The rain began to fall just as the young girl arrived.

The valley village had never seen such a downpour, yet, of course, nor had it seen a day so close to the brink of war, either.

The girl dismounted off of her horse, as the steed darted off to the side.

Arrows.

Arrows frozen in place.

With a forcefield of enigmatic, cerulean magic from the girl, a barrage of arrows quickly froze midair, falling harmlessly to the dew-dotted morning grass.
“You can’t enter these premises,” the girl hissed, gesturing to the village and speaking to whomever seemed to be as though there was no one at all. “Flee.”

The unseen stranger did follow her word.

She could hear the pattering of hooves that did not belong to her own horse; this sound, while she seemed unaffected, deeply relieved her mind.
There was nothing more to worry about.

They were gone.

Good.

She turned around with an almost wistful stoicism, eyes settling on the village within the valley.
It was a humble and modest place indeed; the mist from the rains shrouding merely a small assembly of wooden cottages and a couple gardens, assorted mildly about the hamlet. She couldn’t see the details from here, of course.
She wasn’t that close to it– she wasn’t even on the path, which was composed of pebble-ridden soil rather than elaborate cobblestone.

The mountains were more grand than this.

Nobody quite needed to mind.

She began to approach the village, gesturing to her horse for the mare to follow along. The rains were heavy, yet the mountains seemed to dull them ever so slightly; the valley was engulfed in what she hadn’t been used to in a very long time.

Silence.

No voices pierced the mountains today; rather, there was nothing but the sound of rain.

This is strange.

Her horse even stopped to listen.

The mountains and valleys alike were a comforting viridian green, the grasses around her occasionally dotted with flowers mostly a bright cyclamen pink.
Serenity compared to before.

This was serenity, compared to that monster of a realm.

She paused, taking a moment to listen to the rain, and gave a small sigh.

If only the world was more like this valley.

Her steed neighed quietly in a sort of concern, a sentiment the young horse had had for a long while. The journey was a long one, as many are– yet, oddly enough, it wasn’t over yet.

No, it was barely beginning.

As she entered the village, the horse following behind, she noticed in odd intrigue that the roads of this hamlet were as silent as its outskirts. The young girl found it bizarre, of course.
She was used to bustling cities.

She was used to panicked cities.

The village was, indeed, just as modest up close as it was afar. The cottages were constructed of nothing but teakwood, with the occasional presence of iron where it could be afforded; each window depicted small, humble abodes.
The streets themselves were not cobblestone, like many of the more developed cities she had been to; rather, these streets were simply, once more, made of nothing but soil. There was no capitol building in sight, either.
Rather, it seemed the hamlet didn’t need one.

It was morning, yet it felt more like the sun had long set.

It wasn’t every day that she found it utterly necessary to go a night without sleep to survive; yet, the empire she had just left proved that to be a necessity indeed.
Now, however, she felt a sense of safety that she wasn’t quite used to.

She paused, for a second, coming across a clearing in the group of oddly spaced-out cottages. The mountains were tranquil, and she could already detect petrichor from the same rainstorm she found to have just began minutes ago; the leaves in the small, flowering tree– a tree one could compare to a maple tree– were the same viridian the grass shared.

She walked up to it, analyzing its bark with a slight air of curiosity.
What species?

The same, enigmatic cerulean magic began to cause her palm to glow the same shade of blue, yet it was noticeably dimmer.
Weaker.

The horse neighed again– a quiet, soothing sound.

“I know.” Her voice was oddly hoarse, compared to how it had been against the unseen stranger. “It- It was a long day.”

A slight nod, as if it seemed to understand what she was saying.

She paused again, drifting into silence. She found it strange that the village appeared vacant, yet she could tell it was not as it seemed– if it was, indeed, evacuated or abandoned, she would have noticed the signs.
She knew the signs.

Any nomad did.

The lesson was one she could never forget.
The lesson was from experience.

