β π₯β βββΆββ β π₯β
π₯ March 18th, x800 π₯
π₯ π₯ π₯ π₯
The world comes alive as the morning light peeks over the top of the nearby mountains. For a moment, Catrina Cinerus watches as orange, red, pink, and blue clouds blend before her eyes into a lovely painted sky. She breathes in the chilly air around her; the smell of bread from the bakery reaches the edge of the Nightshade Forest, and she savors it before entering the woods. There's a quiet chirping as birds awaken with the dawn. It's still black as pitch at this time of day, but this is a path Catie knows well. Her feet never trip or stumble.
The light ahead calls to her. As she breaks into a clearing, the sun's fresh rays warm her pale, freckled skin. She brushes aside morning dew from her long blonde hair while her baby blue eyes land upon the cobblestoned path greeting her. Wildflowers in red, purple, and gold line the walkway; the blooms open to the morning light, and a breeze wafts their delicate scent to her nose.
Catie follows the path to the single-story red brick building at its end. Grass overtakes the doorway, the bay windows are due for a washing, and some of the paint on the frames is chipping. (It'll be a maintenance day for her, it seems.) Etched into the stone archway over the door is The Phoenix Refuge symbol. She rests her hand against the archway, right over the imprint of her concrete handprint. She's grown over the eight years since its completion, but only slightly. Her brother Evander's and sister Victoria's handprints bookend hers; it's hard to imagine they were ever so small.
An iron-wrought key beats against Catie's chest as the wind picks up more. She unlocks the heavy, oak doors of the guild, shoving them open with a grunt. Flower petals flow in behind her as she pins the doors in place. She unshutters the windows. The sunlight adds much-needed warmth to the room.
Catie surveys the rest of the main room with a sigh: four red linoleum tables are spread out without any care, with their chairs distributed unevenly amongst them. She does her best to rearrange them, but one chair is missing. That's the third one in as many months. Where they go, she doubts she'll ever know.
A bundle of letters is awaiting her in the guild's drop box. Some are addressed to various members, some are mission requests, two are bills, and of course, her father's personal mail takes up the majority.
Catie makes quick work of separating what she knows he'll read from what he might throw away out of spite (she'll save those for herself.) She organizes everyone else's mail into their various slots, and the minor requests she sticks to the mission board (which is just a simple recycled corkscrew board) at the guild's back. It's become overrun with colorful flyers and posters. Only half of them are guild related.
Above the board hangs the portrait of a woman with reddish brown skin, bright green eyes and a smile that rivals the sun. Her dark brown hair flies freely in a forever blowing wind. Lotus flowers and forget-me-nots surround her in the background. A golden, engraved plaque sits below her.
κ§ΰΌΊ MARCELINA CINERUS ΰΌ»κ§
ΰΌΊ κ°ΙͺΚκ±α΄ Ι’α΄ΙͺΚα΄ α΄α΄κ±α΄α΄Κ ΰΌ»
Catie traces her fingers over the lettering and smiles.
"Good morning Mama Lina," she whispers. "Thank you for looking after us again today."
The portrait doesn't answer, as usual, but Catie pretends Lina's smile grows wider.
Besides the board and portrait is a heavy, black door with a golden handle. A light shines from the crack at the bottom, and Catie shakes her head before knocking.
"Come in," calls a gruff voice.
Catie pushes the door open, and it gets snagged on the plush purple carpet taking up most of the floor space. The guild's crest is woven into the center in gold. She glares at the offending rug, not for the first time imagining herself ripping it to shreds and tossing it in the garbage.
"You've got some mail, Dad," Catie says, stomping the carpet flat again.
Ajax Cinerus looks up from his paperwork, his charcoal black eyes bloodshot, and his gray streaked red hair falling into his face. His usually lightly tanned skin looks gray in the lowlight. Below the skew of files and papers hides his desk. He blinks, then looks out his window. His eyebrows rise as he notices the dawn for the first time.
"It's morning already?" He asks.
"Yup. You stayed here all night. Again." Catie pulls half of Ajax's paperwork out of his hands. "I'm telling Apolla."
He groans.
"Please don't. She'll make me drink another strange potion."
"She wouldn't have to if you took proper care of yourself." Catie grabs even more of his paperwork from the pile on his desk. "I told you I'd help, didn't I? Stop trying to do everything on your own. Here. Read your mail and take a nap before the others come in. If you do as you're told, I'll ask Apolla to make you some coffee with those fancy beans you like."
