The Festival of Roots
The Festival of Roots was a festival held all around the kingdom of rose which was where Ezra's village was located it was every five years by it's name it is obvious to tell what to expect, so essentially it was his first time joining this festival considering he wasn't born in the previous one it was a one week festival where family usually reunites people who travel far away from their families return, merchants move around selling valuable goods only found on the other end of the continent the first few days is usually a feast where local delicacies are prepared in earnest, then come the dances where each group of individuals come out to dance or perform something unique to their ancestry, then finally on the last days people gather around the eldest in the village who tells stories about their past and other things like how their town came to be and who did what.
The festival came with the first blush of spring, when the long frost melted from the fields and the air carried the scent of wet soil and new life. It was the time when the people of Hearthstone Village celebrated their beginnings, both as a community and as families born to the same land.
For days leading up to it, the village buzzed with excitement. Every house polished its windows, every child practiced dances taught by their parents, and colorful cloth banners hung between rooftops, fluttering like gentle flames. Ezra had watched it all from the cottage window, his chin resting on the sill, listening to the hum of life outside.
Now, standing in front of the mirror as his mother straightened his tunic, he couldn't help but tug at the stiff collar. "It itches," he muttered.
Roana chuckled, her brown hair tied back with a strand of green ribbon a sign of renewal. "That's because it's new, love. You'll live."
From the door, Bram grinned. "Why do you sound like me when I was his age." He adjusted his own vest, the smell of pine and leather clinging to him after his early morning hunt. Over his shoulder hung a basket filled with wildflowers. "Come on, my boy. The festival waits for no one." said quickly not letting Ezra come up with a witty comeback
The three of them stepped into the sunlight. The dirt paths were lined with garlands of flowers and small clay lanterns ready for the evening. Music floated faintly from the square the sound of flutes and drums weaving together in a cheerful rhythm.
Hearthstone Village was small but lively. Around two hundred people called it home — hunters, farmers, traders, and craftsmen. The cobbled square at its center was now transformed into a sea of color. Merchants sold honey cakes glazed in gold syrup, roasted nuts, and spiced meat skewers that sizzled and filled the air with warmth.
Children ran about with ribbons tied to their wrists, pretending to cast spells with sticks. Ezra couldn't help but smile as one nearly tripped over a basket of apples.
"Ezra! Over here!" called a familiar voice.
Mira Torven, his neighbor, waved excitedly from her father's blacksmith stall. Her cheeks were smudged with soot, and her bright eyes practically glowed in the sunlight. "You're late! Come try the honey bread before it's all gone!"
"Don't encourage him," Lysa Torven said, laughing. "He'll eat us out of house and home!"
Bram chuckled, placing an arm around his wife. "Ah, he's got my appetite. That's all."
Ezra rolled his eyes, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. Mira handed him a small square of bread still warm from the oven. The sweetness spread across his tongue, soft and buttery — and for a moment, he forgot to think about runes or the mysteries of the world.
By midday, the festival reached its heart — the Ceremony of Thanks. The villagers gathered under the vast willow that stood at the center of the square, its thick roots curling into the earth like the veins of the land itself. Ribbons in every shade of green and gold hung from its branches, each one carrying a wish or a prayer written in careful script.
Old Meren also the village cheif, the village elder, stepped forward with his staff in hand. His voice, though worn with age, carried easily over the murmuring crowd.
"Roots bind us," he began, the words as ancient as the village itself. "They remind us of where we came from, of what keeps us standing when storms come. May we never forget the hands that tilled the soil before ours, nor the hearts that beat beside us now."
The crowd bowed their heads. Some whispered their ancestors' names, others simply held hands in silence. Bram rested a calloused palm on Ezra's shoulder, and Roana smiled down at him.
In that moment, surrounded by the murmur of gratitude and the scent of flowers, Ezra felt something stir inside him a calm, steady warmth that spread through his chest.
he hoped this warmth will last forever.
As the afternoon wore on, the festival grew louder and brighter. Food was shared around, Dancers moved in circles, skirts swirling as flutes and hand-drums quickened their pace. Jorah Torven clapped along, his laughter booming through the crowd. Bram joined him in a friendly drinking contest, which ended with both men singing off-key songs by the well.
Roana spent her time chatting with the village women, exchanging recipes and gossip, while Mira dragged Ezra from one stall to another.
"Come on! There's a contest near the fountain," she said, pulling him along. "You have to toss stones through the hoops — I bet you can't beat my score!"
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "You mean the game for six-year-olds?"
She crossed her arms. "Are you scared?"
He sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if I win, you have to stop calling me 'daydream boy' for a week."
They spent nearly an hour at the fountain, laughing and bickering, their voices lost in the crowd's joy. When the sun began to dip, the whole village gathered once more under the willow.
Lanterns were lit, their soft glow casting golden halos on smiling faces. The air was cooler now, filled with the smell of burning wood and roasted fruit. Children chased fireflies, giggling, while elders told stories of the first settlers who followed the Great Willow's light into the valley centuries ago.
Ezra sat near the roots of the tree, his back resting against the bark. His parents sat nearby, leaning into each other as they watched the dancers. For a rare moment, everything felt complete.
Roana turned toward him. "You're quiet tonight."
"I'm just… thinking," Ezra said softly.
"About what?"
He hesitated. "About how nice this is."
She smiled, brushing his hair back gently. "Then don't think too hard. Moments like this don't last forever. Just feel it."
So he did.
The night deepened, and the stars emerged countless and brilliant. The music softened into lullabies, and the lanterns swayed gently with the wind. Ezra looked up through the willow's leaves and thought how peaceful the world could be when left untouched by ambition or greed.
For a boy who had once lived in a place of endless noise and metal, this felt like paradise.
But then faintly he heard it.
A soft sound beneath the laughter, beneath the music. A low, chiming note — distant yet clear, like a bell echoing through still water.
Ezra's head lifted slightly. He looked toward the willow's roots, where shadows flickered from the lanternlight. For a moment, he thought he saw something — a pulse of faint light deep within the soil, there and gone in a blink.
He blinked, frowning. "Strange," he murmured under his breath.
"Ezra?" Mira asked, tilting her head.
"Nothing," he said quickly, smiling. "Just thought I heard something."
She shrugged and ran off to join the other children dancing around the fire.
Ezra sat back again, staring at the roots, the echo of that distant chime still ringing softly in his ears.
It didn't frighten him not yet, But it did leave a chain of unease threading through his calm.
And as the night sky shimmered above Hearthstone Village, Ezra couldn't help but feel that something was off.
But for now, he let the warmth of the festival hold him, unaware that this peace might soon become a memory he'd chase for the rest of his life.