[Year FF330 — Sometime during the midst of the Great War. ]
In the quaint village of Willowbrook, nestled amidst rolling hills and verdant meadows, sat a dainty woman, with flowing blonde locks, by the window of her cozy cottage. The sky outside was a clear expanse of tranquil blue and wisps of cotton-like clouds drifted lazily across the horizon. With tender care, she cradled her swollen belly, feeling the gentle kicks and flutters of her unborn child within.
Bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, she lifted an intricate flute to her lips and began playing a soft and soothing melody. The notes danced through the air, filling the small room with a sense of peace and ethereal glow. She imagined her unborn child listening, their tiny ears attuned to the sweet music that surrounded them.
The woman, Isha Mercy, was sure that her child would be a girl. A girl beloved by all.
Suddenly, the gentle notes of her flute were accompanied by screams. Without warning, the clear blue skies outside began to darken, tinting the horizon a deep and ominous red.
Isha's heart clenched with fear as she gazed out the window, her flute falling silent in her trembling hands. The tranquil atmosphere was shattered by the haphazard screams and footsteps scramming, horses racing and all cattle let loose through the village.
Isha was lost for words and even actions. She stared with dead eyes as the crowd ran in a frenzy, wailing about a fire approaching. Isha couldn't move, she hadn't the heart or gut to. This home in Willowbrook was built over the blood, sweat and tears of her husband in preparation of their child. This home was their dream, their only tangible asset, their only gift to the child.
Isha did not want to move. She sat, frozen.
And then, emerging from the horizon like a harbinger of doom, came her husband, his face twisted in panic and despair. He ran towards the cottage with frantic urgency, his shouts piercing through the air like a knife.
"Run, run, run!" he cried, his voice choked with emotion. "The Dragon Fire is coming! We must flee before it engulfs us all!" He jumped over the veranda and bolted into the room, jolting her awake from her trance.
"Isha, my flower, we must leave! Now!"
Isha's blood ran cold as she realized the gravity of the situation. He clutched her hand and with trembling feet, she rose from her seat by the window, clutching her swollen belly protectively. Together with her husband, they fled from their cottage, their hearts pounding with fear and desperation.
The only part left of their dream was the wood carved flute, clutched in Isha's free hand like a messanger of twisted fate. No amount of preparation works in the face of the ill-fated.
As they raced through the village streets, the once-tranquil roads were transformed into a nightmarish landscape of chaos and destruction. Flames licked at the wooden buildings, devouring everything in their path with insatiable hunger. The air was thick with smoke and ash, and the sound of crackling flames mingled with the anguished cries of the villagers.
Isha sucked in harsh breaths, as they stumbled and tripped over fallen debris, their lungs burning with each breath of acrid air.
"Isha, are you okay?!"
"Yes, yes, I am," Isha managed not let her husband's spirit down.
"Have faith, my flower," her husband urged with his beaten down by soot and sweat face.
They pressed on, driven by an instinctual urge to survive. In the distance, Isha could see the silhouette of their beloved village engulfed in flames, its once-peaceful streets now reduced to a smoldering ruin. The streets she grew up in, the school she studied at, the park she met Paix in, the church they were married at.
The essence of her whole life was being engulfed by the flames of a petty spat between two brothers — the originators of the Great War.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
As Isha and Paix raced towards the chaotic outskirts of Willowbrook, their hearts pounding with fear and adrenaline, they found themselves caught in a frenzied stampede of panicked villagers. The air was thick with smoke and coughs was everyone's medium of conversation.
The suffering of his beloved wife was taking a toll on Paix's composure. His mind kept being distracted by possibilities, eyes in search of opportunities. And fortunately, amidst the chaos, Paix's eyes scanned the crowd frantically, searching for any sign of salvation. And then, through the haze of smoke and dust, he spotted an acquaintance, a familiar face from his youth, unloading goods from a wheelbarrow near the side of the road, in preparation to escape.
"I apologise, my friend," Paix whispered as he led his wife with a surge of determination. Paix pushed his way through the throng of people, his muscles bulging with effort and eyes zoned in on the acquaintance's movements. Just as the the man, equally frenzied as the rest, stepped inside his house to fetch the last of his goods, without hesitation, Paix seized the opportunity.
He swiftly unloaded the person's goods from the wheelbarrow and motioned for Isha to climb inside.
As Isha settled into the makeshift seat, her face pale with fear but her eyes filled with gratitude, Paix's heart swelled with a sense of protectiveness. He knew that in this moment, every decision could mean the difference between life and death, and he was determined to do whatever it took to keep his wife safe.
With a powerful stride, Paix began to push the laden wheelbarrow forward, his massive frame propelling them through the crowded streets with surprising speed.
As they moved through the chaos, Paix's mind raced with thoughts of their escape. While others fled to the safety of nearby towns or sought refuge with friends and family, Paix knew that their best chance lay in reaching the docks. Willowbrook was a port town, and if they could make it to the harbor, they might just have a chance of finding passage to safety — for a long while.
