber, for a Howlissian morning always sought the loudest of birds. He brushed off the leaves that fell overnight on his rags. For a moment, he found himself staring at nothingness as he leaned against the wall. Ever since he moved to the streets, Dmitri always found himself in a dumbfounded state by morning, feeling a silent burden that he could not put into words no matter how much he tried or who asked him about it.
In an attempt to cheer himself up, he promised himself that he would run to the Morleanne’s Lake every morning to watch the sunrise. He saw the lake as a canvas for the sun as the lake reached to the farthest of Howlissia. The colors that the lake would reflect never failed to fascinate his wonder.
Hurrying, he began to fold his rags, noticing how worn-out the fabric was. He never thought of stealing rags and other things, choosing to get things only when they had been disposed. With the rags folded, he shoved it into his sack and stood up to brush the dirt away from his rusty clothes. By morning, a flying vessel, which Howlissians call a realm-roamer, would pass by the pavement on which he slept. Realm-roamers would travel around the country in minutes through the ghinna genapos, which allowed Howlissian helmsmen to manipulate the winds. Hearing a faint yet growing harp song from beyond, Dmitri prepared and walked out of the pavement, waiting for the vessel.
From afar, Dmitri saw a long trail of white smoke enlarging, recognizing the realm-roamer. It glimmered silver and produced a harp’s song as it flew its way towards the pavement. Wave-winds seemed to encircle the vessel’s form as it flew closer. Seeing that the realm-roamer was almost close, Dmitri took a step behind and raised his hands to call the vessel’s helmsman.
“Over here!” He shouted as polite as he can be. The smoke trail soon vanished as the vessel slowed down. The vessel’s silver gate opened, and three-step stairs unfolded from within.
“Let me guess,” The helmsman smirked and turned to Dmitri. “To Morleanne’s Lake?”
“Yes!” Dmitri giggled to himself. The helmsman knew Dmitri well, from the first place Dmitri always planned to go each morning to his easily-amused demeanor. Dmitri first met the helmsman in his first morning as a vagabond. Over three years ago. He would always ask the helmsman to bring him to Morleanne’s Lake each morning, and so the helmsman knew Dmitri would frequent there over time.
Sadly, he was the only Howlissian aboard the vessel ever to strike a conversation with the helmsman.
“How’s your day, Quinn?” Dmitri asked the helmsman, patting him lightly on the shoulder.
“Quite disastrous, actually. Almost crashed the realm-roamer into a small celebration party of the incoming Harmon. I should really make some time to practice this gift I received from the Harmon three years ago. I haven’t had the opportunity to find myself a ghinna seminary.”
“It’s called a genapos, Quinn.” Dmitri corrected Quinn in blitheness. “And people are already celebrating the Harmon? We still have a few days before it even begins. They’re acting like it’s already happened.”
“Yes, it’s going to happen in a few days, but some people just can’t contain their excitement. Plus, some receive their Harmon signs quite early so I really can’t blame them.” Quinn lifted his hands, controlling the wind that had directed the path of the realm-roamer. They were travelling at an immense speed, passing through the numerous tribes that constituted the melting pot of Howlissia.
At their seventh turn, Quinn saw raised hands by the street they were currently passing by, and so, he slowly lowered the vessel. The realm-roamer alighted, a quiet breeze blowing from the vessel.
“About the party… which tribe?” Dmitri asked Quinn as a line of passengers began to enter the realm-roamer. He finally took a seat by Quinn, who was standing to better direct the vessel and oversee its path.
“Matronalis.”
“Now I remember.” Dmitri grunted in subtle annoyance. “They’re always the noisy ones. Even after the first Harmon of the year had commenced, they still celebrated every night till the next month. Are they much worse during the second Harmon?”
“You bet they are! Meals were everywhere! On the floor, on the walls. Seemed more like a maelstrom than a party to me. If I had crashed the roamer, it would have been much messier than that.” Quinn sighed and turned around to face the new passengers. “Where to?”
Boreale’s Brew. The Arvensis Collection. The Sewshop. Flamingpot’s. The passengers uttered to Quinn, albeit in a very condescending tone. Both friends continued to talk despite the blaring howl of the winds that carried the vessel.
Seeing the Klaineana Fortress from afar, Dmitri realized they were close and checked his sack to make sure all his things were with him. Snow-white clouds secluded the fortress in absoluteness and the torches placed in front of the fortress were still lit; it was too early for everyone, but Dmitri saw it as an opportunity to watch the sunrise all by himself. He learned that it was not enjoyable when other people visited the lake with him. Most would just burst into loud conversations, while others would shroud themselves in flirtatious whispers.
Quinn finally lowered his hand, the vessel following his hand’s motion. “We’re here. Have a nice day, Dmitri.”
“Thank you, Quinn!” Dmitri exclaimed and stepped out of the vessel. Turning around, he saw the gleaming fortress, its torches seemingly unbothered by the strong winds that the realm-roamer left when it glided away. Dmitri exhaled. The fortress was grounded on a wide yellow meadow, which welcomed the waters of the sea through the Morleanne’s Lake. After a long walk to the gates of the fortress, Dmitri stopped and knocked on the fortress’ round boulder gates.
“Here for Morleanne’s Lake?” A guard asked.
“Yes, sir.” Dmitri answered. The boulders began to roll aside, revealing the guard who had moved the boulders through his genapos. Dmitri entered the fortress, feeling a cold breeze circle his neck. The walk to the Morleanne’s Lake was very short, but the breeze that would enter the path to it created a surreal, unending walk for the rising cold would usually scare Howlissians out.
After all, the lake was morphed and named after the iron and clever Morleanne, who was feared and known for defeating the fiery Vikktor with the cold in the battle of Scadillion.
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