Chapter 1: Among Rubble

We write the 27th day of Aquisia in the Year 184 AL (Age of Lumina). After a month-long journey, Kìsì Dilou'kalera de Odenfilisar arrived at the Village of Windmere. Having lost his estate, position, and all his land, he pulled his wagon alone, determined to reach the village of his father's friend.

As he looked around, he was greeted by a scene of devastation. The once vibrant fields now lay barren, devoid of a single stalk of grain. Dilapidated and charred houses stood in a row, a stark contrast to the vivid memories of his childhood. He could hardly believe that this was the same village he had known in his early years.

Still, he walked through the village until he arrived at the house, the supposed residence of the Althorin, of his father's old friend, Alric Wilmont. Not a single soul had crossed his path since entering the village, intensifying the sense of abandonment. With a mixture of hope and trepidation, he approached the door and knocked, expecting someone to answer. However, after a minute of silence, he realized that no one would.

Perplexed, Kìsì found a spot to rest near the door, his mind filled with questions. It was then that an unknown figure emerged from the shadows, appearing weathered and worn, with a white beard and thinning hair that added to the aura of mystery. The stranger's presence startled Kìsì, but he remained cautious.

"What brings a young man like yourself to this desolate land?" the stranger asked, his voice carrying a tinge of weariness. "A forsaken place where old Wilmont's doors will remain closed until the arrival of Volarian upon Altonsia."

Kìsì looked at the Stranger in front of him with sadness, a tear forming in his eyes. Understanding the stranger's insinuation, Kìsì felt a wave of realization crash over him. Wilmont, his father's dear friend and the former Althorin, had been escorted by the Angshire Gods to the realm beyond. The weight of the news proved too heavy for Kìsì to bear, and his emotions erupted, tears streaming down his face as he succumbed to grief.

Through his teary gaze, he looked at the stranger and choked out the words, "When was he escorted? He wrote me a letter just before my journey. Why did he pass on so suddenly?" The pain of loss reverberated in Kìsì's voice as he sought answers from the stranger. The unexpected news shattered the foundation of his purpose, leaving him adrift in a sea of unanswered questions. He yearned to understand the circumstances surrounding Wilmont's untimely departure, grappling with the heaviness of sorrow and the longing for closure.

Amidst the whirlwind of a thousand questions swirling inside Kìsì's mind, he momentarily forgot about the presence of the mysterious old man. Startled, Kìsì quickly apologized for his momentary lapse. The old man, his eyes filled with pity, sat down beside Kìsì and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. With a sigh of relief, he began to speak.

"Your assumption is correct, young Kìsì," the old man said, his voice carrying a deep wave of sadness. "Old Wilmont lost his life about a week ago. He was a stubborn old man, you see. He longed to see you, but the wave of monsters arrived sooner than expected. He fought valiantly, using his rusty old sword, to buy time for the others. It's quite remarkable how he managed to move his broken bones so deftly," the old man chuckled, albeit with a touch of sorrow in his voice.

"He may have been a minor noble, but he acted with the spirit of an Ard'mor, a true warrior. Volarian, his Angshire-God, can be proud of him," the old man continued, his eyes glistening with admiration for the fallen Althorin. "Rest assured, young Kìsì, he bought enough time for others to escape. His sacrifice, though costly, will always be remembered."

The weight of grief mingled with pride in the old man's words, as he shared the story of Wilmont's heroic last stand. Kìsì sat there, absorbing the bittersweet truth, his heart heavy with a mix of sorrow and reverence for the man he had come to know as his father's dear friend.

The old and mysterious man rose to his feet, his gaze fixed upon Kìsì. "I suppose it's time I introduced myself," he said with a hint of laughter. "I am Eldathar Ronan Paìen, the Hunter of Windmere, and a man of advanced years." Ronan knelt down, his eyes meeting Kìsì's, and he spoke with pride, "I, Ronan Paìen, humbly greet Nirathor Kìsì Dilou'kalera de Odenfilisar." Kìsì stood up and extended his hand to help Ronan up. Letting out a sigh, Kìsì murmured, "It has been a long time since someone extended such kindness."

He looked at Ronan with a serious expression and continued, "You need not bow before me. I am a fallen noble, forsaken by the Ard'mor and the Council." Ronan patted Kìsì's back reassuringly and replied, "Old Wilmont regarded you and your father as family, and so I shall treat you with the same respect. Come with me, for there is much we must discuss, Eldathar Kìsì."", Amidst the Ruins: "Arriving at Ronan Paìen's house, Kìsì once again notices the dire state of the village. The door is falling apart, and the roof has obvious holes. Ronan, looking embarrassed, says, "I apologize for the condition of my house, Nirathor Kìsì." Kìsì looks at Ronan with concern and asks in a calm yet decisive manner, "What happened to Windmere? Why did it become such a barren land, and where are all the villagers?" Ronan sits down on his splinter-filled wooden chair that appears ready to collapse. He sighs and gazes at his bed, which is in an even worse state than his chair. "It started about 12 Thelari," he sighs. "Our Voradin didn't send the requested aid against the monster attack, and as a result, we had to flee and seek refuge in other villages nearby. Each year, more and more people decided to stay in those villages out of fear of the monsters and frustration from constant relocation. Wilmont tried to persuade them and pleaded with the Voradin every year, but he never received a response. Thus, the village fell into despair until only a handful remained, and they have yet to return. Hopefully, they will come back, although I'm uncertain."

