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28 years after the death of Himmel the Hero, on a dirt road, located in the northern lands
In the two weeks they had traveled together, Senken had found that he was wrong about Bericht and Winzig. While grating at times, they were enjoyable travel companions.
Following their elevation to second class mage, Senken had made plans to leave, gathering supplies with the money he had earned with his roadside hovel, but when he had made to leave, he found the two of them waiting for him.
Winzig gave a convincing statement, that since they were both heading south, it made some sense to travel together, for safety.
Bericht had spouted some excuse of Spitz removing him as her apprentice since they were the same class now, and that without that holding him, he figured he would also head south, to see where the wind would take him.
Senken wasn't naive enough to believe in these coincidences, but he was also confident enough that if they tried anything that they wouldn't live long enough to regret it. He set out with them; sure they would stifle his own thoughts along the journey.
Yet, they had not. Winzig was surprisingly insightful, studious in the various forestry principles of gathering, helping Senken learn of new plants he could collect to feed himself and garnish his meals with.
Bericht was likewise studied in the culture and geography of the central lands, allowing them to save time by avoiding certain inclines and cutting through small thickets of wilderness onto other, more favorable dirt roads.
In turn, Senken thanked them both for their presence and help by cooking for them, their added appetites necessitated an almost daily hunt, wherein before he would subsist for a few days on his quarries before needing to hunt again. Yet, the added labor did not spoil his mood, it was paradoxical.
Those nights around the fire, sharing stories of their times as mages, eating hearty meals, it had been something that Senken had not realized he wanted until it had been given to him. For so long he had been content with the lonely march of progress, like he had been back when he had lived as a curse.
Now though, there was something there, within his heart, that longed for the companionship he had forsaken for so long.
Their first detour happened while in the village of Geben. There had apparently been a small landslide into the village's cemetery, and they were struggling to move some of the more heavy pieces of material. The trio of mages made to help as much as they could. Winzig used the "Spell to make things float" to lift the larger pieces out of the way, while Senken used controlled applications of cleave to not only break them into smaller, more manageable pieces but to also reattach and fix headstones that had been broken by the disaster. Bericht helped as well, making a small wind funnel to siphon the excess dirt and rock up and out of the cemetery to be deposited at the foot of the incline where it had come from, acting like a giant, magical vacuum.
When asked if they wanted a reward, and Senkens request for any unique recipes were rebuffed with the disappointing answer of "not really", Winzig had asked if there were any local landmarks they could visit.
That was when they were told about the Purple Lash Tree.
Back when the village had no chapel to pray to the goddess within, they had made a pilgrimage to a nearby grove that held a tree no one had ever seen before. Some had said it had fallen from the sky, others said that the goddess herself had made it, but it was only known that it was beautiful to look at and never stopped blooming.
They had used it as their main prayer site until about eighty years ago, where sweeping reforms in the central lands had them be given the materials to build their own modest chapel for service. People still visited the grove, but no one had bothered to in the last few years.
When Bericht had asked why it was called the Purple Lash Tree, the one who had been telling them the story, an old man with a wizened amount of eyebrow hair, gave a cheeky grin, and had told them to visit it and see for themselves.
As such, a day later, after they had rested their mana reserves, or rather Winzig and Bericht had, they were on their way to the grove of the Purple Lash Tree.
The two smaller mages were in discussion about the nature of this ever-blooming tree.
Winzig was sure that the tree was, at the very least, magically kept in bloom, either from a long-standing enchantment or a blessing from a priest. Meanwhile, Bericht was of the belief that the tree was actually blessed by the goddess herself, as it wouldn't be beyond the purview of her influence in the world.
When they attempted to include Senken, however, he only had a laconic answer to give.
"I expect it to be a tree."
His response came across to the other two as stiff, as if he would rather not be doing this, but that changed when they eventually found the grove.
Which was actually a grotto.
It was, at first, a cave, the opening just small enough that Senken had to bend his large frame down and walk half bent over for about thirty feet before it opened up.
The interior of the cave was large, the ceiling of it having various root systems hanging from it and crawling across it, sunlight basking through areas where the soil was loose. Along the ground was a rock shelf, an area worn smooth from the many people who had walked this way before. A bubbling brook cut into the chamber and diverted around a central mound and reconvened on the other side, making the center of the chamber an island that, sat upon like an old king, was the Purple Lash Tree.
Its trunk was curved, imperfect, a bent spine that almost rested against itself before straightening. Its bough was wide, like the roof of a house, with hundreds of these bands of purple flowers descending in various lengths. The ground beneath it was sufficed with lost flower petals, some landing in the brook around it and being brought downstream.
From Senken's right, Winzig let out a soft noise.
"It's just an Icicle Cherry Blossom." She said, audibly disappointed. "It looks like the locals don't know about it, or that this isn't a grove."
"That's still a rare tree though." Bericht responded, trying to save Winzig's mood. "And it usually only grows in the Offen Mountains. It being here is definitely a miracle."
Senken, however, stared at the tree with a long moment of surprise.
It was not a Purple Lash, or an Icicle Cherry Blossom, this was a Wisteria Tree.
A genuine wisteria tree, as if pulled from a picturesque rendition of the Japanese ideal.
Squinting his eyes, Senken could see a trunk-like box at the base of the tree, tucked amongst gnarled roots. His traveling companions had already started moving closer, leaving him in his stupor, before he made up the distance with long strides.
As it was not a race, neither Winzig or Bericht tried to beat him first to the prayerbox.
It was made of a simple wood, likely oak, stained to keep it usable, the dovetail joinery that kept it locked together visible from the outside. The lid of the box was a metal, barred top, so offerings could be dropped in without effort. Looking within, Senken saw the meager offerings that had not been collected for almost a century.
A fair few coins, mostly copper. Several more of someone's personal items, knickknacks, and unmarked bags. He could see, however, an almost ten inch figurine of the statue of Himmel the Hero tucked along one side of the offering box, and beneath it, a yellowed bit of parchment.
Making out a little bit of writing on it, Senken tilted his head to read it.
A moment later, the well rusted lock of the prayer box had been dismantled into scrap, and he was opening it, reaching inside.
"SENKEN!" Bericht cried from across the cavern. "YOU CAN'T JUST STEAL OFFERINGS TO THE GODDESS!"
"I'm not." He responded shortly, lifting the figurine to reach underneath it and pulling the parchment from the box to fully read it.
If spring dares arrive
I will bury it in ice
Until slumber ends
The fragility of the almost parchment in his fingers made it feel as if it weren't real, like it would flake away into a dream at any moment.
"Surely not…" Senken softly said to himself.
A being like Senken would not have gotten as far in either of his lives if it had not been for the intuition to read events beyond what was obvious.
A Wisteria, which stood for patience and longevity, being called an Icicle Cherry Blossom, and beneath it a haiku?
If it had been called an Icicle plum blossom it would have been far too much of a slap in the face.
This was Uraume's.
And that filled him with sadness.
Because this had to have been at least 80 years old to be here. Which meant Uraume had either lived and died or were beset by the frailties of old age. The hope of finding them had bloomed and withered in his chest at the same moment.
So, the remnants of that hope would stay here, beneath the Wisteria, to last forever.
He turned the paper over, and laid it upon a plane of magic force, the same he uses for his midair corrections. From his shadow, he pulled a small stick of charcoal, and he thought only for a moment before he wrote his response.
What remains of you,
like footprints in fading snow,
to you, guides me north
Wordlessly, Senken set the paper back where he left it, and when he turned, he saw his companions giving him strange looks. He did not see fit to answer their unspoken questions.
"We should have camp here tonight. It's nice here."