A bell tolls through the city of Ravalind, as the morning sun crawls amongst the top of the mountains, signalling that it is time for citizens to get out of their beds. Brewing their morning coffee, kindling their fireplace, and preparing the dough, as maidens and wives add vegetables and meat from the stewpot.
Waiting for another time, and as the sun crawls for another two hours, a second bell tolls once again, beckoning that the people of Ravalind stroll through their work. Shops open, farmers sharpen their equipment, and carriages roll through the streets. Guards pattering their night watch companions, gesturing that it was their time to shift the day watch. And there you can hear the slow growing of the people's clatter.
On the western side of the city, we lean closer to where the traveller was lazing. The birds chirp through the window, knocking the thick glass. Chifya's room was situated where the sun would rise; for that, the room quickly illuminates.
Awoken by the sound of the community, Natalak was having a slight problem.
" Why can't I move my muscles… or even my tongue? As to why there's a slight searing on my head? And why is my body so cold?" He groans, rubbing his face on the pillow.
After a few minutes of him forcing his muscles to move, he looked down and saw that no blankets were covering him. He moved to the window and saw Chifya warmly wrap herself, taking all the blankets to herself.
"You! I'll get you for this." Natalak groans, shaking his head for Chifya to rise from her slumber.
Because of his relentless movement, Chifya finally awoke from her rest. In her wake, she didn't care less for the man squealing at her side. Rather, she calmly went through the windows and gave the birds a morning snack.
"This porcelain court-bred doll!"
Chifya returns at the man— she didn't speak, she only gave him a disappointed look, followed by a smirk. Mocking the state, he was in.
"You good?" She lifts her left eyebrow while crossing her arms. "I told you not to overdose yourself."
Natalak looked back at her with a weary look. "You think!?"
She returns the blanket, but as the sunlight enters, the cold atmosphere is slowly filled with warm air. For Natalak, Chifya's action was a ridicule.
Chifya sighs, "Give me a minute."
Searching through her drawers, rummaging through the dozens of potions. He can hear the clinking sounds of bottles hitting each other as she pulls them out and places them back.
"Guess I have to make another one." She mutters.
On her desk, a scroll was unfurled— infusing the scroll with her mana, quickly the papers start to burn, and while the cinder eats, a strange apparatus slowly emerges from the paper. It's as if the item were slowly being pulled on calm water.
"Now what is this witch starting to brew? Ugh, guessed I should continue sleeping then."
She passed only half an hour of her alchemy.
"It is done." Chifya raised the flask, letting the sunlight fully expose the liquid. On the tube was a glowing sapphire-like object.
She returned to Natalak, in disbelief that the man had fallen asleep.
"You really are a stubborn man to handle."
Through her persistent shaking, Natalak was eventually able to be aroused. He managed to speak somehow, but his body, including his head, remained paralysed.
It took ten drops before Natalak could finally move his body again. In exchange, the nerves sear in pain, his muscles cramp. The pain was so much, but his fortitude stood strong. Thirty seconds passed, and Natalak sat on the edge of the bed, his body still aching. The pain had faded, but something lingered in his chest—a dull, uncomfortable weight.
He looked up at Chifya, irritation clear in his eyes, while she stood there as if nothing had happened. Nevertheless, the pain may have subsided quickly, but the feeling he experiences aches his heart.
"Well, it is not my fault that someone swallowed all the potion in one night."
"You could have instructed me that I needed only ten drops."
"Ugh…" Chifya shook her head in contempt. "Why do I even indulge this childishness?"
"Child? I'm no child. The only juvenile in this room is a lady with her high horse."
"Humans… never measure." Mutters Chifya.
"Says the one who has human blood running through her veins." Natalak expressed discontent.
"And how old are you exactly?" Chifya looks back with a sharp eye.
"25, 25 and a half, maybe 26?" Natalak gave a taunting smile.
"I'm seventy-five."
"Oh." Natalak's gaze wanders away from her sight, as his sniggering smile quickly fades.
"Got an argument to offer, of age?"
"No, Grandma." Natalak snorts.
"You little bra—" Chifya tries to seize Natalak's hand, but her tongue is suddenly interrupted by Sheila's knocking on the door.
"Apologise for my disturbance, but the food is ready," Sheila spoke after slightly opening the door.
"Oh, we'll be coming," Chifya replied.
As for Natalak, he quickly bolts out of the room. "I'm getting the fuck out of here!" So swift that it left Chifya quite insulted. And just as she follows Sheila, she recalls Natalak's bag—suddenly, her lips turn grim.
Upon their descent, they were in awe to find that the table was filled with a king's feast. At the right time, his stomach was peckish. Funny enough, the group leaves two empty chairs for Natalak and Chifya to sit side by side.
It was awkward, but the two remained just visitors at Sheila's home. Natalak observed Chifya carefully, noting how she held the spoon and fork delicately. The breakfast was eaten in silence, but the atmosphere shifted when Natalak decided to seek petty revenge over a simple blanket and the potion he attributed to it.
Silently watching as Chifya chose a dish, which was a peculiar meat wrapped in golden puff pastry. The dish was small, about the size of a jewellery box, measuring three inches long, two inches wide, and an inch thick.
Curious, when Natalak cuts open one, the meat spills golden juice. It was more ecstatic when Natalak's tongue savoured its taste. It was delicious, he can tell, and the slight acidity is what elevates the staple. He could even eat a kilo of the dish and never be full.
Meanwhile, Sheila watched both of them intently, studying Natalak's gaze and casually noting Chifya's behaviour. She suspected an argument was imminent. True enough, Natalak then seized the entire platter and poured most of its contents onto his plate, leaving only four pieces. To her dismay, Natalak then offered those last pieces to Sheila.
