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Edenfield Chornicles | Chapter I

Chapter I: The Bear and The Tower

“ Do not remain within that cage, son. A vast realm lies ahead, eager for you to finally take flight.”

The stairs groaned softly, their creaks reverberating in the stillness of the apothecary.

A middle-aged lady carefully mounted the steps. An attic was reached by a narrow wooden staircase. The polished railings sparkled under her fingertips. A small, circular window at the landing let soft light cast long shadows that danced with her every step.

With each step, the town below faded into a whisper of bustling life. Replaced by her son's room's oppressive stillness. As she rose, her free hand gently caressed the coarse wooden walls. She touched the rough spots and gouges, scars from her son's growing.

As she approached the attic door, a moment of hesitation gripped her. Pausing for a brief moment, she lifted her hand with a touch of uncertainty. The wood stood strong, though it bore the marks of time.

Mrs. Welton closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then rapped softly with her knuckles, the sound a delicate, almost timid knock against the quietude.

“Eddie?” she whispered into the quiet, her voice barely breaking the stillness of the attic. She leaned in.. The other side lingered in their silence. Her brow knitted together, a delicate line appearing between her eyes. She cast a fleeting look at the door handle, an urge to twist it, yet she held back.

Instead, she knocked again, this time with a deeper intent, the sound echoing more profoundly through the room beyond.

Silence. Thick and unmoving.

Dust swirled inside the room behind the door. Sunlight streaming through the curtain illuminates the gloom. The old attic above the busy apothecary stayed still, only disturbed by twisted floorboards and seagulls from the streets below.

A tiny bed with tangled sheets lay against the wall beneath the sloping roof in the dimmest area of the attic. Disorganised blanket cascaded over the side, showing the weak mattress underneath. Eddie appears among the ruckus.

He lay like a shadow under the worn blankets, shoulders hunched inward. His face was turned towards the window, absorbing the morning's light. His pale complexion was contrasted by a few silver hairs that gently glowed in the light across his closed eyes. He looked younger, almost delicate, with shadows under his eyes, as if he could not escape his discontent even in sleep.

The silver of his hair spilled over the pillow in disheveled waves, catching the light like threads of moonlight caught in a storm.

A solitary knock echoes through the stillness of the room.

Eddie moved at the sound. Groaning, he reached for the cushion next him. He covered his head to filter out the world beyond his cocoon. He struggled to close his eyes and fall asleep. His colorful, knotted hair flipped out as he cuddled beneath the covers.

The door knocks once more.

“Go away…” he said, smothered by the pillow's embrace.

Mrs. Welton stayed outside, her hand hanging just above the door, almost frozen in time. Before returning to the door, she glanced down the stairs.

She knocked again—more resolutely, as if the sound itself could unravel the silence that enveloped the room.

“Eddie?” She called, yet no answer.

Mrs. Welton sighed, slipping her hand into her skirt pocket and touching her wand's smooth wooden surface. With a slight wrist movement, the wand appeared—a thin piece of dark mahogany with intricate interlocking ornaments that shimmered in the dim light.

Mrs. Welton pointed it at the door's lock, and a gentle click rattled the quiet attic, flickering the runes around the lock before dissolving into the shadows. She tucked her wand away and gently opened the door.

The room was full of clutter: scattered papers, a tangle of carelessly tossed clothes, and open books in mid-thought. The chaos was illuminated by soft morning sunlight through a thin, partially open curtain, leaving the corners in shadow. The air had a hint of old parchment and ink.

Mrs. Welton’s gaze swept the room, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she took in the disarray. “Of course,” she muttered under her breath, stepping carefully over a crumpled tunic on the floor. “A tornado couldn’t have done a better job.”

She stared at the bulk under the covers, immovable except for Eddie's breathing. His silver hair flowed over the pillow, glinting like stars against the faded linen.

“ Edward Welton! ” she called, her tone sharp but laced with exasperated fondness.

“You agreed months ago to help out in the apothecary. I’m not running this place alone while you spend all morning hibernating like some bear in a cave!” She crossed the room with purpose, the floorboards thumped under her feet.

From under the blankets came a muffled groan, followed by Eddie’s half-asleep, sarcastic retort. “You could always fire me, mom. No hard feelings.” he muttered, his voice heavy with sleep.

Mrs. Welton huffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Oh, don’t tempt me, Edward! If I had anyone else to rely on, I would!”

She passed the clutter of books, clothing, and posters. She gently opened the thick curtains, warming the room unexpectedly. The warm salty sea air stroked her skin and softly swayed the tattered posters on the walls, swirling dust motes.

The room seemed to sigh at the intrusion of light, as if it, too, had been holding its breath.

When the illumination changed, Eddie groaningly tightened. He tried to tighten the cushion to cover the remaining sunlight, but failed. It seemed like the world had woken up too soon as the light warmed his back. With the assault of light, he sought the darkness within the cushions.

Eddie groaned louder, pulling the blanket over his head. “What are you doing? Are you trying to freeze me to death?”

“I’m trying to wake you up, you lazy sloth!” Mrs. Welton shot back. “You’ve got orders to prepare, customers to greet, and floors to sweep. And If you’re not up at the tower in five minutes, I’ll give you five reasons to regret it.”

Mrs. Welton crossed her arms “Your father could use your help at the Alchemical Tower today,” she announced, stepping forward with a firm but motherly tone. Her brow was arched just enough to say she wasn’t about to take ‘no’ for an answer. “You know how much he relies on you, especially now that he’s not as spry as he once was.”

Eddie groaned dramatically, burying his face deeper into the cushion as if it could shield him from the day ahead. “Dad manages the apothecary just fine on his own, Mom,” he muttered, his voice muffled. “It’s just a few potions isn’t it?”