She leaned back against the tree, shivering, calmly observing the serene landscape about. Even in the event that cataclysm was rampant, this region was devoid of it. She found this to be a rather pleasant surprise.
She also found herself slightly proud of warding away what would have been its first sign of danger.

There was no thunder in this valley.

The girl’s horse approached her with a cautious demeanor, tapping its hoof gently on the bark. The steed itself was a young yet magnificent horse, its sepia coat gaining a glint of copper in the pluvial valley.
The humble mare was often her only companion on this journey.

She found it almost strange how fast the year had gone by.

Yet, this was of no concern now– it wasn’t supposed to be.

The past was distant.

Another small sigh, as she genuflected, still leaning on the trunk of the tree. There was no sign of any nearby fauna, oddly enough, save a small bird she could see building its nest on the cottage roof opposite the tree.
No chirping to be heard.

Oddly enough.

She could hear the door of this house with the bird nest open, although it was a more quiet sound than she’d expected; she stood, anticipating suspicion of the villager leaving the house.
There was indeed none.

“…hello..?”

“Ah, hello there,” replied the villager leaving the house– this villager in question seemed to be a middle-aged woman, with a hooded cloak to protect against the rain. She had long, silver hair and a humble, down-to-earth demeanor, which sharply contrasted the few typical civilians that the girl knew and had met before.

“What brings you here, young one?”

“I’m just a nomad from the east.”

“I see.” The woman finally turned around to face the girl, her calm demeanor altered slightly by a barely noticeable twinge for concern– the latter’s fatigue was rather visible, and the woman could tell, even the horse had taken note. “…Well, what is your name?”

“Ro..Rohesia…Rohesia Adaleiz…”

“Ah. It’s a very beautiful name indeed. I myself am Philyra Gretel.”

A slight nod from Rohesia.

“…g-good to– good to meet you..”

Philyra paused, raising an eyebrow slightly with a sort of concern Rohesia hadn’t seen in the few civilians she knew before; she wasn’t quite used to travelers, as one would expect, but this young girl seemed to have escaped catastrophe.
“I see you must’ve had a very exhausting journey– I would prefer you come inside, so you don’t have to stay here shivering in the rain. I can make some tea, if you would like-?”

Another slight nod, this time even less visible, as the young nomad stood, suppressing a struggle to rise entirely from the villager woman. Her horse gave another, concerned neigh.

Philyra nodded in return, silent, as she turned around to open the door to her cottage, holding it open for Rohesia as the latter entered the house’s foyer. The room wasn’t much in particular, which the young girl didn’t expect; it was as entirely composed of wooden planks on the inside as it was on the exterior. Only two sofas were in this room, one of which was rather close to the door; the kitchen and dining room was only separate from the foyer by a small, wooden counter. The walls were adorned with frames of drawn pictures of Philyra and some other individuals, whereas every countertop and cabinet seemed to be cluttered with potion bottles, herbs, and books predominantly. This was the norm for a society such as this village here.

While this seemed to be a house best fit for one or two, around the humble dinner table draped in a coral pink cloth were six chairs of simple design. Rohesia found this to be strange– was there not an inn within the hamlet?

“Please feel free to sit down; I shall get the kettle ready. Would you prefer elyrï?”

Another nod, as Rohesia sat down on the sofa closest to the door, analyzing the cottage in a rather weary manner.

Philyra, in turn, walked into the kitchen, taking out a few tea bags and setting them on the table; after a moment, she added some heated water within, before adding one of these bags.
“It should be ready in a moment.”

Yet another nod– this time, Rohesia seemed less superstitious, yet far more fatigued.

“I am a little curious, however,” the woman added, supervising her kettle, “since you are indeed a traveler here, it seems– where do you hail from, if I may ask-?”

“…I’ve-I’ve been a nomad for so long, I could-could barely remember-?”

A concerned pause.
Philyra wasn’t expecting that sort of answer.

