Year 205 A.F.W.
On the Empty Fields, which to this day remains a no man's land, stood an army of humans, looking deep into the eyes of the demons which readied their sharp nails, grew their twisted horns and screamed in a fit of anger, as well as valour.
It was one of the last months of the Second Errarion War, yet no one knew how detrimental those few would be, and no one predicted that things would happen so suddenly and without warning.
Paladians of Osmania, as well as Tributals from Exeter, attacked. The Demonears ran in the front, killing the deadliest of demons with a few slices of their sharp weapons, while the other brave men willingly dived headfirst into the action. After all, only another demon can kill a demon, and if they don't do it themselves, humans will always find a way to overcome threats.
The sky turned red that night, and after a few hours, it seemed as if humanity was once again, losing. There were too many, they were too strong.
So they held onto something else.
The duke of Osmania, Norbert Kris fell to the ground, tightly gripping his sword. A demon stood before him, with massive shoulders, rocky fists and eyes which shone yellow. He grounded his teeth, finding the courage to stand up for a moment more.
He put his other hand in the front and started running towards the demon. He sliced through its abdomen, sliding down, and it screamed out in pain.
Norbert closed one eye, and the creature turned around, smashing the ground, sending a shockwave which tripped him, launching him forward onto the rocky terrain of the faraway Mount Aria.
He yelled out, pressuring his stomach, as it bled profusely. He crawled forwards, his eyes, widened with fear.
Then, someone flew out from behind a burning hill and sliced through the demon's stomach. A boomerang flew back to their hand, as they gazed at Norbert.
Their eyes twitched, as they also fell to the ground.
"O-Oliver," Norbert muttered before he walked forwards, with one leg heavier than the other.
"Huu..." Oliver breathed out, as he sat against a dark rock. Norbert did the same. "You know you can't kill a demon, duke." he smiled. "Leave that stuff to people like us."
"I'm just... trying to..." Norbert's entire body twitched a bit. "...fight."
"We won't win this battle, but you'll win... the war." he put his hand on Norbert's stomach, as the blood that stained a gaping hole in his armour slowly evaporated, returning to the duke's body.
"What are you doing, Oliver? Heal yourself!" Norbert held his palm. "Don't waste that Demonear magic on someone like me!" he raised his voice.
"Waste? What the hell are you talking about, Norbert?" Oliver then coughed, as his body moved down, sliding against the sharp rock.
Fires could be seen, and vigorous yells of people and terrifying screams of demons were heard. The grass which once used to be green and even yellow in the autumn turned to either nothingness or a very bleak red. It wasn't the same colour which would remind Paladians of their refuge. Leaves turned into the same tint and flew away as they'd pick on the apples blooming from the trees. Now, that was nothing but a sad reminder of how things once used to be.
"You're amazing, after all... why would they pick you to be the duke..?" he turned his blue eye to the duke's black, falling locks. Norbert gulped.
"Heritage... I've been weak my entire life... I couldn't be as amazing as you are."
"In that blood, runs hope." Oliver closed one eye. "Hope for a better tomorrow without those... demons... those filthy creatures. Hope for a time when Errarion can become a peaceful land once more." he breathed in through his teeth. "In order to win, you need to be alive. Paladians will live in a shadow of desperation... without someone's right hand to show them the path. Without you, Osmania will fall..."
"Tsk." The duke covered his face, breathing out. "What am I supposed to do then? I can't pick up your Guardian Demon. I can't kill them."
"Run," Oliver said, closing both of his eyes.
"Run..?"
"Far from here. Through the passages of the Whiteburn Mountains, and into the caves of Cirim. If you find your way through the quiet darkness, you'll see it." Oliver smiled a bit. "A purple land of hope, where the night sky turns into beautiful colours you could stare at for hours if they didn't hurt you in the eyes... a land where snow feels like warmth. Not one you'd find near a fireplace, but something that would remind one of home."
"Shimori..?" the duke asked. "You're from Shimori?"