Ajax barks a laugh, and Catie smiles at him. The bags under his eyes seem lighter already.
"Thank you for your help, Catie. As always."
"That's what I'm here for." Catie brushes a kiss to his temple, plucking even more paperwork out of his grip. "If you need me, I'll be taking inventory in the pantry."
Once she's gone, Ajax stares down at his almost empty desk.
She's got some quick fingers on her, he muses as he goes through his mail.
He turns to the small photo of Lina on his desk and grins at her.
"I swear that girl of yours is the only thing keeping us afloat. She should just take over my job and call herself the guild master already."
Shut up and do as you were told, Old Man. He imagines Lina's response. With a chuckle, he checks his letters.
The first envelope has no return address or sender, but Ajax recognizes the elegant script spelling his name. This could be very serious, or nothing at all. He never knows with Donovin. He's tempted to throw it away.
With hesitant fingers, he breaks the gaudy wax seal.
Only two lines are written on the ivory paper:
πΎππππ ππ πππ πππππ.
πΎππππ ππ πππ πππππ.
Ice shoots up his spine. His hands spark, and Ajax burns the letter, dusting the ash into his potted sword lily. He leans back with a deep breath. His hands find his hair, and he pushes it back from his face.
"Shit," he says. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
Eight years. Eight goddamn years without so much as a trace, and Donovin's finally got a hit on the ship. Ajax had given up on ever getting answers as to what happened that night. It can't be a coincidence. Not with a new Cycle on the brink of beginning.
And what does he mean by the snake? Is he talking about the Rune Knights? Or was he trying to warn Ajax about someone in the guild?
He needs more info. He'll need to organize a meeting with Donovin as soon as he can. For now, though, there's nothing he can do.
Ajax exhales in a steady stream, forcing his heartbeat to calm.
He moves on to his next letter.
This one carries the seal of the Magic Council.
Now that can't be a coincidence.
Truly feeling his exhaustion now, Ajax breaks it open.
ππ πππ πΏππππππ‘ ππππππ πΆππππ πΌπππππ, π°πππ‘ π²ππππππ:
πΎπ πππ πππππππππ ππ πΌππππ, π‘πΎπΆπΆ, π½πππππππ πΉπππππ πΆππππ π ππ ππππππππ ππ πππ πππππππ ππ πππ πππππππ π ππ π·ππππππ.
π³ππππππ πππ ππππ ππ πππππ πππππ ππππππ’, πππ πππ ππππππ πππππππππ ππ πππ ππππππ ππ πππ π, πππ πππππππππ πππππ ππ ππππ πππππ ππ π πππ ππππππππ. πππ πΌππππ π²ππππππ ππππππππ ππππ π’ππ ππππ π πππππ ππππ ππ πππππππ π ππππππ πππππππππππππ ππππ π·ππππππ'π πππ π πππ ππππππ. ππππ πππππππππππ ππ, ππ ππππππ, ππ ππ ππππ πππππ πππππ ππ ππππππππ πππππππππ πππ ππ ππππ.
ππππππ πππππππππππ ππ ππππ ππππ ππ ππππππ, π’πππ πππππ π πππ ππ ππππ πππππππππππ πππππππππππ’.
ππ ππππ ππππ πππ ππ π’πππ ππ πππ ππππππππ.
Ζπ€ κΖ¬. β³ΖΈΖπ€ β³Ζ¬ΖΖΈΖ π€ ΖΗΆΖΘ΄Θ΄ΖΈβ³
Ajax scratches his beard, and his fingers get a bit tangled. (He reminds himself to shave later.) From what he can recall, Julius Gaius was a prominent member of the Nobleman Society and a frequent benefactor to the Magic Council before its reformation. Even so, the Magic Council does not typically concern themselves with matters outside of guilds and mages, so what about Nobleman Gaius were they interested in? Obviously, it's a delicate matter, and they must feel that his status as a former Rune Knight is enough to trust him with this, vague threats in the letter aside. The current Magic Council would not be familiar with him, though. He must have been recommended.
Donovin's name is written all over this.
"What is it you want me to know?" He mumbles to himself even as he rolls over to his filing cabinet and pulls out his notes on the guild members. He'll need them to determine who will be the best fit for this case. (It seems he won't be getting rest anytime soon.)
π₯ π₯ π₯ π₯
Less than ten yards from the back of the guildhall sits a shed the size of a barn. Half of it is made of glass, and various plants can be seen from the outside. The other half is made of hickory and has been turned into a workshop, inside which can be found an array of tools, machines, and a man named Henry Garneau.