“…Just, erm– I did-did arrive here from the southern.. southern fjords…”

The woman furrowed a brow, keeping her demeanor calm and methodical, despite knowing precisely where Rohesia was referencing. It wouldn’t have helped her, she reasoned, if she had expressed sheer trepidation, if not panic, at the mention.
The southern fjords were war-torn cities.

“Ah. I see. Well, I think you may have already noticed that it is quite different here.”

Rohesia nodded yet again, not even bothering to check if Philyra had acknowledged her; the differences, as she had noted upon her arrival, between this village and the fjords was… drastic.
She couldn’t even fathom it at first.

“…It really-really is…?”

“You need not worry about that, though. It is peaceful here– there is no sort of conflict that dares to enter the borders of this valley, if that does help you slightly?”

“…I-I did ward someone away…?”

Philyra paused, almost dropping an entire bag of herbs onto the floor.

“…Someone had been aiming to enter to cause harm-?”

“Yea…” The young girl tried to stand almost nonchalantly, only to be stopped by a strange lack of energy.
It had been a long, sleepless night.

Especially one avoiding conflict.

“Well– Thank you for sending them off, that was very valorous of you.” Philyra’s tone entirely masked her strange levels of concern– the kettle, almost seeming to predict her trepidation, began to whistle.
“We hadn’t had an attack in ages. Nobody would know how to defend the hamlet.”

” …I kinda figured everyone would have been doomed if they succeeded in entering–”

“They indeed would be,” replied Philyra, her tentative tone masking outright concern. “Nobody would even dare. We’re a pacifist village here; we’d just surrender our resources.”

Rohesia gave a wary shrug as the woman took the kettle off of her small fireplace, pouring tea into two cups. The rather floral scent the tea gave off could be mistaken for that of a lavender plant, yet with the exact opposite effect.
“The tea’s ready.”

Philyra cautiously set one of the teacups onto the small table Rohesia now noticed right in front of her; she then took a sip of the other, before setting it down on a nearby counter. Rohesia took the time to take the tea, nodding in thanks to the woman, before taking a sip as well.
It indeed did have the opposite effect of one’s average lavender plant.

She felt slightly, albeit instantaneously, rejuvenated from the trip now.

This was the nature of the herb, after all.

The cottage was mostly silent, save the pattering of rain from outside and the calming waters of the kettle. Rohesia didn’t quite possess the energy to change this, yet; Philyra simply was used to it, being rather quiescent herself.
Another aspect of this village that the young girl found bizarre.

How utterly quiet everyone seemed to be.

One would almost assume they were trying not to disturb someone or something; in this notion, they succeeded well.

Rohesia, however, was more acclimated to hectic individuals who were not, in the slightest, insouciant.

“I’m hoping the journey wasn’t too turbulent.”
“I wish it wasn’t.”

A pause– Philyra nodded with a sort of pity, taking another sip of her tea.

“…Just a lot of running, I guess; it’s been… long.”

“Ah, I see. I take it you might have somewhere you need to be-?”
“No, not really…”

Rohesia indeed lacked a schedule to abide to, of course, being an unsupervised traveler; gradually regaining her energy as a result of both the tea and the break she never realized she needed, she then seemed to be growing slightly more verbal about her circumstance.
“…Just kinda hectic. I’m used to it.”

The woman seemed almost bewildered.

“…That sounds rather unfortunate, are you alright-?”

A hesitation from the girl, as she took another sip of the tea, the reinvigorating effect becoming rather visible; in the strangely comforting quietude of this pluvial morning, her own hectic past was seeming to be growing more and more faint.
It was less and less of a problem, really.

“I… guess I’m better now-? It was… a long night, really. I might’ve traveled some thousand… thousand miles-?”
“Ah. That ought to be rather exhausting, especially for someone your age… if you’d like to stay here for a while, feel free to-?”

A mere nod in response.

