The village of Weh'le was buzzing with people. Once every year, when the barrier between the land of the living and the dead was the weakest, people from all around Ionia visited the settlement for what was called the Spirit Blossom Festival. It has been said for many generations that on this day, those who dared to make the journey to the mountaintop next to the village could commune with their dead loved ones again — although few ever made the return trip to tell the tale.
In recent times even less people attempted the feat, as the Noxian invasion caused the spirit blossoms to disappear and the festival became a celebration of unity through harsh times instead. But in the past years as the land started to heal, the spirit blossoms began to return as well, and many wondered if the tree at the top would grant the same wishes once more.
The lone swordsman who weaved through the crowd knew it would.
As he breathed in the air of the homeland he's missed for many a month, he smelled something strange, something that felt inexplicably inappropriate for a place like Weh'le. He began to hunt its source, letting the wind guide his sense of smell forward until he stopped at a small stall. A single traveler sat there in front of a cup full of tea, wrapped in white clothing from head to toe, their hands covered with gloves, not even a single feature of theirs visible from the outside.
Is it coming from this person?
He watched from afar as the traveler turned their head in the direction of the mountain, ready to stand up and start moving, only to slump back into their chair, placing both hands on their forehead. Their clothing, posture and movements clearly revealed that they were a foreigner. For others it could have taken many tries to guess their exact origin, but to the swordsman that metallic smell was unmistakable.
"You're pretty far from home," he greeted them.
The traveler's body shook, clearly startled.
"Yeah, I am," a voice emanated from within the hood after a brief pause.
A woman.
"My apologies for intruding on you, O-sa. Came to make the climb to the Spirit Tree?"
"Maybe." She placed her hand on her cup but didn't drink from it, making it look as if she only ordered it to have something to occupy her hands with.
The tea looks cold. She's probably been sitting here for awhile now.
"There are no maybes on the day the dead return to the land of the living."
He sat down alongside her, leaving an empty seat between them. He gave the elderly stallholder man a single coin and soon received his own cup of tea in return.
"Thank you, O-fa."
"I came to climb, yeah," she said, turning towards him. He finally got a good look at her face and could see the light blue color of her hair around it.
Young and peculiar, no wonder you don't want to show yourself. You stick out like a sore thumb already.
She wasn't all dressed in white it seemed — she wore a red scarf around her neck under her jacket.
"You're the first person to speak my language ever since I left the shores," she remarked. "How did you know?"
The smell.
"An educated guess."
She pulled down the gloves from her left hand, revealing her artificial middle finger.
Huh, sore middle finger then.
Her natural fingers' nails were painted in alternating colors of blue and pink. They revealed to him the playful nature at her core, but the scars on them also betrayed the turmoil in her past.
She smelled her hand and leaned back with a disgusted expression on her face.
"Ah, it's leaking again. I gotta maintain it soon, I guess…"
He sat in silence waiting for her to speak up, giving her the option to ignore his company if she did not wish for it.
"I keep thinking that it's a bad idea to go up there," she said after a minute, putting her glove back on her hand.
"Weh'le doesn't usually let in outsiders. A foreigner like you normally gets lost in the forests and turned back by the magic of the land. The fact that you sit here already means that it welcomes you."
"I heard that. Still doesn't mean it's a good idea to go up there. You know, ghosts of the past, you will not last and whatnot."
"I haven't heard that expression before."
"Yeah, me neither, I just made it up."
A knowing smile spread across his face as he took a sip of his tea.
Afraid, huh. I've been down that road too.
"Here to see friends or foes?"
"…Both."
"You should have a plan on what you want to say to them. Makes it easier when they appear in front of you."
"How would you know?"
"I've done the Commune before."
She rose slightly from her chair, looking at him, clearly more interested than before.
"Did you have a plan?"
"No."
"Good advice then, if you yourself didn't take it." She slumped back, visibly annoyed.
"I didn't exactly plan on coming back, you see."
The response gave her a pause.
"But you're still here," she said, half-asking, as if she was checking that she wasn't talking to a specter.
"The dead have a different way of thinking about life. They are free from the constraints of time. Sooner or later, we catch up to them. They are in no hurry."
He took another sip of his tea.
"When you said foes… What exactly did you mean by that?"
"It can be anyone who has a rightful grudge against you."
"Who decides what is rightful?"
"Karma."
She looked at him with a puzzled face. He grabbed her cup of tea and placed it between them, dropping a thin bamboo straw into it.
"Think of your actions towards everybody as a scale. The more good you do for them in your life, the more it tips towards you. The more bad you do to them, the more it tips towards them."
He tilted the straw back and forth to illustrate his point.
"However, others also have their own scales that measure their actions towards you. Karma is a pair of such scales between two people."
He placed his own cup of tea alongside hers so that they lined up with their bodies and dropped a separate straw into it, tilting his own towards himself and hers towards her.
"If both scales are tipped to the scale's owner, the two spirits will be at peace with each other."
He tilted the straws to the opposing sides, forming a crude X mark as they touched at the middle.
"If both scales are tipped to the scale's subject, the two spirits will be in conflict, and thus they will avoid each other in the afterlife."
He tilted both straws towards himself, and his expression darkened.
"But if both scales are tipped to the same side… that's when somebody has a rightful grudge against the other."
"What happens then?"
He took out the straw from her cup and broke it between his fingers. She suddenly looked frightened.
"Can the scales be tipped… even after one dies?"
"The Spirits watch over us all. They surely notice our efforts even from beyond the veil. Whether they care about them or not… is another matter."
He took out the straw from his own cup and drank the rest of his tea.
"So when you are up there… does it just happen? Or do you have to talk to someone?"
