-- Sola --
The cold, clear water turned cloudy as she rinsed the cloth in the basin. Absentmindedly, Sola let the fabric glide through her fingers, her gaze drifting out the window and into the distance. It lingered on nothing in particular, simply sweeping across the horizon where the sun had just begun to rise. In a few hours, the heat would once again become unbearable.
In the Sakura region of the Shizen Bistum, warmth came early in the year. The winds that swept through this land blew straight out of the Naka desert — merciless and scorching.
Behind her, someone coughed.
Sola flinched, the sound snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned around sharply. Her grandfather stood in the doorway, barely able to hold himself up, leaning heavily against the wooden frame. He looked terrible. The once powerful frame of a master martial artist had withered to a fragile, almost translucent figure. His skin hung in folds, and the chestnut-brown eyes that had once shone with clarity were now sunken deep into his skull, ringed by shadows darker than the black robe that clung to his frail body.
Once, he had been a revered warrior — a master, a senpai to generations of students, respected for his strength and discipline. But now, he was only a shadow of that man.
Sola sighed softly. It broke her heart to see him like this. She set the basin aside, wrung out the cloth in her hands, and stepped toward him. Taking his weathered, wrinkled hand in hers, she guided him gently back to the rumpled bed. He barely reacted. His eyes flickered with confusion, darting around as if lost in a fog.
"Come on," she whispered tenderly.
Her fingers wrapped around his, she helped him lie down and tucked the thin blanket over his frail frame. For weeks now, he had been confined to this bed, felled by an unknown illness. A tight knot formed in her throat as she knelt beside him, pressing the freshly washed cloth to his burning forehead. The skin pulsed with fever beneath her touch.
He offered her a faint smile — silent, but grateful.
Sola smiled in return, quietly. That, at least, they had always shared: neither of them had ever been good with words.
"The fever still hasn't gone down," Sola murmured more to herself than to him, gently dabbing her grandfather's face and neck with a second damp cloth. His breathing had become slower, calmer. That was good. He needed sleep. Rest was the only thing that could bring back his strength.
Everything would be fine again—she kept telling herself that.
As she leaned back and waited for Herold to drift off, Sola made a quiet decision: today, she would try once more to get medicine from the village.
It had become nearly impossible to get proper herbs since the Jiyū nomads stopped travelling through the regions. Their wandering trade routes had once connected even the most remote places, bringing rare goods and medicines across the land. But in the past years of war, most nomads had retreated to the mountains of the Arashi range, where their capital lay protected. The sudden end to their roaming had brought not only silence—but scarcity. And nowhere was that felt more than in the outer provinces, like Sola's homeland.
Sakura was a breathtaking region of the Shizen Bistum, known for its flowers and spiritual monuments. But beauty alone could not feed or heal a village. They lived mostly from temple visitors and the export of ornamental plants. Now, those same plants overgrew the gardens, unharvested and unsold, while basic necessities became harder and harder to find.
And right in the midst of that crisis, her grandfather had collapsed.
The fever had struck swiftly. Within days, it had clouded his mind and weakened his body. He was wasting away before her eyes.
Saka was a small village. Everyone knew everyone. That meant every time Sola asked for herbs, she had to explain her grandfather's condition once again—reliving it each time. He was loved by all. Unlike her. She, the quiet and withdrawn granddaughter, received sympathy in words but little else. Pitying glances followed her everywhere.
She scanned the marketplace. Most stalls were abandoned now, nothing but empty wooden frames lining the dusty road. But one still drew a small crowd—older women huddled close, chattering. At least that meant there was still something left to sell. Whispering to herself, Sola pushed gently into the group, catching bits and pieces of their hushed conversation.
"No, really? That's awful!"
"I heard they even use fire magic now—if they don't get what they want."
"Yes, but those are just isolated incidents."
"Better that than becoming a direct enemy!"
"I don't believe that."
Sola had heard all of it before. She came to the market almost every day now—always asking about medicine. And the same voices always resurfaced. Since the Shizen Bistum had allowed the red-and-black alliance passage through their lands to strike at the southern Water Tribe, the village had been divided. Some whispered that the Archbishop had supported a genocide. Others claimed it was smarter to make peace with Samael—the so-called death mage—while the war's outcome was still uncertain.
Death Mage. That was what the people called him now. Not a king. Not a prophet. A title born of fear, whispered from lips choked by ash.
They said his sword killed with a single strike. That it wasn't natural. That no ordinary steel could be so swift—unless it was forged in magic.
The Archbishop had summoned a large portion of the internal police and military units to the capital, clearing the outer districts for Samael's forces to pass through. He had instructed the people to let the red-and-black army march unchallenged. Yet rumours had begun to spread—whispers of villages raided for gold, jewellery, and anything else of value. Tales told of what happened when locals refused to comply. There were even claims that some of the invaders had taken liberties with women and children.
