EZRIL IARO IS WITHOUT A CHOICE. With a vicious war raging outside the temple's gates, long-held friends calling for help, and a son slowly descending into the influence of an incurable sickness, Ezril has to unlock the secrets of the island, delve i...
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Kymalin shouldered the bow she whittled herself, stretching her arms and wincing at the cracks her joints gave. It's a fruitless hunt yet again. The island might have gotten over a war, but its forests needed time to recover from the magic they lost. They'd have to settle for a bunch of fruits tonight as they have done for the past few weeks. It'd be of no consequence.
She trudged the steep incline, noting the familiar trail she carved and traversed since the conclusion of the Virtakios War. All kinds of hoots and caws filled the ravine, but none of them belonged to creatures fairies could eat. The smell of upturned soil hung in the air, as well as a moist veil signaling an oncoming storm.
She should get home before then.
Her boots crunched against the fallen leaves, their dry crackles reminding her of the nest of embers she found herself in when Parkane fell over her. It's been months since the war ended, but even now, she couldn't erase the memories and experiences she lived through from her head. As much as she wanted to, they're to stay for eternity.
Thunder rumbled up ahead, and she quickened her pace. Her breaths turned heavy, a dull ache stabbing in her side not a fortwere later. She craned her neck to the sky, but a storm of canopies obscured most of the gray expanse. A sigh flitted out of her lips. She might have wished for the leaves to part for her to see just a sliver of stars during the night, but the trees with their thick trunks and eerie shadows were what kept them safe. Not that there was immediate danger. Kymalin liked her privacy as much as anyone else.
The path climbed a steeper incline. Meant she's close. She took a deep breath and tackled the short distance. After that, a small shack would be visible, and then, she'd be home. It happened as she predicted, and within seconds, she passed by a small plot of land by the shack's muddy porch and an array of potted xamine flowers.
She ducked inside the shack, dusting her soles against a used rag before continuing to the adjacent room. The shack had a simpler interior, compared to the meaningless grandeur of the Temple of Souls. She couldn't care less about her old room and the paneldoja she was required to wear at all times. It's because of that she grew up hating any sign of tiny bells.
Metal clattered from the kitchen, and Kymalin's guard rose up. What in Pidmena's name was that? Hackles raised, she crept past the ante and came to the wide space shared by the kitchen and the rest of the shack. The first thing she noticed was a wall of white feathers blocking their owner and the small window in line with the pantry.
"Took you long enough," April's face emerged with a swish of her wings when she turned. A bright fire burned beneath a pot, and a savory smell filled the air. "Look, I've finished stew."
Kymalin unslung the bow from her shoulder and hung it by the hooks on the ante. The quiver bouncing against her leg followed suit. She unclipped her cloak from the base of her collar and hung that too. Now dressed in a loose tunic tucked into tight-fitting trousers and fur-lined boots, she strode back to the kitchen.
