Wanderer from over the hills, companion for the valleys.
But don’t worry, if you’re on heaven’s mission, heaven will deliver, surely. Ket’s words rang in his mind cavern like echoes bouncing off canyon walls, just when Gen found himself wondering how he would get through the nights on his own. On the way to Kelv he survived on interval minutes of shut eye from dusk till dawn but he wouldn’t count on that to last him all the way to Tirips.
With every step ahead an uncertainty, Gen was grateful for the companionship of his staff which always marked the ground before he set his foot down, much like an encouraging mentor who never went all but one step ahead to show forth the way. It was the flicker of desperation in his heart for someone to lead, for the fate of the lands to not rest on his shoulders and inexperience alone. The truth was, Gen felt alone and scared.
Gen hadn’t wandered as far as Loggerstone on his scout trip. The eastern periphery of the Lusiah Forest was the furthest he had gone from home, but that was due to change.
Evening arrived, chasing away shadows aflame and it wasn’t long before the land melted into an obsidian embrace. The moon, cold and blue, takes over the celestial watch tower once again. Gen found himself reaching into the fold of his tunic for the glass bottle.
He shook it gently only to have the insects slide around limply. All of his fireflies were dead. He needed fresh light. Yet the light of the lightning bugs was but hope vain and fizzling out against the cover of eternal darkness. This light was fleeting, flickering; mortality closing in each time the night settled and the stars fell. It provided no security. A sense of grasping at control was all it was, a comfort of having tried. Though the reins were attached to but an imaginary horse, it was nice to feel the rough leather against one’s palm; it was the only reality that grounded him.
The forest was shrouded with an evening fog that sat heavy on faded grass. What loomed ahead was an unsettling darkness as Lusiah’s canopy blotted out but a few interstices of penetrating moonlight. The chirping of the crickets sounded hollower than those back home, and there was a vestigial howl traversing the buried paths and silent giants, as if an ancient spell binds the forest in an isolated chamber of suspended animation.
This wasn’t how Gen remembered Lusiah. Yet with the cloud of darkness hanging over the lands, it was no wonder vitality retreated so swiftly from the tips of those tender branches. Adjusting the strap of his bag and tightening his grasp around his staff, Gen ventured into the woodland, unease crawling underneath his skin as the damp leaves crunched mutely under his feet. The air was getting cooler, and not just because night had fallen. Lusiah was bordering the mountain range that divided East from West. Gen hoped to obtain some warm supplies as he journeyed through the towns and villages east of Lusiah.
As he walked and looked skyward, a ceiling of foliage greeted him. The guiding lights in the celestial realm were out of reach. If the darkness was to swallow the forest whole, he’d be in the midst of it and not even know. Too late, he had gone too deep into the woodland to turn back now.
The path before him seemed to be closing in on itself. The umbrous grove was the death of depth perception. He wasn’t sure if the trees flanking him were moving ever so slightly or that his eyes, unadjusted to the dimness, were playing tricks on him. Barely able to see one step ahead of him, Gen fortunately had his staff aiding him in discerning the protruding roots and depressions of the uneven forest floor. There was a strange rattling sound that didn’t seem possible of any living creature, deafening even as it was sporadic. The air was thin, but it was the lack of light that was suffocating.
Finally coming to a glade, the moon could be spotted hiding behind the silhouettes of trees lining the circular window. Colour and clarity had at last returned to Gen’s sight as the blurred monotones melted into a soft purple. A burst of fresh air renewed his senses.
Mellow lights appeared close to the ground from within the dense grass. As Gen took a step forward, a stream of lights burst forth from the turf, circling around his ankles and into the air.
Uncapping the bottle and emptying it’s expired contents, Gen began swooping at the lightning bugs. The flurry of tiny lights eluded him with such ease that it soon left Gen exhausted and frustrated. He went high, he went low, and many times just when he thought he’d got them, they dodged the rim of his bottle with lightning speed. Lightning bugs indeed.
“The fireflies here are different from those in the West Lands. Must be the cold. It’s no use chasing after them. You just gotta sit and wait.”
Gen turned around, the bottle in his hand in mid swing.
The owner of the voice stood at the edge of the glade. He looked to be about Gen’s age, or just slightly older. Yet there was an unusual ruggedness to his appearance, skin smoky and face worn with scruff, as though he lived in a crucible of the elements. The brown leather of his clothing, trimmed with ash-coloured, coarse fur, and fraying fiercely at the edges reminded Gen of the weather-beaten coat of a wild animal.
With his hooded eyes still trained on Gen’s wary ones, the man sat down calmly on the moss-covered log just behind his feet and produced a blotchy jar from his bag.
He pulled away the twine and porous cloth that covered it and sat in silence, balancing the open jar on his knee. Gen watched curiously, holding his breath as the fireflies began to circle around the glass prison, slowly and tentatively. Until one stumbled in.
In one swift motion, Gen’s mysterious coeval sealed the jar shut with the patch of cloth, trapping the unsuspecting firefly. He looked over at Gen, the brown of his eyes a rugged terrain. But in them Gen saw the gaze of one mesmerised by the stars, of one whose refuge was in the stellar planes in the quiet of every night even as his back lay against the grass.
Without saying a word, Gen crouched down and held his bottle still, eyes following the paths of the wandering fireflies. When he had caught two, easily, Gen couldn’t help but break into a smile.
