Content Warning: Some coarse language and brief mention of corpses

“It’s been twenty years,” Astatine said as he looked down at the valley.  He and Samarian made their way to the ruins of the village that was once his home.  The remains of charred buildings were overgrown with weeds.  The grass nearly reached their knees as they walked through.  Other than the sound of the wind, it was eerily silent. 

He remembered standing at the top of a grassy hill when he was a boy, looking over the fields where his father and the other villagers cultivated the wheat that they milled into the flour that became the delicious bread that his mother baked.  He remembered the chickens running freely amongst the neighborhood, the vegetable gardens behind the cottages where they grew cabbages, onions, squash, and lentils, and the festivals the village would have every year to celebrate a successful harvest.

He stopped in front of the remnants of a cottage.  “This is…” His chest began to hurt.  “This would have been…where my family lived…”  He touched the dilapidated wood and the structure collapsed.  He clasped his hand over his mouth as his eyes began to tear up.  Falling to his knees, he trembled and dug his hands into the dirt.  His tears fell onto the grass and a pained sound escaped from his throat.

He had been five years old when the soldiers from the Western Region invaded this village and burned everything down.  He had lost his mother, father, and little sister that day.  His sister would be twenty-two now if those soldiers hadn’t come.  Maybe she’d even have a family of her own.

It still hurts so much…even after all this time…His body curled up as he sobbed.

Samarian kneeled down and put a hand on his shoulder.  Twenty years ago, she had passed by this village and pulled him from the rubble.  She had raised him and though he was now grown, at this moment he seemed like the same frightened child that she had rescued all those years ago.

***

They stood at the top of the hill as the sun sank into the horizon.

“Twenty years and it’s still deserted,” Astatine murmured.  “Another twenty years and it might still look like this.”  He sighed and turned to Samarian.  “My lady, can we go home?”

“Of course.”

***

Astatine sat with his back against the tree.  The temple was behind him and the mountainless expanse was before him.  Samarian approached.

He stood up and bowed.  “My lady…”

“Astatine…is there anything else you wish to do?”

He looked at her.  “Mm, not sure.  I’ll do whatever my lady commands me to do.”

“...”

“Is something wrong, my lady?”

“Astatine, I’ve raised you here for the last twenty years and taught you magic, but I do not wish for you to remain subservient to me for an entire lifetime.”

His eyes widened.  “My lady!  You’ve saved my life!  Twice now!  I owe you everything!”

“You should not feel so indebted to me that you give up any life of your own.”

“My lady!  It’s an honor to serve you!”

“…”

“My lady?”

“I think…you should go out and see the world…”

“My lady, I have seen the world!”

“Not just to fulfill a goal I assigned you to.  See the world for yourself.”

Chills ran down his spine.  “My lady…are you sending me away?  Did I do something wrong?  Was it because I failed my mission?”

“Not at all, you’ve always been very loyal.  I just think…you should not have your life revolve around mine.  There is a lot I need to think about…”  She paused.  “Think of it as a soul journey.”

“Soul journey?”

“A solo trek of self discovery.  Exploring the external world to learn more about the internal one.”

“My lady, that’s so…open ended…I can go see the world if you wish me to, but please give me a goal to work towards!”

She stared at him.  “Very well…”  She thought for a moment.  “There is no longer an official ruler of the Western Region since King Xenon is dead and Prince Thallios is far from home and most likely won’t return to rule.  Part of the Western Region should now be under the occupation of the Southern Region’s forces.  Travel through the Western Region and see how things are turning out.

The Fire Goddess will eventually be reborn into a new avatar, so see if you can find her.  Although it might be years before she shows up.  But since this will be a new avatar with a completely new spirit, it will be like a fresh start.  So don’t try to capture her or take any kind of revenge.  Just observe her and report back to me.”

“As you wish, my lady…”

“Since this will be a long journey, you will need money and a token for safe passage.”

“Token?”

“Yes, since there is a power vacuum in the Western Region right now, it will be somewhat chaotic.  I’ll give you a token indicating that you’re an envoy of the Earth Priestess, so that when you’re traveling through the parts occupied by the Southern Region’s forces, they’ll at least see you as an ally.  Outside of the occupied territories, I am not sure.  You will need to rely on your wits and your powers.”

She sighed.  “I feel like I’m just sending you on another dangerous mission again.  Do you still want to do this?”

“Of course, my lady!”

“If you are ever in grave danger, you can reach out to me for help.  Just send the raven.  However, I am not allowed to interfere too much.  At the end of all this, you can, of course, return to the temple.  Just try to make the most of your journey.”

He bowed.  “Yes, my lady!”

***

Astatine sat atop a horse.  He wore a flowing cloak and had a bundle of supplies strapped to his back.  His two sheathed daggers hung from his belt.  Samarian walked up to him.

“My lady, I will depart now.”  He began to tear up.  “Thank you…for everything…”

“Safe travels, Astatine…”

He wiped his eyes and set off.  Samarian watched his horse gallop into the distance until it was a dot on the horizon.  A breeze blew and her robes billowed.

I’ve never had daughters of my own, she thought.  I suppose he is the closest to being my own child…

***

In the Occupied Territories of the Western Region…

Astatine and his horse approached the charred walls of what appeared to be a medium-sized city.  Guards were stationed near the gates.  Southern Region soldiers to be specific, since Astatine recognized their tasseled helmets and armor style.

“Who goes there?” one of the guards asked sternly in Sargeshi as he approached.

Astatine took out his token - a rectangular piece of metal with intricate engravings.  A golden cord was threaded through a hole near one of the short ends.  He dangled it in front of them.