"The Spirit Tree will show itself to you in some form. A form that you can communicate with — in your language."
"Great, a talking tree. And here I thought the guy who wanted to "paint me as the walking tragedy I am" would be the weirdest encounter I had here.
The swordsman laughed.
"Welcome to Ionia."
With all he saw and experienced, he made his judgment.
She's no danger to anyone here.
He turned towards the stallholder. "Thank you, O-fa." He showed his respect to him once more and stood up to take his leave.
"Good luck on your journey. If you decide to go on it."
"Any last advice you might have, Mr. Mysterious?"
He remembered the encounter with his own demon during his Commune in the past.
"It's not up to you how they feel. It's up to them."
"Thanks. For everything."
As he walked away, she heard him ask one final question from him.
"What do I call the Spirit Tree if it's a woman?"
He smiled.
"You call her O-ma."
She arrived at the top of the mountain just before dusk. The Spirit Tree dominated its surroundings, towering over the mountain, giving her and the rest of the vegetation shade from the setting sun. It made her think of a similar tree far away from here.
It reminded her of the day she found her home.
Down in the village, the people of Weh'le lit up their customary lanterns and let them flew in the air freely, venerating their dead. They dotted the landscape with their bright, yellow lights.
It reminded her of the day she left her home.
She would have been more amazed at the beauty of the scene enfolding before her eyes had she not had the urge to puke for the fourth time that day.
Okay, I get it, land of the Spirits. I have to respect you. Doesn't mean you have to make me feel like shit for two weeks in a row.
She pulled herself together, remembering the words she rehearsed, and shouted them in the direction of the Tree.
"I came to immerse myself in the river Weh'le!"
Another urge took hold of her and she couldn't resist it this time. She fell to her knees, emptying her stomach's contents — what little she could eat that day — right in front of an elderly woman's legs.
Great… now that's gonna be quite an introduction.
"Good evening, O-ma," she said, panting. The woman — the Spirit Tree — eyed her with a stone cold expression.
She was dressed in a white kimono, the ceremonial dress of the Festival, with only her wrinkled hands and face uncovered. Even her hair was as white as snow — it was endlessly long, reaching the ground and continuing on towards the Tree's trunk, disappearing under it. The only feature on her that possessed a different color was the wide sash that kept her clothes together — it was as blue as the narrow creek that emerged from underneath the tree, flowing down the other side of the mountain in a winding fashion before being lost in the vast forests beneath.
"You are far from home, daughter of Zaun," the woman finally said in a low, monotone voice, as the girl before her stood up.
"Yeah… I've heard that before. I… apologize for the mess I've just made. I can clean it up, if you want me to."
"You don't have to be more formal with me than you are with others."
"I figured I would respect the occasion." She looked at the puddle that she left on the ground barely a few seconds ago. Yeah, nice form of respect, good job, you idiot.
"Do not worry about that. Soon it will be one with the mountain, just one of the many signs of the foolish living who dare to journey here on the day of what they call a Festival."
"Foolish, because the living can't let go of the dead?"
"Foolish, because the dead do not like to remember what it feels like to be alive."
The girl stood up, finally able to catch her breath, looking the woman in the eye with a determined face.
"I still have to see them."
Like all the others.
"I must warn you. The Commune is dangerous on its own, much more for someone in your condition."
"If you mean that I puked just now, it's okay, I feel fine."
The woman's eyes widened. She doesn't know.
It wasn't her place to let her know.
"Many who came here in the past fell victim to what they found on the other side. Some were trapped by the allure of the ones they've once loved. Others met their fate at the hands of those they've once wronged. Few ever return."
"I will return." The girl grabbed the scarf she wore around her neck, clearly comforted by the sensation.
"Let me assess you, then. Don't move."
The woman put a hand on the girl's forehead and almost recoiled in shock.
I've seen many who wished to Commune so they could free themselves from the suffering their own conscience brought upon themselves. But this girl… If she goes in like this…
"So, can we start? The sun is going to set soon, and I will miss my chance."
"Once you are one the other side, you are on your own. I cannot and will not interfere in any way."
"Fine by me."
"You must not linger in one place. Speak to the dead for too long, and you will find yourself drawn in by them, unable to escape their embrace, no matter if it comes from a place of love or hate.
The girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath, calming herself.
"I am ready. I have to do this. There is no other way."
The woman sighed. On this day, her request cannot be denied.
"Then let us begin."
She led her to the other side of the mountain, still somewhat visible thanks to the afterthoughts of yesterday's sun, to the creek that was barely a few inches wide.
"Close your eyes, and immerse yourself in the river Weh'le."
"Uh… right here? I can barely immerse a single foot in this… O-ma."
The woman did not answer.
Well, alright. What could go wrong? Wait, that's right, everything.
She laid down on her back right on top of the creek and closed her eyes. She could feel the water running down along her spine and braced herself for whatever was about to happen.
"Immerse yourself in the river Weh'le."
Somehow it felt like the ground was moving underneath her, widening the creek's path, forcing her to dig deeper into the soil that supported her.
"Let the currents take the burdens you carry."
The creek became deep enough that she was now fully submerged. Panicking, her first instinct was to try climbing out, but she remained in place with her eyes closed, supporting herself with her arms that could still reach the sides of the creek, clinging on to them.
I must do this. I cannot run.
"Remember those you have lost."
Mom. Dad. Mylo. Claggor. Vander. Silco. Isha.
The tide strengthened even more, threatening to pull her with itself as she could barely hold on now. She opened her eyes and saw that she was in water no more — whatever liquid was she was floating in, its otherworldly green color told her she was going the right way.
"And remember. Never stray from the fox's path."
She grabbed the scarf around her neck and let the currents take her to oblivion.