Location: Between Eldoria and the Isle of Azmar in the world of Aethalgard.
"I spent a lot of time after that just walking around by myself. My mother left notes with instructions on how to make food for myself. We hardly ever saw each other and mostly talked using notes left for each other. It's probably why I feel so comfortable leaving notes for Ally. But then I met my best friend Ben."
Callum listened, his expression softening as she spoke. "Do you miss this Ben when you are here? You would always mention him when we were kids. I sometimes expected him to be standing somewhere off to the side, and I just was not able to see him," Callum asked with a small chuckle.
Vivian looked out of the window, a small, nostalgic smile touching her lips. "We're both older now, and have our own jobs. But we have a standing appointment to meet at least once a week for food and beer." She paused, her smile fading slightly as a familiar worry surfaced. "I don't know how long I will be here this time, though. And you already know that Ben is aware of our switching, like you. So Ally will be in good hands." She looked back at Callum, whose gaze was steady and understanding. "I wish I would have been able to find Ally's journal... Oh! The first time she had to do training as me in my world, she kept trying to put the little fires out with magic. I laughed so hard when I read about that."
Callum chuckled, the sound of a low, pleasant rumble in the quiet of the pod. "It is still strange to me that there is no magic at all in your world."
Vivian bit her lower lip—her habit betraying her true identity when she pondered about something deeply. The question hung in the air between them. "That's not exactly true. We have science, which is our magic. There was a scientist named Arthur C. Clarke in our world. He once wrote that any advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic or, put another way, magic is just science that we don't yet understand."
Vivian smiled to herself at getting to explain Clarke's Third Law in a magic-based world. She supposed Clarke never imagined it being used quite like this. She continued, "In my world, science and technology are also a part of everyone's daily lives, similar to how magic is to your people. But I have no idea how magic even exists here. And the glowing skin... I mean, how is any of it possible?"
Vivian looked at Callum, hopeful he would explain. Callum saw her little-kid-learning-something-for-the-first-time-face and tried to cover his smile. She is so cute when she makes that face.
"There is a lot of lore about how magic was created. But in our kingdom, we attune to nature and the energy that already exists. So we believe that a part of that natural magic merged with our ancestors and the glowing is a result of merged nature," explained Callum.
Her green eyes lit up at his words, a spark of intellectual curiosity that seemed to burn as brightly as Forest Heart Emeralds in the sun. "Could it be a symbiotic relationship that became part of your evolution?! That... I have to know more." Vivian was beyond excited at this new information and leaned forward from the edge of her seat.
Callum chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "I wish I knew what those words meant. But if it helps, where we are going has one of the largest tome repositories in all of Aethelgard. And the person we are meeting has presented a lot of theories on the origins of magic. It is likely they would have lore from the other kingdoms."
She leaned back again, a look of pure contentment on her face, quietly saying to herself, "I am so glad I came."
At the second break for camp, Vivian was NOT allowed to participate in the cup ceremony; however, Callum escorted her when the toast was over—without any explanation to the Barklars.
Since Cal and Viv had been talking about lore, she asked if any of the Barklars knew any good stories. Fendril, one of the younger Barklars who had been hurt in the attack on the previous campsite, had a kind face and a ready smile. He looked up from sharpening his dagger. "You mean like tales we hear as children, my lady?"
Vivian nodded, pulling her bedroll closer to the warmth of the fire and settling in. "That would be one type. Maybe you have stories about ancient lands and heroes, too."
Fendrel sheathed his dagger and leaned forward, his eyes twinkling in the firelight as he warmed to the topic. The other Barklars quieted, their attention turning to the young storyteller. Vivian listened closely for indications of scientific principles.
As keeper of the fire, Fendrel tossed a dry branch into the fire, sending a cascade of orange sparks spiraling into the night sky. The other Barklars leaned in, their faces illuminated by the flickering light, the day's duties forgotten.
"The Whisperwood's Warning," Fendrel began, his voice dropping to a low, storytelling cadence that hushed the remaining murmurs of the camp. "This is a tale every child of Eldoria learns, lest they forget that the forest sees all, and remembers."