A tall and thin man, with lightly tanned skin, Henry can almost always be seen with a scowl, and his golden eyes constantly seem narrowed in disapproval. A burn scar travels down Henry's neck and disappears below his white denim button-up, the right sleeve of which is cut off to expose his mechanical arm. A brown leather vest with several pockets adorns his shirt, and he wears a thick pair of brown pants with matching leather steel-toed cowboy boots.
Henry's dark red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and he makes sure to keep his beard trimmed short. A pair of tinted welding goggles obscure his eyes as he sits at his workbench. Sparks fly around him while the stick of a lollipop peeks out of his mouth.
Evander Cinerus stands a respectable distance away, twitching and flinching with every spark. A young man with medium brown skin, of average height and build, Evander keeps his green eyes glued to Henry's back, trying to determine his progress from the set of his shoulders. Absently, Evander tugs on his short mahogany curls. He takes three steps forward, jumping back two when a spark nearly lands on his baseball jacket.
Evander has just worked up the courage to try to peer over Henry's shoulder again when the man suddenly turns his welder off and raises his goggles. Henry's golden eyes narrow as he scowls. On his table is a pair of golden gauntlets with cracked, black lacrima embedded in the palms.
"They're busted," Henry announces.
"Okay," says Evander. "You can fix them, right?"
Henry grunts, yanking the lacrima out of the gauntlets. They release a whir like a bee bumping into a window, and Evander winces.
"There's a complex amalgamation of magic and mechanics going on in these," Henry explains. "I can fix them no problem, but if you want them to work like they always have, then you're gonna need an identical pair of lacrima. That neighbor of yours, Calliope-"
"Calypso." Evander corrects. Henry waves him off.
"Ask her where she got 'em from, and I can order replacement parts." He points at Evander with his lollipop. "But you're paying for them, Kid. I'm tired of fixing your crap pro bono."
"Whatever you say, Henry," Evander says, already halfway out the door. "You better not turn them into scrap metal while I'm gone."
"Don't tempt me, Brat!" Henry yells after him, but Evander's already gone. With a grumble, he flips his goggles down and pulls what looks like a mess of wires and metal in front of him. "Damn Cinerus family. Always breaking their shit."
π₯ π₯ π₯ π₯
A piercing whistle fills the air as the train signals its last call for passengers to board. A few stragglers rush to make the deadline, and as the train pulls away, Barberry station is empty. Now that the coast is clear, a blue-haired young man no older than sixteen whistles to himself as he carries a handful of fliers and a stapler. His eyes are a deep blue, and he wears a large and flowing blue, gold-trimmed coat over a simple white shirt and baggy trousers. A blue belt sits on his waist, and a scarf loosely wraps around his neck with its ends trailing behind him down to his knees. Fittingly, his name is Blue.
He chooses a support beam in the middle of the station, and staples a purple and gold flier with gusto, using twenty more staplers than necessary. Once he's done, he stands back to admire his work with a smirk. The upside-down placement adds a nice touch, in his opinion. He takes another flier, rolls it up, and sticks it in a nearby bush so that only the very top can be seen. Another one he simply releases into the wind and salutes it as it flies away; it has an important mission, after all.
For the past three days, Blue's been coming to the station between departure times and leaving behind his fliers in places where people can find them only after taking a second glance. So far, no one has caught him doing it either.
Now he only has one flier left, and he scans the area for the perfect spot.
An idea crosses his mind, and his face breaks into a grin. Laughing to himself, Blue floats to the top of the station and hovers right below the ceiling. He attaches his last flier, going overboard with the staples once more so the paper won't end up falling soon.
β€α΅αΌααΏαα°α!β₯
ααΏα΄αααΏ!
ααα°α?
β£_-(γα΄γ)-_β’
With a chuckle, Blue lowers himself to the ground. He can just picture the face of the random stranger who the flier falls on. He hopes he's around to see it!
"What's the point of these fliers if not to catch someone's immediate attention? Doesn't it defeat the purpose if you hide them this way?"
Blue turns around, surprised to see a teenage girl holding one of his fliers. She's of average height and build, with average length black hair and intelligent black eyes. Her face is pretty, yet plain, and Blue doubts he'd be able to describe her if she wasn't right in front of him.
More importantly than her looks, few people are able to sneak up on Blue, and he finds himself immediately intrigued.
"I'm trying to guarantee these fliers are seen by the right people at the right time. Who am I to interfere with fate?" He grins, drawing close to read the flier she's found. "That's one of my favorites."
She frowns, first at him, then the paper. It's covered in an obscene amount of glitter, the writing hastily done in sloppy, purple crayon, only the letters "PR" over and over.
β€βγ βΤ» 彑βΉβ₯
βγ ακͺ 彑βΉ
βγ α΄Τ 彑βΉ
β£βγ α΅α 彑βΉβ’
"I take it this is in reference to the Phoenix Refuge Guild?" She asks.
"Exactly! Are you here to join?"
She pauses, as if meeting Blue might have made her change her mind.
"I am," she says.
"Then I guess it worked." Blue grins, floating himself into the air once more.
"Aren't you going to tell me where the guild is?" The girl asks.
"Nah. I've still got some stuff to do. I'm sure you can figure it out yourself." By "stuff," Blue apparently means taking a nap in the rafters.
The girl stares at him for a second before rolling her eyes, straightening her jacket, and leaving the station.
At first glance, Ranmaru Kuroda finds Barberry is fairly generic as far as towns go; a few homes scattered between even fewer shops, friendly people who call out to each other in greeting, a young woman in pajamas carrying a giant tub of ice cream.
Well, not specifically her, but every town has at least one or two weirdos wandering around. And the weirdos are normally involved with a guild. The purple mark on the young woman's shoulder proves this.
"Excuse me!" Ranmaru calls out. The young woman turns to face her, a spoon of ice cream halfway to her mouth. She's shorter than Ranmaru, with sharp hazel eyes and medium brown skin. Perched atop her head in twin buns, her mahogany curls seem to be on the verge of escaping.
"Are you a member of Phoenix Refuge?" Ranmaru asks.
"Not today," she mumbles. Dark circles sit like crescent moons below her eyes. "I'm on break. Go to the guild if you want to make a request."
"I'm not making a request. I want to join."
The young woman shovels a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She squints at the flier Ranmaru's holding.
"Blue still has those? I thought he ran out months ago. You should probably throw that away and wash your hands. I think he put itching powder on some of them."
"Why would he do that?" Ranmaru tosses the flier into a nearby trash can, glaring at the glitter left behind on her palms. "Won't it discourage people from joining?" She takes out a water bottle, rinsing her hands, and wiping them clean on her jacket.
"I don't think he cares either way." The girl shrugs. "Most of what he does is for his own amusement."
"What a frustrating person."
"You get used to it." She shovels another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. "I can introduce you to my dad, I guess. I needed to stop by the guild, anyway."
"Your father is the guild master, Ajax Cinerus? You're too young to be Catrina, so that must make you Victoria Cinerus."
"Yeah." She squints at Ranmaru's face. "It's super creepy that you know that, but I'm too tired to care."
"Your guild is officially registered with the Magic Council. The member lists are public information."
"That sounds like a security risk," she yawns. "And most people call me 'Ria,' by the way. I don't know if that was in the Magic Council's records."
"It was," Ranmaru says.
"Ugh. I hate that." Ria shutters, though Ranmaru suspects that has more to do with ice cream than anything else.
They fall into a steady silence, and Ranmaru allows her thoughts to wander as she systematically observes her surroundings, mentally cataloging them. Due to her extensive research of the area, she knows Barberry is a small harbor town on Fiore's West coast. Its most prominent export is fish, and until recent years, there were zero registered mages living in the place. Few outsiders chose to stop here, especially since the Obsidian Mountains provided a natural barrier between it and the more populous cities in the East. Not exactly ideal for starting a guild, it's a wonder Phoenix Refuge has any members.
Despite her research, Ranmaru found there just isn't much info regarding Phoenix Refuge. Normally, the Magic Council had meticulous records on registered mages (although she lied to Ria, they weren't publicly available.) In contrast, Phoenix Refuge's records with the Magic Council are nearly bare, with only the names and approximate ages of the members. It's possible that's just an effect of the guild still being so young, but in her opinion, it felt more like someone was trying to keep Phoenix Refuge under wraps.
All Ranmaru Kuroda knows for sure about Phoenix Refuge is that she's supposed to be a part of it. Ever since she first heard its name, she's felt a pull to this town, and she learned long ago not to go against that feeling.
(After all, the Old Man only gave her two pieces of advice:
Do not fear.
Do not regret.)
β π₯β βββΆββ β π₯β
Credits:
Henry "Iron Hand" Garneau: The Restless Drifter
Blue: SimpleStories24
Ranmaru Kuroda: Hofund