Chapter 3: The Tale of the Land That Did Not Fall
Kai had to keep one hand locked around Anya's wrist or he would lose her.
The market square of Southreach was thick with people. Shoulders brushed. Boots scuffed stone. Voices overlapped in half a dozen conversations at once. Heat clung to the air, heavy with the smell of dust, fresh bread, oil, and livestock. Somewhere nearby, a fountain splashed steadily, its sound sharp and bright beneath the noise.
"There," Anya said, pointing.
They squeezed forward, ducking past a man with sacks of grain and a woman arguing loudly over the price of apples. The crowd loosened near the fountain, forming a rough circle. At its center stood a bard, boots planted wide on the stone, a weathered guitar resting against his chest like an old friend.
A single chord rang out, clean, sharp, unmistakable.
The sound cut through the market.
"Gather close, good folk of Southreach!" the bard called. His voice was practiced but not hollow, strong without shouting. "Merchants, farmers, knights, and wanderers, set down your coins and lend me your ears."
People slowed. Then stopped.
A blacksmith rested his hammer against his leg. Two Iron Host soldiers folded their arms and leaned back on their heels. Children climbed onto crates, barrels, shoulders. Someone near Kai muttered, "It's Luise," with quiet approval.
"For this," the bard continued, fingers brushing the strings, "is the tale of The Land That Did Not Fall."
The market softened around him. Not silent, but listening.
The melody began low and steady, something that felt like walking a long road.
"Aethermoor," he sang,
"A land held aloft by roots older than memory,
Watched over not by one hand,
But by many, bound by oath and sacrifice."
Kai felt it settle in his chest. Not excitement. Something heavier. Something that made him stand straighter without knowing why.
"In the North," Luise went on, his voice cooling like winter air,
"Where ice creeps as if alive,
Stands Sivan Frostweave, the Ice Warden."
A woman wrapped in furs bowed her head slightly. An old man whispered a prayer under his breath.
"She holds back frozen death with crystal and will,
Sheltering her people,
While seeking truths long buried,
Clues left behind by a leader who vanished
Before the first seal was wounded."
Anya leaned closer to Kai. "Do you think she's real?" she whispered.
Kai didn't answer. He wasn't sure.
The tune shifted, firmer now, rhythmic, like marching boots.
"And to the South," Luise proclaimed,
"Where fields stretch wide and walls stand firm,
Rides Garron, the Knight King."
A murmur of pride rippled through the crowd. A farmer lifted his fist. One of the Iron Host nodded once, sharp and respectful.
"Born not of nobility but grit and steel,
He leads the Iron Host with honor and the Knight of round table with strength,
Guarding plains and people alike,
Preparing for storms that will come."
Anya brought her hands together once, then again, the sound barely louder than a breath. She stopped herself quickly, fingers curling into her palms, as if afraid applause might shatter whatever had settled over the square.
Around them, people shifted. Someone cleared their throat. A soldier adjusted his stance, armor creaking softly. The music didn't pause. It pressed on, changing shape beneath Luise's fingers.
The tune slipped lower, rougher at the edges, no longer steady like marching feet but restless, pulling at itself. It carried the feeling of wind through tall grass, of something watching from the tree line. The air felt tighter, as though the song had drawn the crowd closer without anyone meaning to move.
"In the West," the bard said,
"Where forest and mountain claw the sky,
The beasts themselves stand watch."
Gasps followed.
"Griffins, wolves, creatures of fang and feather
Answer to the White King,
Unseen, yet ever present,
Protector of the wild lands
Where the World Tree's roots run deep."
A child near the fountain whispered, "My uncle says he saw a griffin once."
His mother hushed him without looking away.
The music slowed, stretched thin like heat over sand.
"And in the East," Luise continued,
"Where desert scars still mark the land,
And soil remembers old ruin,
The Desert Protectors endure."
Faces tightened. Some listeners folded their arms. Others stared at the ground.
"They guard fragile oases and guide the lost,
Holding the line while the land heals,
So life may one day bloom again."
The square felt smaller now. Closer.
"Different lands," Luise said, lifting his gaze,
"Different burdens.
Yet bound by one purpose."
"Elves and gnomes, knights and mages,
Beasts and watchers,
Apart, yet together."
His fingers struck the strings harder.
"They are Aethermoor's shield.
And while shadows stir beyond the horizon,
Know this,
The land still stands because they do."
The final chord rang out, echoing off stone and steel.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then applause broke like rain. Coins clinked. Voices rose. Someone shouted approval. Even the knights nodded, hands resting on their belts.
"That was amazing!" Anya said, clapping hard enough to sting her palms.
Kai smiled, quiet and slow. "Yeah," he said. "It makes the world feel… bigger."
"And safer," Anya added.
Maybe, Kai thought.
"Again!"
"Another one!"
"Sing more, Luise!"
Luise lifted his guitar again, waiting for the noise to settle.
"Long before walls were raised and crowns were claimed," he began,
"Before steel learned to sing in battle,
The demigods walked this world as guardians."
The crowd leaned in.
"When darkness rose from the seas,
They did not flee."
His voice dropped.
"They bled so the land would not.
Burned their lives to light the world's last hope."
The fountain splashed softly behind him.
"From their sacrifice rose the World Tree,
Its roots drinking corruption,
Its leaves carrying sanity and life."
Kai felt his arms prickle.
"The World Tree is not merely wood and leaf," Luise said.
"It is a promise made flesh."
He struck a sharper chord.
"But promises demand vigilance."
"Power fell from the stars as fire and stone.
Strike. Weave. See.
Gifts that do not ask who you are,
Only what you are willing to lose."
A woman hugged herself. A man exhaled slowly.
"Flesh turns to stone.
Bodies fade into light.
Memories slip like sand through open fingers."
Luise let the words hang.
"And so the protectors stand watch," he finished softly.
"Not because they are fearless,
But because they fear what happens if they fail."
The last note faded.
Then the square breathed again.
Braxon found them before the crowd fully dispersed.
"Kai. Anya."
They turned at once.
"Father!" Anya grabbed his sleeve. "He's still singing!"
"I can hear," Braxon said, amused.
Kai straightened. "We stayed by the fountain."
"I know," Braxon replied. "You did well."
He crouched slightly. "The goods are sold. Every crate."
"That fast?" Kai asked.
"A good day," Braxon said. "We'll head home once the crowd thins."
Anya glanced back at the bard. "Just a little longer?"
Braxon looked at Luise, eyes closed as he played, crowd wrapped around him like a held breath.
"A little longer," he agreed.
Kai felt something settle in his chest.
And while Southreach bargained and breathed around them, the song went on, unbroken, as if the land itself had decided it was not yet done speaking.