In the early fifteenth century, on the temperate continent of Lokian, in the heart of the vast Heiliges Koenigreich Empire, in the long-lived country of Stammesland, within the fertile region of Stroemungsbereich, nestled a small but thriving mining town known as Laufstadt. This quaint settlement, situated amidst the towering hills and deep valleys, held a storied history within its cobblestone streets and humble cottages, and a lineage of people who sometimes bore a rare trait that many viewed as a curse, that trait that set one girl apart from the rest of those in that settlement. Her name was Tule, and she hailed from a race known as the Fehla.
The Fehla, an ancient offshoot of humanity, possessed slender physical builds, hair that shimmered in shades of mint green, and pale white skin that seemed almost ethereal in the dappled sunlight of their homeland. Yet, what truly set the Fehla apart were their eyes, for on exceedingly rare occasions, they bore irises that blazed like rubies. These crimson irises, remnants of a time when they were revered, were now labeled 'blood eyes' by the Mensch, the ordinary humans who shared the land with them.
In days long since passed, Fehla with red eyes were celebrated for their unique traits, believed to be guardians of ancient mysteries and powers. But the wheel of time had turned, and many of the Fehla, like Tule, yearned to blend seamlessly into Mensch society. They had, over generations, carefully bred out the red-eyed trait. Today, almost ninety nine percent of the Fehla population boasted brown, green, or blue eyes, while those who were born with the ruby gaze were shunned and maligned.
In the Heiliges Koenigreich Empire, a strict caste system governed society, one that reinforced the distinction between the Mensch and the Fehla. At the pinnacle stood the nobility, comprising less than one tenth of one percent of all the Mensch, those of noble birth acknowledged by the emperor. Below them were the Aristocrats, influential Mensch of non-noble lineage, amassing great wealth and power, occupying roughly five percent of the population.
Then came the Mensch commoners, landowners and business magnates, constituting of about sixty percent of the Mensch population. In contrast, Fehla commoners were limited to owning just one business per family, representing around ten percent of the Fehla populace. The Mensch serfs made up around thitry percent of the Mensch population, allowed to choose their work, but their Fehla counterparts, the Fehla serfs, comprising of about two fifths of the Fehla population, were bound to specific work locations, stripped of any freedom.
Further down the hierarchy were the Mensch slaves, making up the bottom five percent of all of the Mensch, their freedom redeemable by their families. On the other hand, the Fehla slaves consisted of a staggering fifty percent of all of the Fehla population, forced into perilous labor and deemed expendable. In this rigid social structure, Fehla were viewed as inferior to Mensch in nearly every aspect of life, with many Mensch considering even Mensch slaves as higher in status than the most esteemed Fehla.
The deep-rooted prejudice against Fehla extended particularly to those like Tule, who bore the so-called "blood eyes." It was an enduring myth that they were blood-drinkers, servants of demons, accusations born of ignorance and fear. This prejudice had driven Fehla with red eyes to the margins of society, contributing to the dwindling numbers of those with such distinctive irises.
In Stammesland, Fehla made up roughly thirty percent of the population, the remaining seventy percent of the populace being Mensch. Amidst this divided world lived Tule, a modest and quiet fourteen-year-old Fehla girl, barely reaching a height of four fusz and five zoll. Her frame was slender, her hair a shade of mint green, her skin pale, and her irises a striking shade of red, marking her as one of the few "blood eyed" Fehla.
Being of the Fehla, Tule's family had often been in financial struggle, a fact that Tule had occasionaly recieved the blame for. She was no stranger to hunger and hardship, frequent malnutrition being a contributing factor to her diminutive stature. Tule had grown accustomed to the pangs of hunger, often finding comfort with the occasional wild berry or edible plant she would sometimes find in the neighboring forest.
On this particular day, Tule's mission was a simple one. She had been entrusted with one halbkupfermuunze, a small copper coin, to purchase bread for her family. Leaving the confines of her home, her steps were resolute, the precious coin clutched in her hand. She walked with purpose towards the bustling market, her thoughts filled with the responsibility she carried and the prejudices she'd have to endure. At the market, the smell of freshly baked bread beckoned, the promise of sustenance and perhaps a momentary respite from the harsh realities that weighed upon her young shoulders. The local baker's sign caught her eye, offering fresh rolls at a tantalizing price of six rolls for one halbkupfermuunze.