"That's okay, I already have a lot of food on my plate." Sheila shakes her hand.
"Ah, what about you?" Natalak offers to Sheila's friends, who all decline.
"You two can have it; we've already tasted that many times," Reith spoke.
"Ah, I see." Natalak smiles and quickly pours all of the staples on his plate.
The four looked at Chifya and saw she didn't have any fuming atmosphere towards Natalak. She's not a seething in her teens, to be irritated by some trivial negligence. Instead, she looks at Natalak with a very tempting face. And crept, she leans at Natalak—firmly pressing herself whilst she begins picking the food at Natalak's plate.
"Hey, those are mine," Natalak said.
"I don't see any of your name written on these," Chifya respond.
"You witch!"
He tries to push her away, but he seemingly can't. The wooden chair he sits in grows a vine, twisting and enveloping his arms. All he could do was watch her devour his platter.
"Madam, we are but a visitor to someone else's house. Do have some manners, you shameless lady." Natalak whispers.
"Said the man who started it all. You're the one who should have some manners." She whispers back, transferring those boxes of meat into her plate.
Defeated, Natalak surrenders from their mean-minded fight. So too, the vines release the chains; they didn't wither. The vines wrapped around the chair, creating a stunning design.
After much of the feast was done, Natalak wasted away on the chair. His stomach was so full that he didn't have the strength to move.
"I think I'm going to get fat wasting my ass in here."
"Sheila… do you have some potion that will melt an overfed stomach?"
"I think, sister Chifya would know such a thing."
Natalak shifts his gaze to Chifya, who remains calmly sipping her tea.
"No." She spoke after putting the cup.
"Hmm…" Natalak groans, shifting his head towards Sheila. "Um, that reminds me, Sheila, do you know where my bag is?"
There was a long pause; it took minutes for her to finally give a word. "I hid it—"
"I took it." Chifya intrudes. "Right after I left your room, putting it on an open barrel right beside your door isn't very masking."
"Give it back." Natalak implies. "There are some things I needed to check with Barry the blacksmith."
"Did you say Barry the blacksmith?" Sheila said.
"Yes, that's him, I do know he is one of the guild's best blacksmiths."
"True that may be, but going at this busy hour will be crowded. You might want to wait in the afternoon, where folks herd the tavern more than their equipment."
"Ah…" Natalak stood. "Guess I take a small nap then."
As always, he quickly returns to Chifya's room and falls asleep. When Natalak had awoken, he saw through the windows, and he had spent more than he thought on long hours of sleep. As it was, night was already at its peak.
A glance at Chifya showed she was occupied in her alchemy. A more focused look revealed a pendant gleaming in the florid light. And as he withdraws the bed, Chifya quickly hides the pendant.
"Damn… I'm hungry."
Curious, he strolls towards Chifya, and what he finds is a full-on alchemy that wasn't familiar to his knowledge. But the peculiar apparatus, the way Chifya transmute different ingredients into liquid. The way the flask hovers from a stranger's fire quickly captivates his interest.
His itchy hands try to touch one of the potions, to which Chifya quickly grabs his wrist.
"Don't." She faintly implores.
"What do these do?" Natalak ask, intently scrutinising the scene.
"I don't know, ask them."
"Hmm…" Natalak nods as he sits by her side, keenly watching her every movement.
Somehow, his intrusive thoughts got the better of him when he saw a stick lying on the side of the table. As he tries to prod one of the potion's fluids slowly, Chifya doesn't apprehend him. Rather, she was analysing the man's stupidity.
"What?" He looks at Chifya strangely.
"I find it hard to believe that you are one of the holders of such a relic." She looks at him with disdainful eyes.
"Well, it's not my fault that Papa Creator entrusted it to me."
She gave a weary sigh, seemingly too bushed to clash with his foolish words. But after some minutes of being watched, Chifya begins to feel embarrassed.
"I can give you another of that potion that makes you sleep if you want?"
"Ah, that would be good."
"I think five drops would be good for you." Chifya then searched the drawers.
"What are you making?"
"It's a remedy for Sheila's scorched magic." Pouring the green vial on a potion. "You should go to sleep." She continues, creating thorn vines enclosing the whole table.
"Go to sleep." Chifya pokes his abdomen, which makes Natalak tickle. "I'll give you your bag tomorrow morning." She titters, quite fond of Natalak's reaction, to which again pokes his left side stomach.
"Stop it." Natalak sways her hand
To the ground floor she descended, and what she saw was Sheila in her deep studies of magic.
"Sister Sheila," Chifya calls, showing the vial.
"Is it time?"
Chifya nods, and slowly they enter Sheila's room. Analysing her back injuries, Chifya was happily satisfied that the scorched magic begins to diminish.
"This will do just fine," Chifya said, coating the green vial.
"If it is alright to ask, how long will this go on?"
"Probably a week, but since the healing is going quite fast, it may take four days. But don't go another magic draining in one go."
"Aye-aye, madam. Also, you and brother Natalak do make a great pair."
Just then, a hard slap came from Sheila's back.
"Ouch! That hurts!"
"Stay still, I'm putting the bandages," Chifya said.
In the midst of late midnight, towards the main adventurers' guild. A group in hooded cloaks enters through the now-nearly-empty space of the building. The group looked around and saw some of the adventurers napping on the table, probably too drunk to move through their room. The atmosphere was silent, so to speak, too silent that only their footsteps could be heard
The group continued to the guild receptionist, who was busy with accounts, scribbling on papers and parchments. Sensing their presence, she looks to greet them.
"Good evening, madam." The man unhoods.
"S-sir Roland." The receptionist stammers.
Roland nods and looks at the statue of Seth.
"I've come home, oh dear great-grandfather."