The song of the cicadas bathed the golden hills of Rhodos.
Under a blue sky, a warm breeze caressed the thatched roofs, lifting small dust scrolls on the stony paths that snaked between the vegetable gardens. The village of Rhodos fell asleep in the morning's arms. The roosters had not yet finished their chorus, as already the first steps were echoing between the houses.
Bell Cranel, at the top of his sixteen years old, white hair in battle ruby red eyes, hands covered with dirt, slowly exited from his bed squeaking. A beam in the ceiling greeted him with his eternal warning: "Have your head, Bell". Too late.
—Ouch!
He massaged his forehead, grumbled something against the houses too low and put on his linen shirt a little too large, hole at the elbow. Outside, he knew that the sun was already rising, and that Zephyr was waiting for him with his lazy-king air.
The house was simple, perched on the west hill. From there, you could see the whole valley, the fields undulating like golden sheets, and the little abandoned temple in the distance. A smell of hot bread floated in the kitchen.
—Finally awake, my boy?
His grandfather's teasing voice echoed from the table. Zephyr, sparse white beard, eyes shining with eternal malice, was already waiting for him, cup in hand.
—You know, if you ever want to win a woman's heart, you're gonna have to get up before she does. And avoid stinking the farm.
Bell, still asleep, rolled his eyes.
—Hello to you too, grandpa...
Zephyr burst with a roaring laugh.
—"Papi"? You want to kill me from old age faster than expected? Call me Zephyr. That sounds better. More... heroic.
Bell sat down in front of him, grabbing a piece of bread.
- Heroic, huh? Like in your stories?
The old man raised a trembling, theatrical finger.
—Right! Did you know that once upon a time, a hero as blond as wheat faced one hundred dragons alone? Naked! Just armed with his bravery and...
—Grandpa!
—... sword. Well, technically.
Bell blushed, coughed, looked away. But deep down, he loved those stories. They were the only thing that connected him to a bigger world. A world of gods, magic, legendary battles.
But him? He was just a farmer.
The rest of the morning passed between the furrows of the fields. Bell worked with constancy: hoeing, harvesting, repairing the fences. He greeted the villagers with a sincere smile, chatted with old Lina who sold medicinal herbs, and helped young Thom straighten his wheelbarrow.
Rhodos was not great, but he had a soul. Between the forge of Myla – a woman as strong as she is stubborn – and the little school run by an old wooden-legged adventurer, life kept a gentle and reassuring pace.
Later, sitting in the shade of an oak tree, Bell watched the clouds pass by.
—Do you really think that one day I will be able to go on an adventure?
Zephyr, lying nonchalantly beside him, shrugged.
— Adventure... is not always what you think it is. Sometimes staying and protecting what you love takes a lot more courage than fleeing into the unknown.
Bell remained silent. The wind carried children's songs, laughter. He thought of Karin, his best friend, always the first to laugh at his missteps and to defend him when other young people in the village mocked him.
He looked down at his calloused hands.
—What if I wasn't meant to be a hero?
Zephyr looked at him for a long time. There was, for a moment, something heavy in his eyes.
—True heroes never know in advance.
The light was fading. The village bells rang at the end of the day. A bird passed over them, lonely.
The market of Rhodos was buzzing with smells and voices. Between the stalls of juicy fruits, the grass hanging from ropes, and the fishy morning fish, Bell met his friends as at the beginning of each week.
There was Karin, the golden glow of the band, mocking and lively; Elior, the cynical look too serious; and Ranno, always dreaming of wealth and greatness. They were four, like the corners of a same square.
—So, Bell, you let your grandfather tell you his old obscene legends again?
Karin threw a shoulder-slap. Bell raised his eyebrows, falsely offended.
—They are epic, not obscene.
- Naked with a hundred dragons?
—... It was symbolic!
Laughter. The simple warmth of friendship. They walked together towards the square, crossing Myla the forgeronne and the elder of the school who offered them each an apple.
Ranno sighed looking at the horizon.
— One day I will leave. I swear. I will become an adventurer, and have my own house in Orario. Hot baths. Girls around me. A magic sword.
— You still believe that? said Elior. The heroes, the dungeons... they're children's tales. The Order has locked everything. Nobody leaves here without being swallowed by the road or killed by a monster.
—That's not true, coupâ Karin. My cousin left two years ago. He writes letters, he lives well.
—He's lying so you don't worry.
—And you, Bell? asked Ranno turning to him. Do you think you will ever leave? Go to Orario?
Bell had stopped.
A beat was missed in the conversation. His eyes were fixed on an invisible point, his face frozen in a slight tension... imperceptible, but real. Like an absence. A bubble suspended out of time.
Then he blinked. He smiled.
—No. I prefer to stay here. Protect this village.
Karin stared at him. Elior frowned. Ranno raised an eyebrow, amused.
- You fucked up, didn't you?
—Huh?
—It took you ten seconds to answer.
—Seriously? I just thought...
But even he seemed uncertain.