Sola didn't care much for politics. Honestly, she didn't care at all how the other nations were getting along—whether they were waterborn or fire warriors, they were all strangers to her. Let them kill each other, if that's what they wanted. Even the rumours of violence against the people of Shizen barely stirred her. She didn't feel responsible. And she wasn't even sure if any of it was true. She knew how dramatic her people could be—how prone to exaggeration and self-importance they were. Perhaps they just couldn't accept the fact that the dreaded red-and-black alliance had no real interest in the pious provinces of the Bistum. That it was the so-called 'wild' water tribes who were the true targets of this war.
Sola wasn't heartless—not at all. But her compassion had its boundaries, and those boundaries were the people she loved.
When she finally pushed her way to the vendor, the woman greeted her with a sad shake of the head."I'm sorry, sweetheart. We only have ornamental plants and fresh goat meat today."
Disappointment settled like a stone in her stomach. She gave a polite nod, turned, and headed for the next stall. The daily search was wearing her down. It was becoming harder and harder not to let the fear creep in. How much longer could she care for her grandfather like this?
She had already passed most of the tiny marketplace when someone called her name.
"Sola!"
Please don't let it be another person asking for every detail of Grandfather's illness, she thought, turning.
But it was Jamie.
Grinning from ear to ear, he jogged toward her. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth at the sight of him. Jamie had been around since they were kids, always able to draw a smile from her with his boundless optimism. She had been the quiet, strange little girl—he, the loud, messy boy who somehow decided she was worth befriending. Whether it was out of pity or genuine affection, she never really knew. But he had stayed. He was her first, and if she was honest with herself, her only real friend in Saka.
That alone made her force a smile as he reached her.
"Hey, Jamie."
He beamed. "I—"
A breathless, almost horse-like exhale escaped him as he leaned forward, panting from the sprint.
"I found them."
Her eyes widened. Without thinking, she reached for Jamie's hand, allowing herself a flicker of joy. A small, warm spark of hope flared up in her chest.
"Kalia blossoms?" she asked, barely believing it.
Jamie blushed slightly at her touch and nodded eagerly. "Yes! Exactly. Come with me."
Sola's heart began to beat faster. Kalia blossoms—delicate, pale-green plants native to the high ridges of the Arashi mountains—were one of the most potent remedies for fever and inflammation. They were nearly impossible to find outside of the mountain range, as they grew on cliffs and peaks only accessible to air mages. And those air mages were all part of the Jiyū Nomads.
Jamie squeezed her hand and pulled her along, weaving his way through the crowd that still bustled across the village market.
He lived a little outside the village centre, on a family estate with an adjoining horse stable. Just recently, he had completed his training as a farrier and was preparing to take over his father's forge. As children, Sola had often helped Jamie care for the horses, and it was thanks to him that she had learned to ride. The Cantans were a humble, hard-working family who ran their business with care and tradition. Jamie, even at the age of eight, had already been convinced that one day he'd take over the family trade and tend to the horses of nobles from the region. Sola had always quietly envied him for that simple certainty. For never questioning whether there might be another life for him outside Saka. He belonged here. And she was sure he would one day raise a family here and die here—without ever seeing what lay beyond the Sakura region.
Sola, on the other hand, had only moved to Saka when she was eight. She had never felt like she truly belonged. Perhaps it was because the people here were always ready for idle chatter, while she preferred quiet afternoons with a book.
As they left the busy village square behind, she gently let go of Jamie's hand. He turned, briefly startled, then masked his disappointment with a bright smile.
But instead of heading toward the Cantan house, he pointed elsewhere—with a mischievous grin.
"To the hill," he said.
Near the Cantan property was a small rise where the ruins of an old temple lay. Only fragments of the foundation remained, overgrown and forgotten. Unlike the other sacred sites in the region, this one had never attracted tourists or locals. Only Jamie and Sola had cared for it. As children, they had spent countless hours there—playing hide and seek, or sparring to impress Sola's grandfather, Herold. The other kids often teased them, claiming there were "better" places to play. But Sola had always loved this spot. It was quiet. And peaceful.
It had been years since she last came here.
"Do you remember…" Jamie began, trying—as always—to lift her spirits. "That one time we played knights and you wouldn't let me win even once?"
He chuckled and kept talking, reminiscing about their childhood antics. But Sola only half-listened. Her thoughts were already with her grandfather—and the hope that these blossoms might truly help him recover.
As they neared the ruins, she noticed a figure sitting atop one of the broken walls. His face was tilted toward the sun, eyes closed, motionless despite clearly having heard them approach.
His skin was pale—almost as pale as Sola's—and his long, curled lashes gave his features a strange, delicate beauty. His hair shimmered in a soft lavender hue, otherworldly, unnatural… but somehow soothing.
"Hey," Jamie said, nudging the stranger lightly.
A low hum escaped the boy. His eyes fluttered open—long, almond-shaped, and the exact same violet shade as his hair.
And without hesitation, his gaze locked on Sola's.
Sharp. Assessing.
A chill ran down her spine, as if a cold hand had suddenly touched the back of her neck. She tensed, swallowing hard.
Who… or what was he?
