travel preparations

The air glittered with morning mist, the sun peeking through clouds to illuminate the ground in dappled patches. Arkala’s golden fields whispered in the wind, and the leaves rustled on its trees of perpetual autumn.

Wren stood amidst all of this, taking in Arkala’s beauty. This island was the closest thing she had to a “home”, and it held a special place in her heart; a special feeling. She had returned for a few months to visit old friends. It had been wonderful, celebrating the spring and traveling with her pets. But now it was time to leave.

In the shadow of her late parents’ cottage, the brown-and-white Candle Noodle laid out her things on a large, dry rock. Her trusty faux-leather satchel, bought from a Falconstrike merchant, could hold more than it looked (Wren had a sneaking suspicion it was enchanted, but she couldn’t be sure). She didn’t travel with much; her collections (of which there were many: coins, stamps, tokens, figurines…) were stored in the cottage. A journal was laid on the rock; then a sketchbook; then a few quills, paints, and brushes. A water flask, filled with cool, clear water from a stream. A few jars of food to be consumed on the airship and a few fruits for Daisy and Mycelio. A dark brown knit blanket that Wren made herself in a crafts class.

And finally, a little wooden box. Inside sat the last remnants Wren had of her parents — a few globs of wax and snippets of wick. They had been lying around the house, just random trash to Wren before her parents disappeared. She’d thrown them away without a second thought. Now she regretted every lazy toss of potential keepsakes, treasured memories, forever gone.

When Raydes swallowed her parents, Wren had turned the house upside down, desperately searching for those last bits of her mother and father and their familiar warm light. The contents of the little box were all she could find. She often hugged it to try and feel a warmth, however fleeting.

Now, why the box? Wren was finally participating in the annual Rite of the Reef. She had never been to the ocean islands before. Now, having finally finished with graduate school and being allowed to travel freely by Noctuelle, she was keen on experiencing the Rite for herself.

I might as well get used to travelling all the time now, Wren thought, if I want to join the Adventurer’s Guild. But what if I don’t? She was indecisive, sometimes preferring the Adventurer’s Guild, where her parents had worked and ultimately disappeared, and at other times preferring the Gilded Quill, where she could live in peace and read, write, and study like a true scholar all day on her beloved island.

She wanted to travel, but she didn’t really want to die either.

As Wren pondered her future, two figures bounded up to her, squeaking up a storm. One of them was a brown and blue Mushbun, the other a green Boosha. Wren smiled. “Daisy, stop chasing Mycelio.” She gave the Boosha, Daisy, a reprimanding bop on the head. Daisy settled down, tucking her paws in to become a bush. Mycelio, the Mushbun, shook his head and sat regally next to the bush.

“Well, Mycelio,” Wren said, gesturing to the objects on the rock. “Do you think I missed anything?” She knew it was ridiculous to believe that a Mushbun could understand her and give her answers, but she believed Mycelio was an intelligent Mushbun, and even now she swore she could see Mycelio give a little nod.

“Okay then,” she said. “Daisy! Get up. Let’s go.”

Wren planned to make one more stop before setting sail from the docks in Arkala City. As she trotted along the worn path which had carried many travelers before her and would surely carry many more after, she thought about the Rite of the Reef. The biggest tradition of the Rite was the Lantern Festival, where Faians from all over the Realm would release lanterns of myriad shapes and sizes into the Bay. Wren, of course, planned on participating in the tradition. She’d heard stories of it from Noctuelle, the sparkling galaxy of lights visible from far above the harbor, uniting the hopes and dreams of friends and strangers into a twilight symphony. She planned on letting her parents go so that their light could join the symphony and explore the vast ocean to the ends of the world; that had always been their dream. 

The only problem was that she didn’t have a lantern.

Clearly the obvious solution was to make one! Wren hadn’t ever tried lantern making before, but she knew where to learn. The craft town of Prottia, the craftsman capital and also the site of one of Wren’s few remaining memories with her parents. They had watched the dragon boat festivals there when she was young, the long, thin, boats racing across the clouds. Their heads were sculpted into elaborate shapes, the works of the crafters of the town. It was a fond memory, eating honey candy sticks and looking at paintings on scrolls. Wren hadn’t been back since, and she was eager to return.

After a day of travelling, the cliffs on the coast were in view, their sheer drop into the sky always a thrill for Wren. Some days, the clouds, like waves (she was told), smashed into the cliffs, curling wisps of water vapor spilling over onto land. Other days, when the sky was clear, she could just see the ocean sparkling far, far, below, and perhaps the blurry outline of a sea island. She wondered what could be down there; cities full of other Faians living their own lives full of joys and sorrows about which she would never know. She hoped, though, to catch a glimpse of those lives soon, to further tangle the red strings of fate (hopefully for the better).

Prottia emerged from behind a low line of hills, clinging to the cliff’s edge, squat wooden buildings covered in colorful art and decorations. A fresh, somewhat moist cloud breeze blew through the streets, carrying kites and streamers. Faians of all ages played on the fields surrounding the town while street vendors sold food and trinkets. It was an idyllic, picture-perfect Arkalan town, and for some reason Wren found herself blinking tears out of her eyes.

“Alright, Mycelio,” she said absentmindedly to the Mushbun perched on her shoulder, “where does Noctuelle live?”

Noctuelle had been Wren’s Ruptour guardian ever since her parents died. After the Ruptour awakening, a family heirloom jar had disappeared and Noctuelle had appeared, disgruntled. She’d taken good care of Wren, even though she was a little overprotective — forbidding Wren to visit the sea islands and mostly restricting her to Arkala for the past few years. Recently, Noctuelle had moved to Prottia to make more jars (Wren found this slightly funny but Noctuelle didn’t get it). Wren was eager to see her again.

Mycelio was half-asleep, so he did not deign to bestow upon Wren an answer. Wren had to find Noctuelle’s little house by herself. Fortunately, it wasn’t hard, because of the sheer amount of pottery sitting outside (the house was also bigger than the ones surrounding it, since Noctuelle was a pretty big Ruptour). She nearly skipped up to the door, barely concealing her excitement as she knocked on the solid oak wood. Nearby wind chimes jingled in the breeze. The door creaked open slowly to reveal a familiar face.

“Wren!” Noctuelle exclaimed, her large figure lit from the back by windows opposite the door. The Ruptour threw her arms around Wren, paws still dripping with water and clay. Wren laughed. It felt good to be hugged by Noctuelle again.

“So what brings you here?” Noctuelle asked. “Don’t tell me it’s just to visit big ‘ol me.”

“Haha,” Wren said with a smile. “Unfortunately, no. Since you finally let me do some exploring of my own — don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere near Raydes — I’m going to Lylluna Reef for the Rite of the Reef. I just need to make a lantern, and I thought Pottria would be perfect.”

“Oh, the Rite,” Noctuelle mused. “I suppose I’ve told you stories of that. Some were from my own brief experience, others were stories passed on from others. I’m glad you’re going. I hope you have fun. And, uh. Next time, take me along.”

Wren nodded. “Of course.”

Noctuelle invited her inside, and Mycelio and Daisy followed. The two spent a while catching up and laughing like old friends. They talked about Wren’s studies and dreams and her pets — why in the world would she choose a Boosha? (In fact, it was because Daisy had stolen all of Wren’s snacks and wouldn’t leave the poor Candle Noodle alone.) Wren asked Noctuelle about her new life in Pottria. How was her ceramics business going? Noctuelle still didn’t get why making vases as a Ruptour that came out of a vase was funny, but Wren spent a good minute laughing about it.

As the sun neared the horizon and the sky turned red, Noctuelle pointed Wren towards a popular crafts house that was running lantern making workshops. Wren thanked her old guardian. With a final embrace, she and her pets were off, soon to board a ship on their way to Lylluna Reef, to see the sea up close.