As night began its slow descent, Paix made his thoughts clear to his wife.
"Trust me, Isha, I believe the ocean is our safest bet right now."
"But— everyone else is going towards town, and, and, what if we don't find refuge somewhere else?! We will be stuck and, and, our child—" Isha's throat clogged up, deterring words.
"Sh, sh, my flower, if the fire has reached Willowbrook today, it is sure to reach Willowcrest tomorrow. We— this is our best bet, trust me?" Paix urged, looking his beautiful wife in the eye. She nodded, watching her husband's face through her tear blurred vision.
"I trust you, always."
Under the cover of the night, Paix steered the wheelbarrow through the winding streets, dodging debris and avoiding the patrols of panicked villagers. With each step, they drew closer to the docks, their path illuminated by the flickering glow of distant flames.
Finally, they reached the harbor, where a lone cargo ship sat moored at the dock, its silhouette looming against the darkened sky. With a sense of urgency, Paix hoisted Isha from the wheelbarrow and onto the deck of the ship, his heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anxiety.
The crew was propelled into a rush of loading cargo, panicked too much by the fire to administer security checks of what was being loaded on.
As they slipped aboard the vessel, their footsteps echoing against the wooden planks, Paix knew that their journey was far from over. But as he looked into Isha's eyes, he felt a surge of hope. Together, they would weather this storm, come what may.
And as the ship set sail into the unknown, they clung to each other, ready to face whatever fate had in store.
The moon was high up in the sky but Paix had no moment to spare in admiration of its pale beauty. He scourged the ship, searching for a safe spot to hide his wife in. Women on ships were superstitiously unwanted and the last thing he wanted was Isha to be discovered and thrown into the open sea.
In about an hour, Paix had hidden her away in a small cleaning closet beside the most isolated toilets on board. It was a cramped and stuffy space, far removed from the comfort of their home in Willowbrook, but it was the best they could manage under the circumstances. She clutched the flute against her heart as they shared a nod of trust.
Over the next few days Paix assumed the guise of a worker on board, blending in with the crew as best he could.
For days on end, Isha remained hidden in the stuffy closet, the air heavy and oppressive around her. As the ship rocked back and forth with the motion of the waves, she grew increasingly nauseous and seasick, her spirits sinking lower with each passing hour.
"What would the world look like when our child's here?" Paix asked, one day, sitting with his back against the closet door.
"If it is going to be a world torn apart by wars...then I fear for my child, Paix. I don't want her to live like this..." Isha managed in whispers, her back pressed against the door. She remained hidden in the closet, the cramped quarters left her feeling claustrophobic and trapped.
"Maybe she can make this world a better place," Paix all but sobbed as he pushed his palms over his face. Constant work and lack of food was taking a toll on his spirits. He'd give all his rations to Isha and every second day he would steal a meal from the storage room to live through.
Paix was tired, his spirit was breaking but he wouldn't let his wife know.
"I don't want to burden my child with anything like that. I just want her to live a peaceful, lucky and happy life...is it too much to ask?" Isha sobbed. She longed to feel the fresh sea breeze on her face and the warmth of the sun on her skin, but instead, she was confined to the darkness of the closet, her only solace the sound of Paix's footsteps as he moved about the ship.
"I'm sure we could do with some luck."
Day after day, Paix would bring his share of food to Isha, his heart heavy with guilt that she had to endure such discomfort. Yet despite his efforts to provide for her, she knew that her condition was taking a toll on both her body and soul.
Despite his best efforts to provide for her, Isha grew weaker with each passing day. Night after night, she would lie awake in the darkness, her body racked with pain and exhaustion, wondering how much longer she could endure.
And then, one stormy night, as the waves crashed against the hull of the ship and the wind howled like a banshee, Isha's cries of pain echoed through the cramped confines of the closet. Paix rushed to her side, his heart pounding with fear and desperation, as he realized that the time had come for their child to be born.
With trembling hands and a heart heavy with dread, Paix did his best to assist Isha through the agonizing ordeal of childbirth. The storm raged outside, mirroring the tumultuous emotions raging within, as Isha labored to bring their child into the world.
And then, amidst the chaos and turmoil, the child was born, its cries piercing through the darkness and muted only by the raging storm. Paix held the tiny, bloodied form in his hands, tears streaming down his face as he watched the life drain from Isha's eyes.
"No, no, my flower, wake up! It's a girl! No, Isha, look at me, Wake Up!!" He wailed, shaking his wife with one hand as he held his crying infant in another. Paix was so helpless, so confused, so lost over what to do and how to do. Nothing struck his head but to scream his wife's name and shake her over and over.
Desperate to save her, he pleaded the Gods for her to wake up, to hold their child in her arms and share in the joy of its birth. And then, as if by some miracle, as soon as the child's cries filled the air, Isha drew a ragged breath, her eyes fluttering open as if awakening from a deep slumber.