Tule stood before the baker's humble stall, coin in hand, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. She averted her eyes, unable to meet the gaze of the stout man behind the counter. "Sir," she said meekly, her voice barely a whisper in the cacophony of the market, "could I have six bread rolls, please?"
The baker, a portly Mensch, nodded with a hint of indifference and scooped up the desired rolls, placing them in a piece of cloth that Tule had brought with her. Tule accepted the warm bundle with gratitude, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest. With her prize secured, she began her journey back home, past the bustling stalls and jostling crowds.
Despite Tule's gentle and soft spoken demeanor she was not allowed in many establishments in the town, the long held hatred for the "blood eyed" Fehla being as prevalent as ever, despite the decline in those with eyes like hers. Even among the Fehla, Tule was often shunned, those Fehla not wanting to stain their reputation with someone of her standing. Not even childhood friends were immune to this hushed bigotry among her own people.
The air grew heavy with the rhythmic clang of metal as she approached her family's modest abode. There, in their small blacksmith shop, her father Parzival and elder brother Anton toiled away, their hammers forging various tools, primarily pickaxes for the town's mining operations. The clanging grew louder as she neared the shop, the smell of iron and coal dust permeating the air, a fragrance that had permeated Tule's existence. The shop was a testament to her father's years of dedication to his craft and the necessity of his work in their town. Despite his Fehla lineage, Parzival was well respected by those who did business with him, the quality of his iron being unmatched in the small town.
Parzival, her father, bore a simmering animosity towards Tule. Quiet arguments had been known to brew between him and Tule's mother, Seraphina, who staunchly defended Tule's place in the family. Parzival's lineage had long since snuffed out the "blood eye" trait, whereas it was a recessive trait on Seraphina's side of the family. The whispers of doubt had haunted their relationship for years.
In times past, Tule would play with Anton, but as he reached adulthood, he had little time for such indulgences. He was now engrossed in learning his father's trade, a skill that ensured their meager wealth. Tule still cared for her elder brother, but the demands of the family's livelihood left little room for the bond they had once shared. Anton had recently come of age, being respected as a man for the first time. He had received the gift of a beryl pendant, a gift signifying his status as a man.
With apprehension, Tule handed her father and Anton a single bread roll each as she entered the shop. Parzival's temper was notoriously short, and she wished to avoid any confrontation. Her father's gaze briefly met hers, a gaze filled with complex emotions that remained unspoken.
Leaving the shop behind, Tule ventured into the modest cottage that was their family home. Her mother, Seraphina, and her second eldest sister, Ottilie, were hunched over a sewing project of great importance—Ottilie's wedding dress. Ottilie, having recently turned sixteen, was soon to be married off, following the tradition of the Fehla. The wedding dress, a symbol of her impending union, was a labor of love between mother and daughter.
Tule cleared her throat softly. "I'm back with the bread, Mother," she announced, hoping to add some lightness to the room. Her mother, busy with pins and needles, smiled warmly in response.
Ottilie, however, was less welcoming. She had never hidden her contempt for Tule, often blaming Tule's "blood eyes" for their family's hardships. Ottilie's words still echoed in Tule's ears, "Our parents had argued about you in the past, so it must be true." Tule secretly harbored her own feelings of relief that Ottilie would soon be married and gone from their lives.
Tule distributed two of the precious bread rolls to the seamstresses, carefully avoiding eye contact with Ottilie, whose disdain hung heavy in the room. With the remainder of the rolls, Tule turned to her three younger siblings: the twin boys, Marzell and Mortiz, and Petra, the youngest daughter of the family. She tore the remaining rolls in half, ensuring that they all received an equal share. In these small acts, Tule found solace amidst the complex tapestry of family, tradition, and the weight of her own unique heritage.
Tule's younger siblings quickly devoured their meager rations of bread and, with the hunger now sated, they scattered about the cottage to play. The twin boys, Marzell and Mortiz, wasted no time in engaging in their usual roughhousing, their laughter and gleeful yelps filling the air. Petra, the youngest of the three, joined in the commotion, her eyes wide with delight.
Seraphina, attempting to concentrate on a particularly complex stitch in Ottilie's wedding dress, bore the chaos with practiced grace. Her fingers moved deftly through the fabric, guiding the needle through delicate patterns. It was a craft she had honed over the years, and it provided their family with much-needed income. However, as she sewed, her hand slipped, and she accidentally pricked her finger with the needle.
