back to basics

MELITA

Melita skipped and swayed down the paths of cobblestones, roaming along the vast settlement with the same restless, chaotic energy she constantly embodied. Training had become a proper outlet, but she also created her own little diversions after grounding herself into the earth, taking stances, altering herself into more precise tactics – it drained her to use her mind instead of bounding straight into action with little thought or schemes. The world was bright and dazzling before her eyes, and she had every intention of exploring it more and more when given the opportunity; a break, a solace, in strengthening limbs and bountiful spirit.

She hummed, a tune her mother had sung once or twice as they worked through the fields, gathering wildflowers and specific herbs – had she been capable of remembering their names, their titles, their uses she might have found herself an entirely different occupation. Instead though, she’d always been distracted by the rush of an animal, the noise of the waving reeds and tall, vigilant blades, the roar of the wind brushing past her senses. Her gaze was settled on the rest of the venue now, poised along the tops of buildings, the points of spires, the banners still shuddering in the breeze, signifying an end to Longnight’s reign, the rush of more seasons until the next cycle. She’d be better by then.

Fangorn hissed something at her side, and she stopped, glancing down at the gourd. His eyes didn’t reach hers, and instead stared to the left, where she hadn’t been gazing at all, at the base of a large building. She’d yet to ever physically go within the guild, didn’t know much about it at all, and had her curiosity not been won over by chorus bees or signs of impending danger (thrilling and comfortable, a familiar rush to her limbs). A man stood there too, surrounded by pots of paint. Maybe they wanted some assistance? She could probably wield a paintbrush efficiently. Something seemed so familiar though…

She meandered closer, bright and cheery, hands behind her back as she inched and inched. The youth thought about maneuvering as quietly as she could, just to see if she could be sneaky, but then it didn’t feel right. “Hello! Do you want any help-" She paused once she reached his side, and a bizarre reality struck her.

Ronin.

Hadn’t he died? Hadn’t he been killed battling the Spire Demon? Hadn’t the world snapped its jaws and ground its teeth and threatened everything when words of his death beat at their skulls? “Ronin?” Her voice was soft, and her reaction was vivid, eyes widening, brain struggling to understand. Wessex had come back once too – crushed and the tale told, only for her to reappear, a joke amidst the droves. Was it the same now? She didn’t have the nerve to say anything more, mouth already parted wide and open, shocked and a tad ridiculous. Fangorn growled and frowned at her ankles, and neither one knew what to do.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight