Autumn

Autumn paced the length of her workroom. It was the middle of the night; the rest of the household slept peacefully. But the Mists were disturbed. Distressed might be a better way to say it, and Autumn could not sleep while the Unformed churned outside her window and inside her mind. 

Should she wake Winter and ask him for advice? Should she report to the High King and wait for orders? 

Should she set out on her own and find the source of this unrest before it became a crisis?

She was a Champion now. 

Tethis wouldn’t waste time pacing and hesitating. Neither would Ayame. 

But they’d been Champions for centuries. Autumn had taken her vows within the year. She’d only faced a few minor challenges and one particularly unpleasant slime creature attacking an enclave. 

She didn’t want to mess up.

She should think things through. Be patient. Be certain she was doing the right thing.

But the Mists would not stop churning and writhing and pulling and calling and why was she waiting safe within these walls when she was needed?

“You need to go.”

Autumn whirled at the sound of the voice more familiar than her own, and saw her Guardian Spring leaning up against the door to her workroom. He yawned and ran a hand through his perpetually tousled pine green hair. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Autumn said as an apology.

He shrugged. “My charge wakes and paces, and I sleep like a babe? No. Let’s get you armored up. If I can’t come with you, I can at least see you properly protected.”

Autumn nodded and more or less hid the wince at the reminder that Spring was, for all intents and purposes, trapped. He was a being formed of the Mists and if he stepped within the Unformed he would return to the Mist, nothing but a memory. How he’d survived to bring her to the enclaves of the Willow Queen in the first place was a mystery. 

“You think I’m needed?” Autumn asked.

“The Mists don’t call you for nothing,” he said. “Winter sleeps peaceful as he ever does, and I don’t hear the Hounds of the King’s Hunt, so you’re the only one they’ve roused.” He shrugged again and crouched to draw a polished wooden chest out of a cubby in the wall. 

“Right. True. Why call me and not them?”

“You’re the one decided to become a Champion.” Spring opened the chest and drew out her armored tunic. “Here, get this on you now.”

Autumn shrugged into the fine chain-mail tunic. Spring laced the sides while she held her arms out of the way. He handed her the gauntlets and bent to wrap the greaves over her leggings. Faster than a few breaths, she was armored and ready, the shining image of a Champion. 

Spring tugged and checked every tie and lacing before helping her pin the cape to her shoulders. 

“Should I wear the cape?” she wondered out loud. “I don’t have a liege, there’s no seal or sigil to emblazon on it. It’s just… there.”

“You are your own,” Spring said, “beholden to none and the blank cloak shows it proudly.” Spring patted her shoulder. “Stop standing in your own way, Champion. Go out there and be great.”

Autumn nodded. He was right. She was standing in her own way, doubting the path she had chosen and why? Nerves? She’d faced the Ordeals, stood on the sands against all challengers and she’d earned the title of Champion. With no one to stand as her Liege, at that. Several enclave rulers had offered to sponsor her but she’d done it this way. There was no point in doubting her choice now that it was made.

“I’m ready,” she declared.

“Not yet.”

“Huh?” 

Spring held out a sheaf of parchment and a quill. “Leave Winter a note. He worries. I can tell him where you went and why, but he’ll prefer to have it from your own hand.”

“Right.” Autumn scrawled a quick note, with only, “The Mists call me,” as explanation. Winter would understand. He was, in truth, the only being alive who would understand. 

She paced through the halls of her home, her boots a silent whisper against age worn stone. Spring followed her as far as the door and stopped, as the Mists had reached all the way to the edge of the porch beyond, eager to sweep her into the Unformed. 

“I’ll keep the hearth lit for you,” Spring promised.

“I know you will. I’ll find out what’s got the Mist all stirred up and come back with a hundred new stories to tell.”

He nodded, she allowed herself one quick hug before she straightened and stepped into the Unformed.