Days bled into each other under the emerald canopy of Shantotto's hidden grove. The initial shock of being summoned, ripped from my own world and dumped into this fantastical realm, had dulled to a simmering unease. Shantotto, ever the enigmatic whirlwind, rarely acknowledged the colossal error of her summoning. Instead, she focused on my survival, barking orders on edible berries and the finer points of fashioning crude spears from fallen branches.
Adachi thought to himself:
I appreciated her pragmatism. Starving myself to death wouldn't solve anything, even if my stomach churned with a different kind of hunger – the hunger for answers. Why me? Why, out of all the potential warriors, did I end up as her unexpected, and quite frankly, underwhelming, party favor?
The question ate at me like a silent dog gnawing at the corner of my mind. Every time I opened my mouth to ask, her gaze would flit away, a flicker of something akin to shame dancing in her fiery eyes. So, I kept my questions cloaked in observations, hoping to glean clues from her actions rather than confront her directly.
She wasn't a bad teacher, I'll give her that. My days were a blur of foraging lessons, grueling spear practice (my coordination left much to be desired), and whispered explanations of Eorzea's complex magic system. Shantotto possessed a surprisingly vast knowledge of her world, from the history of feuding city-states to the intricate workings of aetherial currents. Her lectures, punctuated by explosions of smoke and the occasional misplaced fireball, were anything but dull.
Yet, in the evenings, when the forest hushed and embers from her conjured bonfire cast flickering shadows on her face, a different side emerged. A wistfulness would settle in her eyes, a crack in the usually vibrant facade. Sometimes, she'd mutter fragments of ancient poems, their archaic tongues echoing long-lost civilizations. Those were the moments I understood her silence, the weight of her mistake a knot in her gut mirrored in the lines around her eyes.
One starlit night, as the scent of roasted berries filled the air, I finally broke the unspoken pact. "You know," I said, carefully avoiding her gaze, "that summon spell… it wasn't exactly a success."
She scoffed, a puff of smoke swirling around her head. "Oh, don't remind me. I was aiming for a fearsome harbinger of oblivion, not a lost schoolboy with the constitution of a chocobo chick."
Her jesting tone couldn't mask the truth. This whole situation weighed on her, as heavy as the ancient grimoire strapped to her back. I took a deep breath. "But there's a reason I speak your language, a reason I ended up here, even if it wasn't what you planned."
The fire crackled, casting an orange glow on the determined set of my jaw. I met her gaze, no longer the wide-eyed boy plucked from another world, but a young man ready to face the consequences of his unexpected journey. "Tell me, Shantotto, what should i do?"
Silence stretched between us, thick and pregnant with unspoken thoughts. Her eyes, sharp as ever, burned into mine, searching for something, some hidden truth. Then, a slow smile spread across her face, as mischievous as a kid with a bag full of fireworks.
"Ah, Adachi," she chuckled, her voice a low rumble in the quiet night. "Looks like this game just got a whole lot more interesting."
Adachi though to himself "this wont be fun, i know".
The early morning sun crept through the leaves of the hidden grove, painting Shantotto's face with dappled light. A messenger from King Tarut had left long ago, his stern words echoing in the silence. She decided to ignore him, as she has been doing the previouse ones in the past few days.
Adachi, ever the pragmatist, had broken through Shantotto's self-imposed exile, urging her to face the consequences of her impulsive summoning. He urged her to answer the king's summon.
Shantotto, still surprised by his maturity, couldn't deny the logic in his words. With a sigh, she conceded, "Fine, fine. Let's hear the royal buzzard out. But mark my words, Adachi, this won't be a picnic."
"Neither would facing a horde of angry tarutarus," Adachi quipped, a dry wit she hadn't expected from such a young soul. Shantotto, ever the master of sass, retorted, "Oh, don't underestimate the King's temper tantrums. They can be as destructive as a chocobo with a belly full of fermented grapes."
The playful banter, however, couldn't mask the gravity of the situation. Shantotto announced, "We travel to the castle. But teleporting is out of the question without a receiving circle. It's time to ride the sky."
Not giving the poor kid a chance to collect his thoughts, she implores him to leave with her.
She beckons him to observe closely. A mischievous glint in her eyes, she imparts a cryptic instruction, "Listen well and watch with care." As she begins her incantation, the words flow from her lips like poetry, carrying a melodic enchantment that resonates in the air.
"Whispers on the breeze, I call to thee,
Swift and unseen, come answer me.
From mountain's peak to valley's sigh,
Hear my voice and paint the sky.
With feathered form and dancer's grace,
Grant me your presence in this place.
Il Zan Lanner Enkindel."
The ground beneath Shantotto comes alive with arcane energy, a magical circle forming at her command. Her eyes remain closed, yet the verdant essence of elemental power emanates from her being. In her hands, she clutches a grimoire and a staff, symbols of her mastery over the sourcery arts.
As the incantation reaches its crescendo, a wondrous lanner materializes from the heart of the magical circle. Its form is elegant, every feather shimmering with an ethereal glow. The tips of its feathers catch the essence of the wind, radiating a brilliant shade of green—the unmistakable hue of the elemental forces she has harnessed.
The majestic creature, now fully manifested, stands before Shantotto, its presence a testament to her command over the arcane. Adachi, spellbound by the spectacle, watches in awe as the magical display unfolds.
Shantotto, perched confidently on the lanner's back, smirked. "Don't tell anyone, darling, it'll ruin my fearsome sorceress image." She beckoned him, "Up you go, Adachi. We have an audience with the King, and let's just say he's not known for his patience."
As Adachi clambered onto the lanner's back, feeling the wind whip through his hair and the creature's powerful muscles ripple beneath him, he couldn't help but whisper, "This world… it keeps getting stranger by the minute."