It was midnight, a vast silver moon bathed the world in its ethereal, silver glow. The rustle of autumn leaves whispered through the night as a gentle wind wove through the trees. Placed atop a small hill, a solitary church stood in quiet reverence, its weathered stones gleaming under the moonlight.
A young man, dressed in simple, worn white clothes, sat quietly on the slope, his gaze fixed on the glowing moon above. The pale light and orange leaves, carried by the wind, were reflected in his eyes. But there was something else. A small, distant dot floated through the air, getting closer and closer. It grew larger and more distinct until the young man could make out its shape — a delicate, four-sided clover, drifting toward him as if carried by an unseen force.
The green clover floated gently toward the young man, softly landing on his forehead. For a brief moment, it lingered there, shimmering in the moonlight, before dissolving into tiny specks of light.
"What the hell?"
The young man muttered, his voice breaking the silence of the night. He quickly raised his hand to his forehead to confirm that the strange clover had truly vanished. His brow furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of what had just happened, the fleeting warmth of the glowing specks already fading.
"Hey, Oliver, what are you doing here?" a soft voice called out.
A petite girl with blonde hair stepped into the moonlight, her form illuminated by the silvery glow. Dressed in the same simple white clothes as Oliver, she had a cute face framed by soft strands of hair. Her blue eyes sparkled with concern, the worried expression etched on her features.
"Emilie?" Oliver turned in surprise. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"It's me who should be asking that," she replied, stepping closer. "I woke up the moment I heard you leaving... You know tomorrow is the ceremony, and a lot of people will be coming. You really should rest."
Oliver glanced away, the moonlight casting shadows over his face. "Yeah... I know."
The young man stood up and made his way to the sleeping room, where six more people were nestled under their blankets, lost in slumber. Wishing Oliver good night, Emilie climbed into the top bunk of the bed while Oliver settled into the lower bed.
Soon, everyone was asleep. The blinding sun gradually replaced the soft glow of the moon, casting warm rays through the window and illuminating the once-shadowed corners. A new day had arrived.
In the church, a palpable sense of anticipation filled the air as everyone busied themselves preparing for the upcoming ceremony. The pews were filled with people, their chatter blending with the rustle of clothes and the soft footsteps on the wooden floor. Oliver and his peers gathered in a corner, rehearsing their parts for the choir they were set to perform.
Soon, a beautiful melody filled the church. The song spoke of Queen Elen, the revered founder of magic and the one who had forged the very kingdom they stood in — Elendria. Her tale was woven into the lyrics, recounting how she had brought the gift of magic to the land and united the people under her rule. The voices of Oliver and his peers carried the story through the air.
The audience in the church was a diverse mix of ages, from eager teens to elderly men and women, each captivated by the song. Some were dressed in simple, everyday clothing, while others wore gleaming suits of armor, their polished surfaces catching the light from the stained-glass windows. They were warriors, each one silently observing the ancient tradition. Every autumn, those who sought to transition from warrior to mage gathered in the church, standing witness to the ceremony of worship honoring Queen Elen, the founder of magic. It was a rite of passage, an acknowledgment of their devotion to both battle and the arcane, with this sacred gathering marking their first steps toward a new destiny.
In the afternoon, as the sun reached its peak, casting bright light over the land despite the lingering chill in the air, the visitors began their quiet journey home. Those who had attended the ceremony, almost all from the nearby village, formed a modest procession of about forty people. Their footsteps crunched against the fallen leaves as they made their way along the winding path. The warriors, however, each drifted off in separate directions, their armored figures disappearing into the distance. They were likely wandering warriors, bound by no village, traveling from place to place as the wind called them.
'I hope one day I'll be just like them. Free and strong, fighting monsters and getting glory. Their lives are full of excitement, while mine is boring as hell.' Oliver thought, remaining in the church.
"Nice work, everyone," one of Oliver's peers said with a grin. "We've made a lot of money from the donations."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "I hope today we'll get something other than rice for dinner."
The chatter continued for some time until the supervisor of the church, a tall figure with graying hair and a stern expression, wearing a nice priest's attire, stepped into the room.
"You all did well," the supervisor said, his voice unexpectedly softening. A small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "As a gift for your efforts today, I'll buy something for each of you in the city. But for now, we must focus on preparing for the winter."
His tone shifted back to its usual commanding presence. "You," he pointed at one of the young men, "go to the lake and collect fifty dewleaves. They're essential for our winter remedies." He turned to another, "And you, head to the forest and gather medicinal herbs. We'll need as many as we can find before the first snow falls."
The turn eventually came to Oliver. The supervisor's gaze settled on him, his expression as stern as ever. "Oliver," he began, "you and Emilie are to head to the western hills. There's a patch of rare herbs, Glimmerroot and Moonthorn. We need them before the frost sets in."
…
"Damn, why are we so unlucky?" Oliver muttered, kicking at a stray twig as they ventured deeper into the forest. The trees around them grew denser, their branches casting long shadows under the blinding light. "As always, we have to go the farthest and search for something we barely even know what it looks like."