Then, in one fluid motion, the boy leapt down from the wall. He took her hand gently, pressed his soft lips against her knuckles, and gave a graceful, almost theatrical bow.
The contact was so unexpected that Sola braced herself for another chill—but instead, a quiet warmth spread from where his lips had touched her skin, chasing away the unease.
"Hey!" Jamie barked, clearly taken aback by the stranger's boldness.
The boy couldn't have been older than sixteen, Sola noted. But while his face still held the softness of youth, his eyes were alert. Watchful. Too calculating for someone his age.
Sola held his gaze, just as steady. Just as wary.
The boy finally released her hand and reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder, rummaging without urgency.
He murmured, barely acknowledging Jamie at all:"You have to seize the moment when it presents itself.It's been far too long since I've seen a girl this beautiful."
Jamie stared at him, dumbfounded, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.Sola ignored both the stranger's flirty remark and Jamie's embarrassed glances. She knew well enough that her childhood friend often called her beautiful, too. But she didn't see herself that way. In her own eyes, she was far too thin, far too pale.
The stranger pulled out a small silk pouch and loosened the drawstrings. Inside were soft white blossoms—Kalia blossoms.
Jamie beamed with pride. "See, Sola? I told you I found some! Well… technically, I found one of the last travelling Jiyū traders."
Sola's heart sped up. This could be it—the thing that would save her grandfather. And yet, despite her rising hope, she couldn't shake the chill of her first impression. That cold, calculating gaze. Something about this boy was off.
He wasn't a Jiyū Nomad. She didn't know how she knew—but she did.
"You're not a trader," she said bluntly, without considering the consequences of her words.
The boy raised a slender, well-formed brow. A smile curved his lips, amused rather than offended.
"Oh, I'm not?"
"And you're not a Jiyū Nomad, either."
His lavender eyes didn't waver. In fact, they hadn't left her for even a second since he first opened them.
"And you're not a Shizenin," he replied smoothly, smirking as he watched the flicker of surprise cross her face.
"Pale skin and light hair may be common around here," he went on, "but that doesn't make you one of them."
Sola said nothing, lips pressed tightly together. He was observant. Far too observant.
Jamie gave a nervous laugh. This wasn't going the way he'd imagined—probably pictured Sola smiling, haggling a bit, then gratefully hugging him for his help.
The stranger cinched the pouch shut and made to tuck it away again.
"Well, if you only deal with authenticJiyū traders…"
He shrugged.
Jamie stepped forward, agitated. "Wait—she didn't mean—"
"It's fine, Jamie."Sola placed a steadying hand on his shoulder just as he reached for the pouch.
"I don't care who or what you are."
"Well, that makes two of us," the boy said with a grin, pausing in his movement. No surprise showed on his face—he had known she wouldn't let him walk away.
"What do you want for them? I can offer you three gold—"
Without warning, the boy took her hands again and stepped closer."I'm not really the gold-coin type," he said softly.
"Hey!" Jamie stepped in, pushing himself firmly between them. Though the stranger was half a head taller, Jamie was clearly the stronger of the two. To his surprise, the boy only laughed and raised his hands innocently.
"Unlike you," he said, tapping Jamie's chest with one long, elegant finger, "I don't plan to get under her clothes."
Jamie's face turned scarlet. "Are you insane?" he barked, outraged—but too flustered to even glance in Sola's direction.
Sola rolled her eyes, unfazed."What do you want in exchange?" she asked again.
This time, the boy's voice turned serious."Nothing. It's a gift.All I ask is that you take me to Herold—and let me speak with him."
"You know my grandfather?" she asked, startled, brows pulling together. That couldn't be. The boy looked her age, maybe even younger—and she'd never seen him before.
She turned to Jamie, hoping for an explanation. But he looked just as surprised. Clearly, he hadn't known about the second part of the deal.
Sola crossed her arms. Bringing a stranger into her home? Especially now, with Herold so ill?
But the Kalia blossoms… they could save him.
"So?" the boy asked, arching one brow.
Sola hesitated, then slowly extended her hand.A reluctant seal of agreement.
The sun had reached its peak, wrapping the hilltop in a heavy blanket of heat. Sweat ran down Jamie's and Sola's faces as they descended the slope. The stranger, however, walked beside them effortlessly, showing no signs of discomfort.
At the foot of the hill, he turned to Jamie.
"You won't be coming."
"Like hell I won't," Jamie snapped. "I brought you two together—I found this trade—"
Before he could finish, Sola interrupted him."It's alright. Jamie, go home. I'll see you soon."
Her old friend flushed even deeper, glaring at her with wounded eyes. He bit his lower lip—just like he always did when he was upset.
Sola sighed. She stepped closer, took his hand in hers, and looked him squarely in the eye.
"I really am grateful. Truly."
The sunlight caught in the golden flecks of her iris.
Jamie turned his head away, just in time to hide the blush creeping back into his cheeks—this time, not from anger.
"…Alright then. Good luck," he murmured.
"Thank you."Sola pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.