In a swift reflex, Seraphina put the injured finger to her lips, her eyes darting to the precious dress, now thankfully devoid of any telltale droplets of blood. She managed a stern yet affectionate tone as she addressed her rambunctious children. "Go play outside," she ordered, her voice carrying an undertone of maternal concern.
Tule's younger siblings, obediently but reluctantly, filed out of the cottage, the sounds of their playful laughter slowly receding. With the children gone, Seraphina turned to Tule and issued her next command, "Tule, would you start scrubbing the kitchen floor, dear?"
Tule nodded and accepted the responsibility. She retrieved a bucket of water and a worn scrubbing brush from the corner of the kitchen. Kneeling down on the wooden floor, she began to scrub diligently, her thoughts drifting as she worked.
The rhythmic sound of the brush against the wooden surface melded with the distant chirping of birds and the whisper of the wind. In these moments, as she scrubbed the floor, Tule allowed herself to fantasize about her future. Like her eldest sister Thelka, who had married a kind Fehla man three years earlier, Tule dreamed of a similar life. She admired Thelka, who was the kindest member of their family, and longed to find a love as deep and enduring as the one her sister had found.
In her hair, Tule wore a red ribbon, a cherished gift from Thelka. It was her most precious possession, carefully handled each time she wore it or took it off. The simple ribbon added a touch of elegance to Tule's appearance, complementing her unique eyes and displaying her blossoming journey into womanhood.
Time seemed to crawl by as Tule continued to scrub, every groove and grain in the wooden floor stubbornly clinging to the dirt. It was a simple task, yet it held a certain meditative quality. With each stroke, she contemplated her place in the world, her family's hopes and dreams, and the future that awaited her.
After what felt like hours, Seraphina and Ottilie, having completed their conversation about the wedding preparations, prepared to leave. "Tule, watch the house and make sure no one touches the dress," Seraphina requested, a gentle but firm reminder of the dress's importance. Tule nodded in acknowledgment, resolute in her newfound responsibility. As the two seamstresses left, the sounds of the younger siblings playing outside grew a little more distant, and the cottage settled into a quiet and contemplative atmosphere.
The rhythmic sounds of her father's blacksmith shop served as a steady backdrop to Tule's work, a comforting presence in the otherwise quiet cottage. Time seemed to stretch and fold in on itself, creating a brief oasis of peace amidst the daily demands of their modest life.
Suddenly, the door swung open, breaking the tranquil atmosphere. Marzell stood in the doorway; his young face contorted in panic. "Tule!" he exclaimed, breathless, "Petra is stuck in the mine!"
Tule's normally serene demeanor was momentarily offset. She rose to her feet, her movements brisk and purposeful. "Father told you not to play in the mine," she admonished, her voice edged with concern. "Come on, guide me to her."
The urgency of the situation propelled them forward, their steps swift and purposeful. As they hurried towards the mine, Tule couldn't help but ask, "What were you guys doing in the mine?"
Marzell's voice trembled as he answered, "We were trying to find beryl gems that the miners might have left behind."
Beryl, a precious gemstone, held great significance in Fehla culture. Revered as "the stone of morning promise," it was used in the pendants worn by Fehla men. The allure of such a gem would undoubtedly be irresistible, especially to children.
They soon arrived at the entrance of the mine, its yawning mouth a stark contrast to the bright daylight outside. Tule wasted no time, her command firm but caring. "Show me where they are," she instructed, referring to Mortiz and Petra.
Together, they began their descent into the mine. The light grew dimmer with every step, the occasional loose stone in their path providing a barely visible yet perilous hazard to their footsteps. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of earth and rock.
Eventually, they arrived at a deep pit where Mortiz strained to reach down, his fingers grazing the edge of a small stone outcrop. Just beyond his reach, Petra cried out, her tiny arms reaching up desperately. It was a heart-stopping sight, one that filled Tule with both dread and determination.
Despite her small stature, Tule's resolve was unwavering. With careful precision, she reached down and swiftly retrieved Petra, setting her back on solid ground. The relieved cries of her siblings filled the chamber as Petra ran to her brothers, clutching onto them tightly.
Tule, now standing alone, allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. It was short-lived. At that very moment, the stone beneath her foot shifted. With a sudden lurch, Tule lost her balance and began to fall, the world around her plunging into darkness.