Frela's aesthetic sensibilities had always been... particular. As a child, she'd found Old Dort's chrysanthemum-like wrinkles - enough to qualify him as her grandfather - oddly charming, dismissing the handsome water-carrier next door. During her awkward teens when Lin Bo'er's delicate features became her beauty standard, she'd loathed her own reflection. Just as she began noticing boys, before fully appreciating her brother's rugged handsomeness, the Elven Prince Ancamaros appeared like celestial lightning, permanently scorching her perception of beauty into his ethereal mold. Thus, handsome youths like Thornbird never stood a chance.
Though Ancamaros' visage remained unchallenged in her personal pantheon, Frela maintained an admirably egalitarian appreciation for male beauty. Her carefully hoarded coppers often went to Granny Florist for illustrated tabloids featuring comely youths of all ages.
The man before them now might as well have stepped from those very pages.
Even sworn enemies couldn't deny his beauty through gritted teeth.
"Traveling to Bull Village?" The stranger's voice held the warmth of sun-drenched honey.
Ancamaros inclined his head.
"Then let's journey together. Years abroad have blurred my homeward path." He settled against a tree with the ease of one claiming a throne, leaving the four companions exchanging bewildered glances.
Though Ancamaros' brow furrowed slightly as his gaze swept over the stranger's form, no objections came. The night passed in watchful silence.
Dawn revealed their enigmatic companion to be a man of few words. Through sparse conversation, they learned his name - Byantilovah, "Sunflower" in the Old Tongue - and that decades away left him ignorant of current village affairs.
Frela suppressed a shiver. In her experience, only long-lived races like elves bothered with such tongue-twisting appellations. She struggled reconciling this vibrant creature with her mental image of Bull Village's mythical warriors - those fabled beast-pelt-clad giants with protruding jaws. Yet his burnished copper curls did carry solar warmth, she conceded.
Twilight found them at their destination - a sun-dappled clearing by water, improbably carved from the lightless forest. Children's voices carried through the trees, singing:
"My dolly fair, with dawn-kissed hair
The finest treasure beyond compare
We quarreled once beneath moon's stare
Now lost, I wait with endless care..."
"Careful there," Frela steadied Byantilovah as he stumbled on river stones. His thanks held glacial politeness.
Ancamaros approached the children. "Is this Bull Village?"
A boy with prematurely solemn eyes stepped forward. "I am Zantradilijia - call me Dili. Guests of Elder Tula, follow me."
The procession revealed curious contradictions. Bull Villagers moved with elven grace in diminutive frames, their pale skin etched with premature laugh lines. Almond eyes tilted downward at the corners, radiating approachability - traits starkly absent in their flame-haired companion's proud bearing and sun-kissed complexion.
Frela's blatant scrutiny finally drew a dagger-sharp glare from Byantilovah, met with her most saccharine courtier's smile.
Elder Tula embodied every village chief stereotype - wizened, white-bearded, and radiating wisdom. Frela approved wholeheartedly.
As Dili led them to lodgings, the boy revealed Bull Village's faded glory: "Our village once sprawled fivefold larger. The northern academy, southern council halls... all connected by alchemical transit arrays maintained for millennia."
Frela's eyes lit up. "Alchemists still dwell here?"
Dili deflated. "The last array-maker passed decades ago."
The feast that night was ambrosia after days of trail rations. Even stone-faced Menxile ate with unseemly haste, sauce glistening on his chin. Elves nibbled daintily, making Frela wonder whether to admire or pity their pollen-fed constitutions.
Over honeyed mead, Elder Tula addressed Ancamaros: "The artifact you seek... seventy years past, our final alchemist sent it to the Border Warden, meant for return within five years. No word came."
As Reiminith opened her mouth, Byantilovah's chair shrieked across stone flags. He fled into the night.
"After him," Ancamaros murmured. Reiminith vanished in pursuit.
Frela nudged her brother. "Shall we-"
Menxile stuffed her mouth with fish. "Eat."
Between chews, she stage-whispered: "Bet this ties to the alchemist!" Another fish silenced her as Ancamaros' amused glance set her cheeks aflame.
Reiminith returned grim-faced. "He's attacking the northern tower's wards."
All eyes turned to Elder Tula. The old man's hands trembled. "Though it shames me... we've hoped someone might breach those defenses." He rose heavily. "Walk with me, Prince. The time for secrets has passed."
As the group moved toward the glowing alchemical spire, Frela sensed ancient mysteries stirring - and her adventure truly beginning.