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. In me, runs Morian blood. It's not fighting against my Tributal will, more like... dancing in harmony, edging to return. I can't see Shimori anymore, but maybe... you will." Oliver squeezed Norbert's palm tightly. "So, don't let that hope die, Norbert. You'll stand your ground, and defeat that damned Shi Hon. For now... run. As far as your legs carry you. Keep running till you're out of breath. Don't stop until you see it. My home..." he breathed his last breath, with a reassuring smile and Norbert moved back, before standing up. He took one final glance at his friend. He noticed his blonde hair, carried by the light wind coming from the north. He turned to the Whiteburn Mountains, and just as Oliver said...
...he started running.
He didn't have time to worry about demons, or the people yelling out for help. It seemed as if there was something forcing him to move his legs, he didn't need a horse to ride on either. Despite his wounds, despite the woes of the past, he kept running.
For moments, he spotted the people of Hakh-Nivena, defending their houses that were etched into the orange mountains extending before his eyes. He stepped on dark green grass and bounced off the watery puddles that naturally formed themselves around the watery region of Malikan. He looked up, seeing the snowy tops of the mountains, reaching almost into the sky.
He breathed out, putting his hand on the rocky wall of the entrance to the passage. He looked down the river which extended itself towards Exeter, which was now burning in a purple fire. It was so far away but could be seen so clearly in the depths of the night.
He ground his teeth and ventured into the dim caves, which were occasionally lit up with either dark blue crystals or with ores that shone brighter than the sun. He moved past a puddle of water, clearly reflecting his scarred face.
He made it down into the holes of Cirim, running through its tight corridors, squeezing through the narrow entrances and seldom falling onto the beige ground below. The rocks started changing colour over time. From a deep, dark grey. to a more subtle brown, maybe even red at times.
He climbed back out towards the surface, seeing natural light shining in through the gaps in the walls around him, and with a few final steps, he made it out.
He extended his arm, and the falling snow graced his hairy, thick fingers. Norbert breathed in, feeling the cold air spreading around his body. He gazed at the many trees, covered in the same material which lay on the ground.
Pines, Conifers, Firs, Junipers, Cedars and Larch, all against a hilly backdrop.
In his blurry vision, he saw a yellow light shining in the distance. His body, however, lacked the energy to keep him standing. He lost balance, and he fell onto the white fluff.
The duke woke up in a cotton bed, under silky smooth and thick sheets, coated in clothes he didn't recognize. A subtly white button-up and long brown pants, which were tied with a delicate rope. He put his bare feet onto the woody patterns on the floor and walked towards the square, red door. As he turned its long doorknob around, it opened, revealing things he hasn't seen in his life beforehand.
People walked around what looked like a small village, but it was actually a town, far away from the Whiteburn Mountains. It stood near the Aria river. The houses were either made out of a dark brown wood of the massive Junipers that stood all around the place or were literal parts of the trees, all with the same colourful doors, in different shapes depending on the place they lived in. Chimneys pumped out some smoke, and Norbert stepped onto the snow, finally feeling the cold around him.
Some people stared at him, while others minded their business. Some drank from big wooden cups, some prayed, some brushed through the hair of the various animals in nearby pens, some were eating and standing near the well, some chatted and some were playing in the snow or tending to the trees.
A man with short white hair and a white cloak picked something up from the ground and removed the snow which surrounded it. "It looks like you finally woke up, duke," he spoke, in a rather strange accent, but still in the common tongue of Manjuno. He beamed. "Metho seed? They may not look like it, but they're quite salty, and nutritious as well."
"Where... am I?" Norbert asked, holding the seed that the man put in his palm.
"This is a town called Mistwick, in the country of Shimori. During a rather cold night, I found your body in the snow, fainted, dying. I was about to join the battle myself, but I couldn't bear this sight." he shook his head.
"Is the war... over?" Norbert continued, gulping, and the man shook his head. "How much time has passed?"
"It's only been a few days," he replied.
Norbert ground his teeth, and moved back, sitting on the bed. "I don't u-understand. Why did help me? You should've gone back there and..." his eyes shrunk, as he was about to signal something with his hands, but quickly gave up, hiding them in his pockets.