"Isha, Isha, my flower," he urged only to receive a resigned, "Mhm," in response.
He could have sworn he had seen her die...but, in that moment, as Paix held his newborn child in one arm and his beloved wife in the other, he knew that they had been given a second chance at life. And as the storm raged on outside, they clung to each other, united in their love and miracles.
As the first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, Paix and Isha finally caught sight of the shores of Zinnia, their hearts swelling with relief and gratitude. The tumultuous journey across the sea had finally come to an end, and before them lay the promise of a new beginning in the land of peace and prosperity.
As they stepped ashore onto the sandy beaches of Zinnia, they were greeted by a scene of jubilation and celebration. The streets were alive with the sounds of laughter and music, and colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, proclaiming the end of the Great War. The people of Zinnia danced and sang in the streets, their faces alight with joy and hope for the future.
Amidst the revelry, Paix felt a surge of optimism coursing through his veins. He knew that this land held the promise of a brighter future for his family, and he was determined to seize every opportunity that came their way.
With newfound optimism, Paix decided to try his luck and purchased a lottery ticket along with some essentials from a nearby market with the little money he had earned on the ship. He chuckled as he handed over the coins, never expecting much from the gamble, but willing to take a chance nonetheless.
To their utter astonishment, when the lottery numbers were announced later that day, Paix and Isha found themselves holding the winning ticket. The prize was more than they could have ever imagined—a sum large enough to buy a house and establish a comfortable living for themselves and their child.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, they nicknamed their newborn daughter "Lucky Lucy," a name that would soon become synonymous with good fortune in their neighborhood. As Lucy grew, she seemed to bring about a streak of luck wherever she went. No disasters struck their home, and no deaths occurred in their community. They lived as a happy and content family, surrounded by love and laughter.
But their happiness was short-lived. One fateful day, representatives from the Church arrived with a decree from the King, demanding that Lucy be taken away to serve a noble purpose. Paix and Isha were threatened with not only their but Lucy's death if they dared to resist, and their hearts shattered at the thought of being separated from their beloved daughter.
The little child, blonde and pale, merely eight in age, was dragged away from her parents' arms.
"You will be safe!"
"We'll come meet you soon!"
"It's time your grow up and be a big girl!!"
"Mamma, Papa, love you, our flower!"
She wailed and wailed as the people from the church dressed her up like a raindoll, with only her face visible to decipherable sight. Though, her tears dried out by the beauty of the castle and the gardens she was required to patrol on a daily basis.
[ Present Day — FF338 ]
"So, like, you just get to walk around everywhere freely?!" Daisy gasped, walking beside a giggling Lucy.
"Yeah, it's to spread luck!" The little girl chirped, walking with a skip in her step.
"Wow! Have you ever sat on that big swing in the Great Lake?!" Daisy asked, eyes wide and nostrils flared with excitement.
"Yes yes, I have! Just yesterday! And I wanted to go on it again— but then I met those bullies," Lucy pouted, "But that swing is the best!! It goes up soooo high!! Like you're in pink heaven!!"
Daisy dragged out a, "Hawww, lucky," under her breath as Lucy nodded with a gummy smile.
They entered the Queen Dowager's castle as the hues of evening bled into the morphing afternoon sky. The dreary state of the castle made Lucy cling onto Daisy's arm.
"What is this place, my hero?" Lucy asked in a whisper, big brown eyes taking in every cobweb with great curiosity and horror.
"It is the Queen Dowager's castle," Daisy whispered back, "but you mustn't tell anyone about it! It's our secret!"
Lucy sucked in a breath, "We have a secret?!" She gasped, eyes sparkling with excitement, "I shall protect it with my life!!"
Daisy nodded, for as one should.
They met Cassie and Seraphina in the throne room and the two older women looked down at the young girls with unclaimed disdain.
"This is Lucy, she's my friend!" Daisy introduced with a big smile on her face.
"You know the Queen Dowager?! Is she your momma?!" Lucy whispered in Daisy's ear, eyes not leaving the older women's stoic faces.
"No, sush, sush!!" Daisy flushed.
Seraphina pressed her lips in a line, "Of all people you could have met, you brought in a girl from the Dianthia Church. The King's person. Of—," her emerald eyes widened with the stroke of an epiphany and the bored baritone of her voice elevated, "Course! This is brilliant! Did I not tell you to trust the lass, Cassie?"
"You sure did, your highness," Cassie curtsied.
Daisy and Lucy just stood their with small smiles on their faces — grateful to be acknowledged by a powerful and beautiful woman.
"This is great! But you must only remain friends in secret! Is there, does someone know about the two of you? Has someone seen you?" Seraphina asked.
"Ah...maybe, there was this little boy. The gardener's son, I think, he saw us. He even mocked us!" Daisy's nostrils flared with complaint as Lucy vigorously nodded.
"Very well then," Seraphina nodded to Cassie, "You have successfully completed the first test. Now, you must prepare for many, many, many more!"