Hanna's heart hammered against her ribcage, a wild animal trapped in the cage of her chest. The apron, a symbol of her domestic sanctuary, slipped from her waist unnoticed, the strings untangling themselves in silent surrender to the tension that coiled around her. The herbs in her basket scattered like the thoughts in her mind, rolling across the floorboards to rest in the snow that had been tracked in.
[Back With Arteus]
"Probably be better if i passed by Millie's on my way back." Arteus thought to himself, his eyes scanning the square. The village was eerily quiet, the usual chatter of children playing and the clang of the blacksmith's anvil muted by the thick blanket of snow. The stares of the villagers pierced him like the cold that had settled into his bones. Each pair of eyes held a question, a judgment, or a silent plea on his very existence.
-Later-
Arteus' boots crunched the snow as he stepped onto a deserted path that led out of Barley and into the frozen wilderness beyond. The trees loomed over him like silent sentinels, their branches laden with the weight of the season's snowfall. The path was a serpentine ribbon of brown, weaving through the white expanse, beckoning him with the promise of melt flowers and the knowledge that would save his mother's dwindling stock.
"If i remember correctly, melt flowers always bloom at the top of a hot spring." Arteus mumbled to himself as he marched through the thick snow, each step leaving a clear imprint behind him. The silence of the winter world was so profound that it seemed to swallow his words before they could echo. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath his boots and the occasional hoot of a distant owl.
He squinted his eyes and peered through the curtain of falling snowflakes. A mountain loomed in the distance, Mount Kendo, its peak invisible behind the swirling white. But this wasn't just any mountain, it was a volcano. Long dormant and now heaped to the top in snow.
"Bingo," he murmured under his breath, his eyes locking onto the mountain's base. It was a daring path, but it was one that led to the precious blooms that his mother required for her balms.
Melt flowers grew in the most peculiar of places, defying the harshness of winter with their vibrant purple hue. They were a rare sight, nestled in the warm embrace of a hot spring that bubbled defiantly amidst the frozen landscape. These flowers, with their petals curling inward and downward, were a marvel of nature. They drew their sustenance from the mineral-rich steam that flowed from the hot springs fiery core, blooming in a place where no other plant dared to tread. The flowers grew upside down, a silent rebellion against the frosty world below.
Their essence was the cornerstone of Hanna's winter balms. The potent antidote to frostbite and the bane of the arctic serpents venom. When crushed and mixed with the right herbs, they could soothe the sting of the coldest nights, their warmth a whispered promise of spring in the heart of winter. The villagers called them the 'tears of the volcano', a tribute to the fiery mountain that nurtured them.
Melt flowers, with their vibrant purple petals, stored the very essence of warmth within their delicate structures. It was as if each bloom was a tiny ember, smoldering with the volcanic heat of Mount Kendo's fiery core and capable of restoring the heat to the frostbitten victims of the village.
Arteus had been walking for hours, the snowfall growing heavier and the path more treacherous with each step. The air grew colder and thinner, the trees thinner and the sounds of distant life fading into the white abyss. The mountain's shadow loomed larger with every step, the volcano's peak now a mere whisper of memory beneath the thick blanket of clouds. His breath grew shallow, each inhale a battle against the biting wind.
Finally, the path opened up to reveal a cave mouth, the dark maw of which promised refuge from the storm. Steam wafted from the entrance, carrying the scent of earth and minerals. This was the place, the sanctuary where the melt flowers grew, defying the winter's icy grip. He stepped inside, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden warmth and the dim light that danced through the veils of mist. The cave walls glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light, the warmth of the earth's core pulsing beneath his feet.
"Finally."
Arteus breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the welcoming embrace of the cave, the warmth wrapping around him like a mother's hug. He reached for his bag, the leather creaking in protest as he pulled it from his back, and took out a sturdy pickaxe, its head gleaming with the promise of work yet undone.