“Gen.”
“Jovin. You’re Derrian?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“Your blue tunic. Derri’s known for its blue dye. One and only in all the lands.”
Gen was surprised. For such an insular existence, Derri still managed to put its name on the map...somehow. The atmosphere was suddenly light, any residual tension was shed like the droplets of moisture rolling down their skin.
“I’m afraid this might be the last of it,” Gen smiled wistfully, gesturing to his tunic, then before he could spoil the mood, “Where are you from?”
“Everywhere. I’m a wanderer. Been camping out at Solis Pass for the past year or so.”
“You’re alone?”
“Have been for the past nineteen years...after my parents died.”
“I’m sorry,” Gen wasn’t sure what else to say. Yes, he’d just lost his family but he couldn’t imagine being alone for such a long time, “The cities and villages did not welcome you?”
“Nah, I’m used to wayfaring. My parents taught me that...Something happened to Derri? I noticed a dark cloud hanging over the Far West.”
“Not a cloud. A darkness. It swallowed Derri whole, I’m the only one who got out.”
“Is that what happened to Luvitron and Sommer?” Jovin contemplated.
“Yes,” Gen replied, deciding it was time to reveal the map and let Jovin in on the details of his quest.
“It’s heading East, and that’s where I’m going. Not only to escape it, but to stop it once and for all. Here, the River Tirips on Mount Hallow, that’s where I’ll find the answer,” Gen explained, pointing to the various landmarks then tapping on the lone mountain in the Far East.
“The Galvigon...you’d need to get past them,” Jovin remarked with hands on his hips, furrowing his brow at the ill-reputed territory of the warlords.
“Between warlords and a fell mass of darkness, I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Then we’ve got to keep moving.”
Gen paused and looked over at Jovin, who flashed him a faint, lopsided smile.
There was an unspoken understanding of the pact being made; the beginning of an unbreakable bond, sealed and witnessed in the presence of the dancing lights and the reticent sylvan beings.
“Right, there’s a town on the other side of Lusiah. We’ll need supplies to cross the mountain range.”
Then Jovin led the way out of the glade. Years of relying primarily on his senses for survival had made him an expert at navigating in the dark. His ears were keen, his footing steady. He was unfazed by the pulsating sounds that seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere.
Gen struggled to stay close behind. It didn’t help that Jovin’s clothes camouflaged so well in the murky and shadowy murmurs of the thicket. With his expert guide, Gen resolved to keep his fireflies for later.
“How did you know about the fireflies?” Gen asked, panting from the tension in every step, hoping to make sense of how far ahead Jovin was from his reply.
“A calculated guess. When you’re out there long enough, you’ll find that patience is a virtue. I once waited two days just to fill my stomach. Would have waited even longer and expended my energy had I continued chasing that hare. Sudden and aggressive movements can scare away the game. I’ve learnt that you have to wait for them to come to you.”
Gen hummed in response, contemplating Jovin’s words. He had so much of the real world to learn from his wayfaring friend. But how much of that was living as opposed to mere surviving, he’d need time to figure out.
As they trudged along the godforsaken path, the eldritch noises of the eerie woodland became increasingly oppressive. The darkness had undoubtedly infiltrated this very soil and turned a once enchanting wood into a prison of nightmares.
A soothing tune suddenly penetrated the fell atmosphere, like a bubble breaking the surface of boiling water and bursting into freedom.
The music was coming from ahead - from Jovin. It was an unfamiliar melody - inspirational yet melancholic, a story of hope and regret. There was a pocket of silence when it ceased, then Jovin spoke, stopping in his tracks.
“Pa used to play the flute whenever the blood-curling howls of the midnight wolves terrified me so much I couldn’t sleep...Until the wolves took Ma and him...” he trailed off.
The forest seemed to amplify the emptiness of loss.
Gen was reminded of Ma’s lullaby. Though it’s been years since she last sang the bedtime folk song for Leia and him, her very presence in the next room, ever ready with gentleness and bravery should they call for her, had been the sweet lullaby that enabled her children to sleep with ease. He was reminded of Ket’s lullaby, a prayerful thanksgiving for the protective blanket of night under which he slept so securely. And now Jovin’s lullaby, a legacy of his father’s swansong, heartfelt and heroic as a warrior’s eulogy to his master.
In each of them was a child searching for respite from the horrors of the unfamiliar - the long-drawn night, the quietus at the end of day, the creatures of the dark. But not everyone had had the privilege of sanctuary in another. Yet in every loss, something new was found. New faith, new hope, new courage.
Perhaps in waiting and enduring, Jovin had finally found his purpose.
Face claim for deuteragonist, Jovin: Devon Bostick
Author's note: Walking in the forest at night is no joke. Tried that and boy am I never doing it again unnecessarily haha. But the experience helped me write this chapter more realistically and accurately (such as changing some illogical and impossible scenarios I once assumed lol - the part where Gen describes Jovin's appearance used to be in the setting of a glade with a ceiling of foliage, that would be pitch dark, seriously my dumbass)
Okay I know I took some liberties here like how in the world does Jovin speak such good English when he lost his parents at 7 and has been alone since??? I'm a lil irked by my own writing discrepancies but imma mOVE ON.
Lastly, you probably can tell that my favourite word is 'yet'. Just count how many times I use it lmao.
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