Karin put a hand on her arm. She felt something. But she just smiled.
... You're weird sometimes, Bell Cranel.
They resumed their march, the voices rising again, covered by the noise of the market. But the wind had changed. A fraction of a second, a dissonant note had been played. Inaudible, but present.
Next day
The sun rose slowly above the hills of Rhodos, tinting the thatched roofs with a warm light. In the little house perched on the west hill, Bell, still half asleep, gazed at himself in the cracked mirror of his grandfather's room.
He looked for a long time at the symbol tattooed between his shoulder blades. A strange mark, complex, almost alive.
—I wonder why Grandpa was so keen to draw this symbol on my back.... It's weird. It looks like a tattoo.
An interlacing of old, circular lines, like a forgotten writing. He did not know that it was a falna, inactive, silent.
That evening, Rhodos celebrated the feast of abundance. Lanterns adorned the houses, garlands of flowers hung on the balconies, and the air smelled like honey bread and candied fruit. The villagers set up tables, the musicians tuned their violins, the children ran between the stands laughing.
Bell, dressed in his white tunic a little too large, met his friends on the square.
—You know, Karin, said Ranno with a smile in the corner, if you want to dance tonight, I am your man. I swear that I have worked my steps.
—Hmm... maybe. But I know another one who hasn't invited anyone yet.
—Don't tell me you're talking about...
—Yes, from Bell.
Ranno sighed, then burst out laughing.
—He's so naive that he'd say, "Why? There's a contest?"
Karin smiles, a tender smile that she reserved for only one person.
—And if I invited him, do you think he would accept?
The sun slowly gave way to the moon. The sky was covered with stars. And dances began. The couples turned, the old music resonated. Bell, leaning against a pole, sipped a light mead, observing the festivities without daring to participate.
... You want to dance, Bell?
He turned his head, surprised. Karin was there, cheeks rosy from the effort and the cold, her pale robe lifted by a gentle breeze.
—Huh? Ah... uh... yes, of course!
They danced awkwardly at first, and then found each other little by little. Their steps aligned. Their laughter mixed. A moment suspended in the light of lanterns.
Then Karin gently drew him to the edge of the wood. They left the music, laughter, sweet smells...
And came to the lake.
The reflection of the moon floated on the surface of the lake. All around, the night seemed to have frozen, suspended in this particular silence, that which precedes words too heavy to carry.
Karin looked at the water, her fingers tied in front of her. She breathed in, exhaled. Then glanced at Bell, standing right next to him, his eyes lost in the stars.
... You know... I'm glad you came.
Bell turned his head toward her. She looked away.
— Since we were little, you've always been there. Following me around, defending me, saying stupid things... but nice things. I was bothering you all the time. It has become a habit.
She laughs faintly, the cheeks a little red.
— I think... that I started to expect these habits more than I admit. Like when you hit your head on the ceiling every morning, or when you spill your bucket walking too fast. It pisses me off. And it reassures me.
Bell blinked, surprised. Karin continued, her voice a little more trembling.
— And tonight, I thought... if I don't tell you now, I'll put it off again. And maybe one day, you will go to Orario. Or fall in love with someone else. Or die in the Dungeon...
She clenched her teeth, shook her head, tears on the edges of her eyelashes.
— What I'm trying to say is that... I think... well, no, I know that... I feel something. Something strong. And it's not just friendship. I...
She finally looked up at him.
—Bell, I...
A dry crack in the bushes.
Then another one.
Shadows. Grunts.
And the moment broke like a dead leaf.
Broken branches. Heavy footsteps. And then grunts.
Goblins.
About ten. With bright eyes. With rusty weapons.
Bell reacts immediately, standing in front of Karin. He had no weapon... except an old stick left against a tree.
He seized it. He gripped it with all his strength. And charged.
The first blow struck him clean. His body hit a tree. He suffocated. The pain was unbearable. But he got up. He grabbed Karin's hand.
—Run!
They ran, panting, stumbling through the brambles and branches. Goblins howled behind them. They were faster. More numerous.
They fell. A goblin stood over Bell.
A white glow split in the night.
Zephyr. Emerging from nothingness, a silver stick in hand. He struck the creature without hesitation.
... Run, Bell! Take her back to the village!
The world went around them. Bell carried Karin, running without thinking, following instinct. And when they crossed the last hedge...
The horror.
The village was burning. Cries. Tears. Flames. And giant silhouettes.
Minotaurs. Enraged ones.
The youth of the village fought with pitchforks, torches. The elders fled. Myla's forge collapsed, crushed.
—Myla!
Bell saw the blacksmith on the ground, her flank bleeding. He told Karin that he was distracting and you saved her, and ran. He caught a hoof.
A Minotaur, huge, was waiting for him. He was not afraid. He screamed.
- Over here, you gross beast!
He struck, a diversion. Enough for Karin to retrieve Myla.
He stood alone, facing the monster. And in the air, a vibration. An old breath.
Something was changing.
To be continued