"There was a young hunter named Kaelen, swifter of foot and sharper of eye than any in his village. His arrows, imbued with the feathers of Zephyr Moths, always flew true. But his skill was a seed for a great and foolish pride. He saw the forest not as a living entity to be respected, but as a challenge to be conquered. He ignored the elders' teachings. First to ask permission before the hunt; second to thank the spirit of the creature for its life; and third to take only what was needed."
"One day, seeking glory rather than sustenance, Kaelen ventured deeper into the Whisperwood than ever before. He passed beneath the ancient trees, their leaves murmuring in a language he chose to ignore. It was there he saw it: a magnificent Glowdeer, its coat shimmering with an inner light, its antlers like branches of silver coral. Such a creature was a rare and sacred sight, a blessing from the forest itself. But Kaelen saw only a trophy."
"He did not ask for permission. He did not offer a prayer of thanks. With a single, perfectly aimed arrow, he brought the noble beast down. But he did not butcher it for its meat or hide. He sawed off the luminous antlers, a prize to boast of back in the village, and left the rest of the magnificent creature to the scavengers. It was a profound insult, a wound dealt not just to the Glowder, but to the heart of the Whisperwood itself."
Fendrel paused, letting the weight of the transgression settle over his audience.
"And the forest," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, "responded. The moment the antlers were severed, a silence fell. It was not the gentle quiet of a peaceful glade, but a deep, profound stillness that was utterly unnatural. The thousands of leaves on the Whisperwood Trees, which always rustled and whispered, froze as if turned to stone. The air grew cold and heavy. The cheerful, guiding melodies of the birds were extinguished, plunging the woods into an eerie void."
"Kaelen, his prize in hand, felt a prickle of unease. The sudden silence was more deafening than any roar. He looked to the sky, expecting to see the familiar silhouettes of the Leafwing Gryphons, whose cries often guided lost travelers home. He saw them, high above, circling like birds looking to eat dead animals. But instead of leading him toward the sunlit paths of the outer woods, they let out a series of sharp, mournful cries and veered away, deeper into the forest's shadowed heart."
"Arrogance is a stubborn weed. Kaelen scoffed, trusting his own skill. But the forest was no longer his ally. The paths he knew seemed to twist and braid themselves into knots. Familiar, moss-covered monoliths vanished, replaced by tangled thickets of Thornback vines. As dusk began to bleed through the canopy, painting the woods in shades of bruised purple and grey, he knew he was truly lost. He heard the dry skittering of what could have been a Grave-Moss Crawler in the undergrowth, and saw fleeting shadows that darted at the edge of his vision. The hunter had become the hunted."
"For what felt like an eternity, he stumbled through the menacing darkness, the heavy antlers now feeling less like a trophy and more like a curse. Finally, exhausted and terrified, he collapsed at the foot of a colossal, ancient Whisperwood Tree, its bark gnarled like the face of an old man."
"It was there, in the crushing silence and the deep dark, that his pride finally broke. He looked at the glowing antlers in his hands, and for the first time, felt shame instead of triumph. He had been a fool. He had been greedy. He had been deaf to the world around him."
"'I am sorry,' Kaelen whispered to the ancient tree, his voice cracking. He placed the antlers gently at its base as an offering. 'I was arrogant and blind. I took what was not mine to take freely. I have broken the balance. I ask for your forgiveness.'"
"As the last word left his lips, a single, silver-green leaf detached from a branch high above and spiraled down, landing softly on the back of his hand. And then, sound returned to the forest. It started as a faint sigh, a single rustle, then grew into a gentle, murmuring chorus as the leaves of the Whisperwood Trees began to whisper once more. The air warmed, and from a nearby branch, the clear, fluting notes of birds, a melody of forgiveness."
"Kaelen looked up. A lone Leafwing Gryphon was circling directly above him. It let out a single, clear cry—not of warning, but of guidance—and then flew in a straight and steady path. Humbled and with tears of gratitude streaking his face, Kaelen rose and followed. The gryphon led him unerringly to the edge of the forest, to the familiar path that led back to his village."
Fendrel looked around at the faces in the firelight. "Kaelen never hunted for sport again. He became a warden of the Whisperwood, teaching the young to listen to its whispers, to respect its creatures, and to always honor the balance. For he knew, better than anyone, that the forest is always watching, and its warnings, though sometimes silent, are never to be ignored."