“The village here is rather quiet.”
“I… noticed. It’s a refreshing change, really.”
“I could only presume so-?”

Philyra’s concern for the girl made her almost inherently awkward in demeanor; of course, Rohesia knew well that this was only really hiding precaution. Beyond the two, one could only truly hear the quiet pattering of rain on the cottage’s rooftop, raindrops slipping down the window with the speed of falling javelins, albeit silent in their wake. The light the window brought in was grayscale, as expected from the rainstorm; while Rohesia was used to darker, more foreboding grays, this sort of light, platinum gray was almost comforting.

This village in general was a pleasant pause from the more hectic, nomadic lifestyle Rohesia had.

The table before Rohesia had a singular, drawn image of Philyra and another woman who appeared around her age, designed in strangely impeccable artistry; it was this that caught her attention.
Philyra’s wife, perchance?

She wouldn’t have been surprised.

Philyra, noticing the girl had spotted this picture, simply nodded in response, giving a rather warm smile– almost an inherently optimistic grin.
Rohesia returned a more cautious smile, albeit with a similar sort of spirit.

“Your wife?”
“Indeed!”

A nod in acknowledgement, as Rohesia’s eyes then trailed to the window, noticing the very same tree she’d stopped at; it still seemed the exact same as it had, to her surprise, with verdant green leaves standing out in the grayscale sky.
The village itself seemed the exact same.

Change wasn’t quite as normal here as it was everywhere else, was it?

The sheer capability of everything, to fluctuate and find a new form?

There was no change in the temperature of the cottage, of course, from the outside world; thus, Rohesia immediately noticed how surprisingly… cold, it was. Philyra, she noticed, already had a sort of shoulder wrap; she however was particularly unprepared.
“…There’s a blanket right there if you need it.”

Rohesia nodded, taking the viridian, silk-esque fabric and draping it around herself, almost as if it was a cape.
“Thanks.”

“No problem!”

A pause, as the girl took another sip of her tea, eyes trailing back to the window only to notice her horse; the creature was standing rather idly at the tree, seeming unaffected by the rather mellow, cold weather, as well as the ice-tinged rain. It was indeed spring, but the rain seemed almost wintry; none of the villagers really paid this any mind, of course. It was only Rohesia, native to the southeast swamps, that noticed any sort of difference.
Noticed any sort of change.

Maybe this is how it always was.

Possibly this sort of unchanging peace would be more or less solace, yet, of course, its first sights were always jarring.

The swamps of Kamari were always shifting; always in a sort of instability.
This was what Rohesia knew.

Where was this, even?
How far had she traveled?

How far had she gone?

The tea, in turn, was a lilac, steaming liquid within the ornate cup; there were particularly different runes and sigils upon this cup that the girl couldn’t quite read, to her confusion, yet Philyra knew them well.
They weren’t anything more than simple, benevolent luck charms.

After all, the woman had designed them herself.

Philyra worked as an artisan, one of the more trusted individuals for crafted goods of mundane or mystical means; thus, she knew well how to both construct and craft these items of her own– half of everything in her cottage had been handmade by her herself– and instill whatever runes she may find necessary.
They were always runes promoting peace or fortune.

She hadn’t needed anything different, in this village of pacifism.

There was only a slight rumble from off in the distance, which Philyra didn’t even react to but Rohesia practically startled as a result of; the woman then glanced to her in a slight concern, watching as she rather awkwardly dismissed the noise.
“Thunder in the distance. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“…I knew that, I knew that–”
“I’m presuming you didn’t-?”

The girl shook her head, seeming almost humiliated.

However, of course, she eventually noticed that Philyra wasn’t quite asking this to embarrass her; rather, the woman seemed particularly strongly concerned of her, furrowing a brow as she took another sip of her own tea.
Rohesia did the same, now in a rather awkward silence.

“It’s alright if you were scared of it, it really is.”

An awkward, practically embarrassed nod.
“Did something happen with some thunderstorm-?”