“I am an envoy of the Earth Priestess of the Southern Region,” he declared in Daksinabhasa, deepening his voice to sound more authoritative.

The guards looked at the token and each other.  They let him pass through the gates without any questions.

Astatine dismounted from his horse and walked down the street holding the reins in his hand.  There was an eerie muted feeling to the city.  Soot covered all of the surfaces.  Many of the buildings had torn facades.  There were some beggars slumped in the corners and street children in ragged clothing crying as they wandered aimlessly.  Stray dogs ran down the street.  

Mounds of straw were stacked near a nondescript building.  He walked closer out of curiosity and then froze when he saw bare discolored feet sticking out from the bottom.  Flies buzzed about.  A vile stench filled his nostrils and his eyes watered.  Grabbing the reins, he turned away and clasped his other hand over his nose and mouth as he tried not to vomit.

Corpses!  He noticed similar mounds of straw near other buildings and shuddered.  Were there so many dead that they didn’t even bother to bury them?

He held his breath and led his horse down the street until he was far from the straw mounds.  Once he could no longer see them, he removed his hand from his face and let out a deep exhale.

When I was younger, I thought I would feel great satisfaction to see the Western Region suffer the same fate that their soldiers subjected us to, he thought.  But this doesn’t feel good at all…

He saw a tavern up ahead.  Yes, I am definitely going in.

***

When Astatine walked into the tavern, he was met with the turning of many heads and the suspicious eyes of Southern Region soldiers.  They saw his dark robes and shoulder sash - garb that marked him as belonging from the same region as them - and turned back to their drinks.  He strolled up to the bar counter and took a seat.

“What can I get you, good sir?” asked the bartender in Sargeshi.

“What is your specialty?” Astatine asked.

“Our most popular drink is mead.”

“Honey wine?”  Astatine slapped some coins on the table.  “Sounds sweet.  Bring it on!”

The bartender poured mead into a small metal cup and slid it towards Astatine.  He grabbed it and took a gulp.  He raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, not bad.”

“What brings you to this humble tavern?”

“Just passing by.”

“Whereabouts are you from?”

“Southern Region.”

“Ah…you’re part of the occupation…”

There was an uproar from the other side of the tavern.

“I’m not like that rowdy bunch though,” Astatine insisted.

“Ah, yes…they’re here everyday…” the bartender replied.

There was a crash as some of the soldiers stood up and started punching and shoving each other.  Tables were overturned and chairs started flying.  The bartender sighed.

One of the soldiers was shoved against the counter next to Astatine.  Another soldier, red-faced and smelling strongly of liquor, threw a punch at him.  Right before his fist connected with the first soldier’s face, Astatine grabbed the drunken soldier’s wrist with one of his hands while his other hand held the cup of mead up to his mouth.  He calmly continued enjoying his drink.

“What the hell?” the red-faced soldier spat.

Astatine slammed the empty metal cup on the counter and turned around to glare at the brawling soldiers.  His irises glowed briefly and he flicked his free hand.  The soldiers suddenly dropped to the floor, as if being held down by an invisible force.

“Enough!” he shouted.  “You’re all embarrassing yourselves and giving the Southern Region a bad name!”

The bartender’s eyes widened and he slowly turned to Astatine.  “What did you do?”

“Just a mild suppression spell,” Astatine replied.

“Spell?  W-what are you?”

Astatine smirked.  “Just a low-level mage.”  He released the soldier’s wrist and let him collapse to the floor.  Then he fished more coins out of his robes and placed them on the counter.  “How about another round?”

***

Astatine downed his final cup of mead.  His cheeks were starting to flush.  “So…where can a traveler find lodgings for the night?”

“There are some inns at the center of the city,” the bartender replied.

“Thank you kindly.”  He put some more coins on the table.  “To cover some of the damages done by that rowdy lot.”

The soldiers were still under the suppression spell and were sprawled on the floor, completely motionless.  Astatine headed towards the tavern doors.  As he stepped over the threshold, he snapped his fingers to release the spell.  There was a collective sigh and the soldiers started moving again.

Astatine headed towards the center of the city, walking alongside his horse while holding the reins. As he passed by more burned-out buildings, he heard the faint melodies of a stringed instrument.  He turned and saw a street musician sitting cross-legged while playing a lute on a street corner.

The musician was a man who appeared to be in his early twenties.  He had long silver hair tied loosely in the back and bluish-gray eyes.  He was dressed in a worn grayish tunic that had a wide upturned collar, dark trousers, and boots that looked like they were falling apart.  There was a begging bowl next to him.

Huh, Astatine thought as he glanced at the musician’s delicate features.  His face reminds me of little prince’s…

He walked towards the musician, pausing when he was about ten feet away.  The musician continued playing the lute, seemingly oblivious to everything around him.  After he finished his song, Astatine walked up to him.  The musician looked up.  Astatine dropped a few coins in his begging bowl.

“Thank you, kind sir,” the musician said in heavily accented Sargeshi.

Astatine smiled.  “You’re welcome.”

***

Astatine kept walking until he found an inn. After a few words with the innkeeper and the clanking of coins on the counter, he was handed a key and told to go upstairs.

Inside his room, he plopped onto the bed.  The mattress was worn and the sheets were a bit scratchy, but he was too tired to care.  As he stared at the ceiling, an image of the musician flashed in his mind.

I wonder if he has somewhere to go for the night, he thought.  Will he be sleeping on the streets?  Does he have anything to eat?

His eyes widened and he sat up abruptly.  Oh, what the hell am I doing, thinking so much about a stranger?

He settled back down on the bed and pulled a blanket over himself.  I’ll check tomorrow.  I’ll give him more money if I see him again.