Chapter 19: Village Below the Mist VII

Chapter 19: 19: Village Below the Mist VII --- Fizz stopped spinning. "A home. Hmm. Humble. Peaceful. Kinda boring. But I can work with it. As long as I get a shelf and a mirror. And snacks. Preferably warm." John closed his eyes for a long moment. He already regretted this choice. "This pet is too much. It insults and talks too much. I bet this guy will piss off people faster than anyone." Fizz buzzed over and landed squarely on his shoulder. "Listen. I may not be a beast with claws or fire breath, but I’m smart. Smart enough to know you’re going to need help navigating this dump of a continent. And you can’t brood forever. That’s my job now. I’m your emotional support fluff." John opened one eye. "Emotional support fluff. !?!" "That’s right." Fizz fluffed up his wings and puffed his body like a puff pastry. "You look tense. I can sense it. From now on, I will be here to mock you gently until you become emotionally invincible." "Wonderful." John said it with a sarcastic tone. "Glad we understand each other." Fizz didn’t understand it. John rose again, walking outside. Fizz clung to his jacket collar, wings buzzing softly as they emerged into the misty morning light. A few miners were peeking from behind a fence. Fizz waved enthusiastically. "Behold. I am your new god." The miners came to help John but they ran screaming. John sighed. "You’re going to make my life very difficult." Fizz grinned, exposing his tiny fangs. "Only slightly. But you’ll thank me one day. There is a place where my mum holds huge powers. One day... if you live that long I will take you there. Then you will understand how cool I am." John totally ignored his loud mouth pet. As they walked along the path toward the plateau, Fizz nested himself inside John’s cloak hood like it was a personal hammock. "Mmm. Warm. Comfy. Full of regrets. Just how I like it." John did not reply. The wind rustled through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a crow called. The villagers had offered him land, and now he had a mouthy elemental mothball claiming to be divine. It was not the life he imagined. But it was the beginning of something, perhaps a legend in making. Meanwhile.... Elara watched from the high ridge beyond the village, her cloak blending into the gray of the trees. Morning light filtered through low clouds, illuminating the valley in a wash of soft gold and pale blue. Smoke rose gently from chimneys. The square below was quiet now, but she had seen it all the day before. The man with the blade. The villagers gathering at the temple. And the way Sera had stood beside him like he was not a stranger. She crouched beside her hawk, fingers brushing its feathers as she studied the scene with sharp eyes. The bird tilted its head and let out a low cry. He was different. Not just in the way he looked, or the foreign shape of the sword strapped across his back. No. It was the way the air bent near him. Subtle. Like heat near a forge. She could feel it in her chest even from here. It pulled at her curiosity. And her caution. Elara rose, her leather boots making no sound as she moved through the trees. Her destination was not the village. Not yet. She had someone else to visit first. A few minutes later, she stood before the crumbling house on the far side of the ridge. An old man answered the knock with a grunt and a lifted eyebrow. "You look like trouble." "You say that every time," Elara replied. The man stepped aside. Inside, the small stone hut smelled of dust and dried herbs. Books filled every wall. Old scrolls littered the table. A cracked staff leaned in the corner. He poured tea into two chipped mugs. "So," he said, settling onto the stool with a sigh, "you saw him." "Yes." she replied. "And?" The man asked. Elara hesitated. "He’s not from here. That much is obvious. But there’s something else. He doesn’t move like a common wanderer. And that sword. It sliced clean through a stone pillar. And, I saw some weird mana shaped lines where he is building a house." The old man sipped his tea without comment. "Illusion Magic?" she asked. "Not the kind we know," he replied. "I felt it too. Something different. Something controlled. Something Tamed. Or maybe it hasn’t fully awakened yet." "He’s dangerous," Elara said. "Or valuable." The man added. She frowned. "He asked to build a home. Here. In the poor valley. That’s definitely suspicious." The old man’s eyes crinkled with amusement. "Well. That’s new. He might be naive about the world." "I’m going to meet him." Elara declared. "I guessed." He lifted his cup again. "Don’t kill him unless he tries to kill you." "I’ll consider it." Elara turned without another word and left the hut, her boots crunching the frost laced ground. The wind whispered through the trees as she moved, fast and low, down the slope toward the village’s edge. By the time she reached the low fence near the old forge plateau, the morning mist had begun to thin. From her vantage, she saw the beginnings of movement. Smoke curled from the forge chimney. The door creaked open. A familiar figure stepped out. It was Sera. But she was not alone. John followed her behind. They were walking toward the rear slope of the land, inspecting the remains of the crumbled stone wall. His hand moved with calm precision, sketching symbols into the dirt with a stick. Sera knelt beside him, nodding slowly. Elara narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like the feeling curling in her chest. Not jealousy. It was suspicious. She moved closer.