A thoughtful quiet settled over the Barklars as the tale ended, the crackling fire the only sound. Vivian found herself looking into the deep woods surrounding their camp with a new sense of respect, understanding that in Eldoria, the world itself was a character in every story.
The boots of each Barklar thumped on the ground, acknowledging the end of the story. Then, a soft kerfuffle went around the camp with some saying that it wasn't how they heard the story or that he left a lot out. Still, it was a story with a moral to honor nature and not succumb to greed. All-in-all, similar to stories from Earth.
Another Barklar, a sturdy man named Lorin with laugh lines around his eyes, tossed a log onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the night. "I got one my grandmother used to tell," he said, his voice warm with memory. "The Bloom of Everlight."
"The tale speaks of the Longest Winter, a time, generations ago, when the sun grew shy and the snows fell for months without end. The land was blanketed in a deep, sorrowful white, and the light from the great forests dimmed. Even the Glowdeer, whose gentle light was a beacon of life in the darkest woods, began to fade. Their shimmering coats grew dull, their steps heavy, and their light, once a vibrant pulse, became a faint, flickering glimmer. Hope, like the Glowdeer, was fading from Eldoria."
"In a small village huddled at the edge of the Whisperwood lived a young girl named Lyra. While the elders despaired, Lyra remembered the summer. She remembered the warmth and the light, and she refused to believe it was gone forever. Every day, she would venture into the snow-laden forest, searching for a sign, a single spark of life in the frozen world."
"One day, following the faint tracks of a silver-furred frost-hare, she wandered farther than ever before. She came upon a hidden, hollow dell, sheltered from the biting wind by a circle of ancient, slumbering ironwoods. And there, in the heart of the dell, was a miracle. A carpet of Everlight Flowers was in full, defiant bloom, their petals pulsing with a warm, golden light that melted the snow in a perfect circle around them. They were a secret sun, a hidden wellspring of life in the dead of winter."
"Overjoyed, Lyra ran back to the forest's edge where the Glowdeer herd huddled, their light barely visible. She coaxed the weakest of them, a young fawn, to follow her. Hesitantly, it did. When she led it into the glowing dell, the fawn drank in the light of the flowers. Its coat began to shimmer, its faint glow brightening into a steady, warm radiance. One by one, Lyra led the rest of the herd to the hidden grove. As they basked in the light of the Everlight Flowers, their own inner flames were rekindled, their magnificent coats glowing with the warmth and promise of a thousand suns."
"The revitalized Glowdeer herd then moved out from the forest, their combined light a great, golden wave that pushed back the winter's gloom. They spread warmth and hope throughout the land, their presence a reminder that even in the deepest, coldest darkness, life persists, and a single, small bloom of hope can rekindle the light in all of us." Lorin had a nostalgic look on his face as if he remembered how someone told him that story when he was younger.
Vivian found herself captivated, not just by the stories, but by the quiet reverence with which the Barklars listened. These weren't just tales; they were the threads of their culture, of their childhood. Then the boots of the camp thumped again.
"How about 'The Rootwalker's Gift,'" added a Barklar named Taynir, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more serious. "My village tells this one at every harvest."
"A grey-wilt fell upon the village of Bright Sprout, a creeping sickness that leached the color from the leaves and the strength from the limbs of its people. The healers tried every remedy, every poultice of common herbs, but the wilt held fast. The village's last hope was a young healer named Elara, whose knowledge of the deep woods was surpassed only by her courage."
"Elara knew the cure lay in a rare combination of herbs that grew only in the forest's heart, a place of tangled shadows and ancient magic. She set out at dawn, but the woods, sensing the sickness, had become a confusing, hostile labyrinth. Illusory paths led to dead ends, and a thick, disorienting mist clung to the ground. Just as she was about to despair, she found her guide: a Rootwalker Beetle, its iridescent carapace the size of a shield, its movements slow but immensely powerful. It seemed to be waiting for her."
"Trusting her instincts, Elara followed. When she came to a chasm too wide to leap, the beetle braced itself, its powerful legs digging into the earth, and became a living bridge for her to cross. When the mists grew so thick she could not see her own hand, the beetle's antennae would twitch, unerringly pointing the way forward. It was the embodiment of the forest's strength, and it had offered her its aid."