“I guess I did get caught outside in one the other day. I don’t know.”

A pause, and a nod of acknowledgement; Philyra wasn’t one to really even request any sort of elaboration, simply leaving this at that. The woman’s concern for the girl was still very much present, but it only mellowed.
It wasn’t alarmed worry anymore.

It was more quiet, solicitous recognition.

“That ought to be unfortunate, I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Rohesia didn’t even know how to respond.

She wasn’t used to truly acknowledging anything.

“…It’s… okay-?” she replied, rather awkwardly; Philyra replied with an equally awkward smile, taking a few steps across the room and analyzing a more recent project of hers.
A slate of wood, with a sigil carved within.

Rohesia simply finished her tea, setting the cup down rather awkwardly on the table, making sure not to strike the drawing frame. Philyra merely nodded.

“…So, what’s that going to be for-?”

“Ah, well, it’s a fortune sigil the mayor wanted to put in the village square. Wards off bad luck, keeps the village safe.”
“I can imagine that being pretty useful.”
“It likely will be.”

The woman set the slate of wood down on the table where she had it, simply glancing back at Rohesia with a more or less unreadable sort of tranquility about her; the girl, to contrast, had what was almost a parasitic anxiety in her demeanor.
One Philyra could recognize well.

Many nomads seemed to possess this sort of mentality.

Uncertainty. Was it with the pattern of movement, of fleeing from one region to another?

Was this girl more of a refugee?

The need to flee was unheard of in this village within the quiet valley, of course, but Philyra in particular was fully willing to recognize the plights of the outside world; Rohesia in particular was practically a herald of this sort of struggle.
She was from the swamps.

The woman recalled these swamps in particular were strangely… war-torn.

Rohesia seemed to carry this burden with her.

The girl did not quite stand yet, instead simply watching the window; it was the strange stability of this region that almost bewildered her. No one raced past; no one was speaking in a hushed whisper; no one was leaping into inherent violence, nor was anyone fleeing it, other than her.
A small sigh.

“…I guess it’s kinda nice to not… have to worry about that-?”

“I can understand that.”

Philyra, with a small match, proceeded to ignite a candle that was equally miniature, letting the rather pleasant, vanilla-esque aroma waft about the room; Rohesia, who had never seen such a thing before, watched with a slight intrigue.
A small campfire?

A scented small campfire?

“…How’d you get a mini campfire-?”
“Aha-? It’s a candle, they… you’ve never seen one-?”
“No, not really, no.”

A pause, and a mere nod.

“…Ah, well, now you have.”
“I have, haven’t I?”

The horse outside seemed to neigh in acknowledgement, prompting a slight chuckle from both Rohesia and Philyra.

“…It’s starting to learn, watch out.”
Rohesia then broke into laughter upon this– the first time that morning.

The horse neighed again, before almost slightly shivering.

“Has it ever had a problem with the cold-?”
“No. It can stay out there for hours on end sometimes.”
“Ah. Good.”

Another slight rumble– despite knowing it was merely thunder, Rohesia slightly flinched.

A small sigh, once more.

“…I mean, we’ve been through a couple blizzards. Couple thunderstorms and such.”
“Are you okay now about that?”

A hesitation– Rohesia didn’t quite know how to answer, especially considering her reaction to the thunder.

“I- relatively.”
“Oh. To be fair, I wouldn’t expect being caught outside in a storm to not be quite terrifying… have you managed to find shelter before arriving here-?”
“No. Not at all.”

Silence, for only a minute or so.
Philyra nodded, not really sure what to say.

Not really sure what to do.

“…Ah, well then–”

“Does this place get severe storms a lot or-?”
“Haven’t had one since I was a little girl.”

Rohesia nodded again, a considerable relief dawning on her face.
Philyra smiled, slightly, upon noticing this.

She felt glad to clear up at least an inkling of the girl’s apprehension.