Ronan gestured to Kìsì, indicating for him to take a seat. Kìsì complied, choosing a chair and positioning himself to face Ronan. With a tremble in his voice, Ronan began, "I refuse to let this village be lost. Wilmont sacrificed his life for us and for this place. He dedicated his entire life here, despite having no heir. I won't allow his family's legacy, which has endured for so many years, to vanish from this world." Kìsì looked directly at Ronan, determination evident in his gaze. "I came here because I lost everything. I want Wilmont and the Angshire Gods to look upon this land and find joy," Kìsì declared resolutely. He stood up, reached for an axe resting by the door, and abruptly shut it behind him. Ronan was taken aback, unable to react in time to inquire about Kìsì's intentions. However, a sense of relief washed over Ronan, as his instincts reassured him that something positive was about to happen. He sighed and felt a renewed sense of tranquility.

Ronan rose from his chair and approached the door, opening it to find a sight that left him astonished. Kìsì stood there in his shirt, fervently chopping down a tree, shouting between each swing, "For Valorian, For Lunara, For Verdantia, For Solarius, For Aquisia, For Ignisara, For Aerius. May the Angshire Gods grant me strength and determination. May the fallen be forgiven but never forgotten." The tree crashed down with a thunderous noise, startling the birds that had sought refuge in the village.

In a mixture of confusion and curiosity, Ronan walked up to Kìsì and asked, "What are you doing, Kìsì? Why did you fell that tree?" Kìsì turned around, a smile on his face, and replied, "We need to fix your broken roof, Ronan. Every step forward counts." He began removing the branches from the fallen tree.

Ronan gazed at the young Kìsì in disbelief, witnessing a fallen noble willingly working with his own hands instead of giving commands. In that moment, Ronan felt a profound trust in Kìsì, as if he could entrust him with his very soul. This young lad proved to be hardworking and resilient, someone who wouldn't easily give up.

After Kìsì finished clearing all the branches from the fallen tree, he requested that Ronan fetch him a peeling spud. Ronan nodded in understanding and went off to retrieve the tool. Returning after a short while, Ronan handed the peeling spud to Kìsì, who looked at him and said, "Hold the log steady while I remove the bark." Ronan followed the instructions, gripping the log firmly as Kìsì began peeling away the bark.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Ronan asked Kìsì, "Why are you doing this, Nirathor Kìsì? You come from noble birth, even if you have fallen. Such work is not befitting someone like you." Kìsì responded with a smile, saying, "This village and your house won't repair themselves, will they? Besides, I came here with the intention to help Wilmont, as he was the only one willing to accept me after I lost my noble title. So, let's work together and gradually restore your house, Ronan." Ronan replied, "I would be honored. Wilmont was right in calling you to Windmere. It's a shame he won't witness the kind of nobleman and man you have become. I'm certain he would be overcome with laughter and happiness."

As evening descended upon the village, Ronan and Kìsì successfully crafted enough planks to repair the broken roof of Ronan's house. Kìsì ascended to the roof while Ronan passed him the planks one by one. Kìsì diligently secured them in place, ensuring no holes or leaks would mar the structure. Finally, they covered the roof with hay, giving it a pristine appearance.

Standing side by side in front of the newly restored house, their arms draped around each other's shoulders, Kìsì and Ronan shared a joyous laughter. Ronan expressed his gratitude to Kìsì, saying, "Thank you. I never imagined my roof could look this good again in my lifetime. You've been a tremendous help, Kìsì, and I'm truly grateful." A tear of happiness welled up in Ronan's eye.

In response, Kìsì playfully slapped Ronan on the back and mockingly remarked, "Don't think it's all over yet, old man." He pointed towards the village, still bearing the scars of destruction and abandonment. "Our next task lies there. I'll keep you working until you can't take it anymore!" They both erupted in laughter, reveling in the camaraderie they had developed." and Unveiling History and Healing Hearts: "As the evening unfolded, Ronan prepared a delectable deer stew for himself and Kìsì. It was a culinary delight that tantalized Kìsì's taste buds, prompting him to express his appreciation, "Ronan, this deer stew is absolutely delicious! Where did you acquire such impressive cooking skills?" Ronan's gaze shifted uneasily as memories flooded his mind, and his voice trembled when he finally responded, "I learned from my late wife, Nirathor Kìsì." Sensing the discomfort, Kìsì instinctively realized he had touched upon a sensitive subject. They continued their meal in silence.