"I'm not a person which leaves others in need. Nor do Morians, if you're so curious. We can't just turn a blind eye to someone asking for help. Even if the world may see us as strange." the man spoke, sitting next to Norbert, who closed his eyes.
"This... all of this. How long has this existed?" Norbert moved his hands around.
"Ever since the end of the first war. That's when Shimori came to be."
People of Osmania, and especially royalty always considered the snowy country as something otherworldly. After the first war, some Erans and Tributals fled from Asmaroth, and passed through Mount Aria, finding themselves in an unknown land which has never been touched by a human and was never even marked on the few maps which existed back then, drawn by the Paladian allies of the royalty, specifically Niko and Camilia Baron.
Obviously, with time passing, news spread, and over the next two hundred years, civilizations were built, and the offspring of the people became Morians and those who remained in the caves, Mirilians. Morians never really got involved with Errarion's problems, needs or wants. They rejected trade routes and lived calm, unregistered lives in the snowy mountains, forests and lakes, which bloomed purple in Herbes.
Besides, Paladians were more focused on Morta, which at the time, was nothing but great opportunities.
As the duke's wounds all healed up, he left the town of Mistwick with a good impression of the people which once used to be ignored and skipped over. He rode on a white horse and returned to the country of Lignoria.
Within the next month, the war ended, and the duke was up to so many things at that time. However, he prioritised something else. With his vow, Shimori became a part of Mainland Errarion, and its towns were roughly sketched onto the maps, right next to a question mark, looming above Morta.
Morians, which once used to be nothing but rumours, and speculations, became a key part of restoring this world's hope. The duke even called them the northern race of kindness and spoke only great things about their peaceful existence. Shimori became more open to the world and was well-known and respected.
Even now, although the world cares for Morians, it seems that time froze in certain places of the world, and it didn't look as if things were about to change.
However, there will come a time, when fate's words will come into play, and shape a certain future.
Year 475 A.F.W. Mistwick, Shimori.
The snow stopped hailing an hour ago, and the sun shines clearly on a cloudless sky.
"Alright... alright... alright..." a boy repeated to himself, scribbling something on a beige piece of paper. He sat against one of the houses that were built into the thick-wooded trees. He smiled, moving the sheet around.
"Yes... yes..." he muttered, as a bluebird flew by him and sat on one of the tree branches. He looked up, with his mouth open in shock, and then turned back towards the item he held. "Yes! YES! WOOHOO!" he yelled out, in happiness, as one of the Morians who sat inside the hut banged on the window, yelling for him to be quiet.
In the midst of awe and amazement, the boy began a stroll through Mistwick, yelling out in pure joy. He accidentally bumped into a man who carried a barrel of food on his back, almost causing him to trip and fall. He passed a bigger house, as some of the people shut their windows and some spilt their Glaska (a mix of tea and cocoa) drinks as the reckless one passed through.
Some people smiled at his reactions, and some were clearly annoyed, but he didn't cause any harm. He jumped frivolously through a main street, as others walked into their houses or sighed.
"The rewards of the soil of the last Dear..." another boy sat on the snow, and slowly inched closer to a red, blooming flower, that stood in the middle of the white puff. He ground his teeth, fixing his glasses and holding onto what resembled a journal. "Eureka! I was right. This is one of the only flowers that peaks in Yule..." he stood up, clenching his fist and smiling. "Ph! Another win for..."
"YEEEAHHH!" The other boy suddenly ran into him, causing the two to collapse on the ground. The one in the glasses coughed, as he looked back to the flower, which they barely missed.
"Jyuzou!" The one with the paper yelled out.
"Morio!" Jyuzou raised his voice, crawling away and sitting on the ground, crossing his arms. "You could've killed that flower! Its life! Its purpose!"
"Mh!!" Morio stood up, scratching the top of his head. "Sorry, sorry!"
"I don't think you understand Shimori's natural treasure... Callothia flowers, beautiful red crowns that grow even in the coldest of nights..!" he closed his eyes, signalling with his fingers.
"Yeah! Yeah!" Morio started running again, as he waved with the paper he held onto.
Jyuzou breathed out loudly. He opened another book, marking something with a piece of charcoal, that was wrapped in cloth.
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