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When the river runs red,
Death shall bring forth a new entity, and
A new age of evil
Only one imbued by all
Shall prosper with a partner.
A wayward prophecy, the driving force behind a shift of power within the realm of Divergona sends ol...
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Tented shops, colorful as the flowers blooming along the forest floor ran on opposite sides of a strip known to locals as the road to Kilgore. Caelia chuckled, studying the tents ranging from fiery reds to pastel whites. Merchants always did their best to make their shop liveliest to attract buyers. Her soft lips upturned into a small smile. The lyrics of the canorous tunes reached her ears. The song-weavers were here! Their songs told tales of adventures, love, and battle. She kicked a small rock to the festive tune along the dirt road, the sand warm atop of her worn brown boots as she scanned the stalls. Where was Bryn? Ah Hah! She rubbed her arms as the sun's rays heated her flesh, and the smell of spices and meat caused her stomach to gurgle in hunger. Maybe Bryn would get her something. She hurried.
"Ow!" she gasped, rubbing her forehead as the pain ebbed.
"Get out of the way!" a woman in passing shouted at her.
"You watch where you're going!" she yelled, shaking her fist at the woman who'd nearly knocked her flat on her back. Caelia hated going to the market early midafternoon when it was at its busiest. It was always packed full of people, the road barely navigable. The constant heat and jostling crowds would make even the nicest person angry. Worst were the sneers, and the superiority looks in their eyes. She couldn't help that she was an orphan. What child could? They weren't too high in the social hierarchy if they were selling on the road to Kilgore. Just the same, kindness allowed her to see the good in people too. She supposed she'd just have to take the bad with the good.
Her grin widened as the stall where the meat buns were sold came into sight. She would love one right now. Caelia imagined its juice flowing into her mouth filling her carnivorous appetite. Much better than bean soup. There was no use in looking, she couldn't afford it. She moved past the stall, scanning the crowds to look for Bryn.
"Miss Caelia! What brings ye here today?"
Caelia smiled at the merchant. She loved going to his booth to see what extravagant pieces he would bring her. She always said the relics were magic—they came from a distant land. The beauty of the pieces always lured her in.
"Hi Bryn," she said, smiling at him. He took her into his arms and she sunk gratefully into them. He always reminded her of the father she'd never had. Her chest felt hollowed. She knew better than to wish for the impossible. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she held them back.
"How old are ye now?"
"Seventeen," she said, her gaze sweeping past him and into the tent. She spent most of her time with her nose buried in books. Thanks to Serenity, she knew the basics of reading, math, and writing, and thus mentored the younger children in the orphanage. But it was the secret battles in the sandpits that gave her a thirst for battle. And, as the best fighter in Ravana, she desired something more. Something big. Caelia had abilities, skills that said she could get into the infamous academy where only the best could enter, much to Serenity, the caretaker dismay.