He surveyed the cavernous space, his eyes scanning the walls and ceiling for any sign of the precious melt flowers. The air was thick with mist and the smell of minerals, the cave's breath a gentle exhalation of warmth against his cheeks. His heart raced with excitement and a hint of... fear, a potent mix that made his palms sweat beneath his mittens.
With a deep breath, Arteus braced himself, feeling the warmth of the earth pulsate beneath his boots. He took a moment to steady his nerves, then in a swift motion, he leapt into the air, his body soaring upwards. The pickaxe in his hand, once a tool of earthly labor, now an instrument of acrobatic skill, swung in a graceful arc, aiming for the ceiling of the cave. The force of his swing was surprising, a silent shout of rebellion against the winter's relentless siege. The steel head of the pickaxe met the rock with a resounding crack, sending a spiderweb of fissures radiating outwards.
He held his breath as the pickaxe sank into the stone, the handle quivering with the impact. For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed as if he might fall, plummeting into the hot spring below. But the axe held firm, a silent sentinel now, keeping him suspended in this alien world of mist and shadow.
Arteus grinned, a wild, exhilarated expression that seemed at odds with the serene beauty of the place. He had done this many times before, but the thrill never diminished. The warmth of the volcanic chamber kissed his cheeks as he swung himself closer to the first cluster of melt flowers. Their purple hue was a stark contrast against the jagged grey of the cave's ceiling, a silent invitation to claim their fiery essence.
With a gentle touch, he plucked the first one, feeling the heat of the volcano's embrace within the delicate petals. He knew better than to linger; the warmth was deceptive, a siren's call that could lead to burns if one was not careful. He worked quickly but methodically, filling his bag with the precious blooms. Each one was a victory against the winter, a promise of life and relief for those who suffered in the village.
...As he descended, the warmth of the melt flowers seemed to pulse in time with his heart, a gentle reminder of their power. The bag grew heavy with their weight, the fabric stretching with each new addition. The air grew cooler, the mist thinner, and the shadows grew long as the sun dipped below the horizon outside. The light from the entrance was now a distant memory, the only illumination coming from the bioluminescent fungi that clung to the damp walls.
"Great, with this many melt flower we shouldn't have any problems dealing with the rest of the winter." Arteus murmured to himself, a sense of accomplishment warming him more than the volcanic heat. Each petal was a treasure, a promise of warmth in a world of cold. He could almost feel the weight of his mother's relief when she saw the bounty.
"I should probably head for Millie's now, the villagers should've returned to their homes." He muttered, his voice barely a murmur that the frost could claim as its own when...
Suddenly, the silence of the winter evening was shattered by the bellow of seven horns. The sound was deafening, echoing off the mountain and through the village square, piercing the stillness like the howl of a pack of wolves on the hunt. Arteus's heart skipped a beat, the blood in his veins turning to ice.
The horns didn't belong to any creature of the tundra, nor were they the call of the villagers' celebration. They were the heralds of All-Sky's decree, a call that had become more myth than legend. Their blare resonated through the very bones of the earth, a chilling reminder of the power that lay beyond the warm embrace of a village. These... 'Seven horns of the Second Birth' weren't only heard in Barley Village; they pierced the frosty air of the entire continent, sending a shiver down the spine of every creature that dwelt in Avaricia's vast expanse.
From the highest towers of the capital, where the nobility lounged in their velvet-covered chambers, to the lowest of hovels where the destitute huddled around dwindling fires, the horns echoed with a clarity that seemed to mock the very fabric of distance. Even the stoic guards of the Royal Palace, accustomed to the clanging of swords and the cries of battle, couldn't help but look up, their faces a mirror of the dread that filled the hearts of the populace. The horns didn't just cut through the silence; they sliced through the very fabric of reality itself, bridging the gap between the mundane and the mystical.
And as looks of jubilation were plastered upon the faces of the faithful, Arteus felt his heart rate spike at the realization of what these horns truly meant.
-To Be Continued-