Once they finished eating, Ronan mustered the courage to address Kìsì once more, his voice still laden with concern. "Nirathor Kìsì, I believe it would be best if you found lodging elsewhere for tonight. You can stay in the Althorin's residence." Ronan handed Kìsì the key, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain about what transpired. Kìsì, unsure of how to respond, accepted the key graciously, thanking Ronan. With a mixture of emotions, he left Ronan's house, making his way to the Althorin's residence.

In front of the Althorin's residence, Kìsì let out a deep sigh, mentally preparing himself for what awaited inside. As he unlocked the door, a musty odor wafted out, catching Kìsì off guard, but he pressed on, determined to explore further. The interior of the house was shrouded in darkness, with only a few discernible shapes visible to the naked eye.

Kìsì reached for a nearby candle and ignited it, casting a vibrant glow that illuminated the room. What he saw intrigued him—books upon books towering in chaotic piles, pages and scrolls scattered across the floor. The sight held a certain allure, but Kìsì knew that delving into their meanings would have to wait. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him after a long day of physical labor, and nightfall was imminent.

Ascending the stairs to the second floor, Kìsì entered the bedchamber, relieved to find it in better condition than the room below. He proceeded to undress, using a damp cloth to cleanse himself. As he looked at his scar-covered body, memories of the past flooded his mind, ones he wished he could erase. After drying himself off, he donned a comfortable nightgown and slipped into bed, finally finding a moment of respite after the arduous day.

Before he knew it, sleep overcame him, and the passage of time carried him effortlessly into the next day.

In the morning, Kìsì sprang out of bed with newfound energy and dressed hastily. Eager to start the day, he left the house while the sun was still ascending in the sky. Standing in front of Ronan's door, Kìsì contemplated the events of the previous day. But before he could delve too deeply into his thoughts, Ronan swung open the door and greeted Kìsì with a warm hug. "I apologize for my behavior yesterday, Nirathor Kìsì. So, what's our goal for today?" Kìsì let out a sigh of relief and happiness. "Thank you for understanding, Ronan. Have you learned how to read Althalor?" Ronan was taken aback by the question but quickly responded, "Nirathor Kìsì, I learned it some time ago, although I'm not fluent in reading since it wasn't necessary for my role as a hunter." Kìsì beamed with joy at Ronan's answer and proceeded to explain the plan for the day. They would explore the scattered books and scrolls within the Althorin's residence, trying to unravel their contents and understand why Wilmont had not returned them to their rightful places.

The two of them made their way to the Althorin's residence, which was now well-lit and devoid of stale air. Ronan glanced at the towering books in disbelief and remarked, "I had no idea Wilmont was such a bookworm. These must be worth a fortune." Kìsì quickly pointed out that most of the books were poor-quality copies rather than originals, but they still contained valuable information and were readable.

Kìsì and Ronan began by picking up the scattered scrolls and torn pages from the ground. As they sifted through the materials, they noticed a recurring theme: the majority of them were related to old history or documented various monsters. From the aìì-Wolf to the lìzu-Caterpillar, it seemed like every creature that had once roamed near Windmere was mentioned within those pages.

With each passing hour, confusion grew. By midday, they had finished clearing the floor of scrolls and pages, organizing them into three distinct piles: one for monsters, one for history, and one for miscellaneous items that couldn't be easily categorized.

Kìsì and Ronan exchanged a knowing look, silently agreeing that they had reached their literary limit for the day. They stepped out of the house and settled on its stairs. Kìsì inquired about the return of the other villagers from refuge, to which Ronan replied, "I'm not certain, Kìsì, but they should be back within the next two weeks. However, don't expect a large number of hands to help."

They both stood up once again and made their way to the edge of the forest. With axes in hand, they began felling trees and transforming them into lumber until the sun started its descent. As evening approached, they returned to Ronan's house to eat. This time, the atmosphere was more relaxed, and Ronan opened up about his late wife. "Kìsì, my beloved wife lost her life in a monstrous onslaught. That's why I was so saddened by your question. She was my soulmate, and we had known each other since childhood. She hailed from Windmere, just like me. Thankfully, she didn't witness the village's descent into despair. I only wish that one day we can have a proper graveyard in Windmere, a place where I can mourn her and speak to her."

Kìsì was taken aback by Ronan's openness about his tragic loss. As someone who had also experienced profound loss, he empathized deeply. He patted Ronan's back in a comforting gesture and steered the conversation back to the pages and scrolls that lay within the Althorin's residence. They shared lighthearted jokes about Wilmont, chuckling together and feeling certain that if the old man were with them, he would join in the laughter.