"Finally, it led her to a sun-dappled clearing where two herbs grew intertwined: the silver-leafed Moonpetal, which soothes the spirit, and the golden-veined Sun-dew, which mends the body. She gathered them with a prayer of thanks and, guided by the faithful beetle, returned to Bright Sprout. The cure she brewed was potent and swift, and as health and color returned to her people, they understood. The forest had not abandoned them; it had simply asked for a soul brave enough to seek its gifts."
A soft murmur of agreement went through the group. Kel, who had been listening silently, gave a slow, deliberate nod and smacked Taynir on his broad back. The boot-thumping signaled the end again.
Fendrel smiled, his mood lightening. "What about 'The Dance of the Sunpetal Fairies,' a favorite for kids at the fireside."
"Oh. I got this one," said a bearded man, Royri. "My girls ask me to tell this one a lot."
Royri cleared his throat, "Every mid-summer, when the day is longest and the air is sweet with the scent of honey-blossom, a special magic awakens. In the meadows where the Sunpetal Flowers grow, their wide, golden faces always turned to the sky, the Sunpetal Fairies emerge. They are tiny beings of pure light and laughter, born from the heart of the flowers. And on that one night, they dance."
"Their partners are the Zephyr Moths, whose wings are like spun moonlight and stardust. Together, they create a dazzling, silent ballet. The fairies dart and weave, leaving trails of golden sparks, while the moths flutter and glide, their wings catching the twilight in shimmering patterns. It is a celebration of life, of the perfect, fleeting beauty of a summer's evening."
"In a cottage at the edge of the meadow lived a boy named Finn, who was quiet and shy. He would watch the dance from his window, his heart filled with a lonely ache. He longed to join, but his feet felt rooted to the floor."
"One evening, a single Sunpetal Fairy, bolder than the rest, noticed the small face in the window. She flew over, a tiny, winking star, and hovered before him. She didn't speak in words, but in feelings—a gentle, warm invitation that flowed directly into his heart. Hesitantly, Finn crept out of his cottage and into the meadow. The moment his bare feet touched the soft grass, the fairies and moths swirled around him, welcoming him into their dance. He learned that night that you don't need a loud voice to belong, and that even the shyest heart can find its rhythm in nature's embrace."
While the retinue shuffled, collected more drinks and commented how Royri's kids were like their own, Vivian couldn't help but wonder if that was this world's version of "Frozen," in that the kids wanted to hear it over and over and over.
Once everyone was settled again, Fendrel saved one last story, his expression growing more thoughtful. "'The Old Tree's Wisdom' is perhaps the most important." The others nodded.
"When our ancestors first settled in these lands, they were lost. They knew how to build with stone and how to fight, but they did not know how to live with the forest. Their crops failed, their homes felt cold and out of place, and the woods seemed a dark and menacing foe."
"Desperate, they sought the counsel of the Old Trees, the ancient, sentient beings who had watched the rise and fall of mountains. The trees did not speak in a language of words. Instead, they shared their wisdom through the creature melodies of the forest who knew them best. To this day, it is known as Sylvan Chanting."
"The settlers learned to listen, truly listen, to the complex melodies and trills of the birds. In one song, they heard the secret of planting glowing Ember-moss alongside their seeds to enrich the soil and ward off blight. In another, they learned the rhythm of the river, how to make offerings to its spirit for a safe crossing and a bountiful catch of silver-fin fish. A different melody taught them how to build their homes in harmony with the forest, weaving them into the living wood so that they became part of the grove, not a scar upon it."
"Through the songs of the birds, the Old Trees taught them the great lessons of Eldoria: that patience yields a greater harvest than haste, that balance is stronger than force, and that to live in harmony with the land is the only true way to prosper. And that is a wisdom we strive to remember to this day."
As Fendrel finished, a comfortable silence settled over the camp, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the gentle whisper of the wind in the trees. The stories hung in the air, a testament to the deep, abiding connection between the people of Eldoria and their world. Then the boots thumped one last time, and conversations started up again.
All-in-all, the last overnight camp was full of stories and good company. Although Callum would not have minded another confession, he refused to let anyone see Vivian in that state, vowing that she should not participate in any military toasts until she built up some immunity.