Mrs. Welton’s eyes narrowed, and she planted her hands on her hips in a pose Eddie knew all too well. “ Just a few potions? ” she repeated, her tone sharp enough to cut through his sleepy haze. “Oh, forgive me, Master Alchemist, I didn’t realize concocting remedies for half the town while juggling delivery orders and inventory was just a few potions !”

Eddie peeked out from beneath the cushion, his hair sticking out at odd angles. “If he’s so busy, maybe he should hire more help. Or better yet, why don’t you fire me already?” he shot back with a half-smile, clearly testing her patience.

Mrs. Welton threw her hands up. “Oh, don’t tempt me, Edward Welton! If I thought for a second anyone else could put up with you, I’d have them sweeping the floors by now!” She sighed, her annoyance giving way to something softer. “But your father doesn’t need just anyone . He needs you . You’re the only one who got a talent for this, even if you’d rather spend all day dreaming under that blanket.”

Eddie groaned again, though his mother’s words tugged faintly at his sense of guilt. “Fine, fine, I’ll help. Just give me a minute…”

Mrs. Welton softened her tone further, stepping closer to him. “Besides,” she said, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, “Your aunt Catherine will be visiting this week.”

At that, Eddie’s head popped up behind his cushion, his curiosity momentarily replacing his grogginess. “Aunt Catherine?”

“Yeah, she wrote to us last month, but I suppose you wouldn’t know since you’ve been too busy ignoring the letters piling up on your desk,” Mrs. Welton replied with a pointed glance toward a cluttered corner of his room.

“Right,” Eddie sheepishly chuckled, but when Catherine's name was mentioned, Eddie blinked, his half-awake mind struggling to place the name. “Wait… Aunt Catherine?” he asked, frowning slightly as he sat up. “Who’s that again?”

Mrs. Welton froze mid-step, her hands settling on her hips in that all-too-familiar way. “Oh, honestly, Ed,” she said, exasperation dripping from her words. “How could you forget Catherine? My sister? The elf with the fiery red hair, pointy ears?”

Eddie tilted his head, still drawing a blank.

Mrs. Welton groaned dramatically, throwing her hands into the air. “The one who used to take you out adventuring, of course! Dragging you into old ruins and twisted dungeons like a pint-sized treasure hunter? Ring any bells? Honestly, I don’t know how I let her get away with it.”

At that, Eddie’s groggy mind finally clicked into place. Memories of him as a little kid, scrambling over rocks and squeezing through tight corridors with Catherine’s infectious laugh guiding the way, came rushing back. “Ohhh,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You mean that Aunt Catherine. The elf lady, the one you always yelled at because we came back covered in mud or—what was it that one time—slime liquids?”

“Don’t remind me,” Mrs. Welton said, shuddering at the memory. “You two would burst through the door, filthy from head to toe, with her grinning like she’d discovered Elven treasure and you trailing behind her with that same ridiculous smile. Do you know how many times I had to scrub the smell of dungeon muck out of your clothes?”

Eddie chuckled softly, the sound a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “To be fair, it was fun at the time, mom. She made it feel like we were real adventurers. She even taught me alchemy while we were out there.”

Mrs. Welton’s tone softened, though her expression still held a trace of scolding. “I remember. You’d come back babbling about her experiments and little alchemical tricks, and I’d have to remind you that not every shiny stone is a magical artifact. But she did spark something in you, didn’t she?”

Eddie hesitated, the memories pulling at him like faint whispers from another time. Catherine’s bravery, her laughter echoing through wet, ancient hallways, her boundless enthusiasm—it had been infectious. But those times felt so distant now. “That was a long time ago, Mom.”

“It was,” Mrs. Welton agreed, her voice quieter now, her gaze growing softer. “But I have a feeling Catherine still has a few adventures up her sleeve. Who knows what she’s planned this time?”

Eddie at last raised his gaze to meet hers, casting aside the pillow that had shielded his face for what felt like an eternity. Her words ignited curiosity within him.

The mother and son were separated by silence. Isn't it easier to stay in my quiet room? Eddie thoughts, but despite of it, he couldn't ignore the subtle remorse, a faint echo of duties, and his mother's growing anxiety.

“Alright, then,” he finally admitted, the word escaping him as if it were a hesitant capitulation. “I’ll get up. Just... give me a moment.”

“Take your time, but not too long,” she said, her smile gentle and warm, a flicker of hope shining brightly in her eyes. “Your father is relying on you.”

With that, she pivoted gracefully and made her way back to the door. The soft sea breeze flows around her. Eddie lay there, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling.

Pleasant breeze from the open window carried the apothecary's scent of herbs, swaying the curtains. The rough wooden boards were coated golden by window light. A faint sigh from the bed reminded him of the responsibilities ahead, so he got up.

With a gentle shove, he cast the blankets aside and let his legs dangle over the side of the bed, the coarse wooden floor sending a shiver through his feet.

Eddie stood up, his slim frame trembling slightly as he adjusted his posture. The mirror at the corner of the room revealed a boy he didn’t recognise. He swiped a hand through his silver hair to tame it, but it simply fluffed up even more.

He then stepped towards the door, the well-known creak of the floorboards creaks beneath him. The sounds of the town below reached his ears, a lively echo of existence carrying on in his absence.

-o-

The attic door creaked quietly as Eddie left, like if unwilling to go. He walked across the narrow passageway the floorboards creaks underneath as he walked. As if sighing, the Welton Household hall filled him with warm light and the earthy smell of dirt. Sunlight from tall, mullioned windows cast a shadowy mosaic on the raw wooden planks.

The passageway was filled with the aroma of dried lavender and rosemary and a faint metallic scent from the tower above. In alchemical experiments, his father produced extracts and lost himself in his studies.

With a soft sigh, Eddie reached for his jacket, the brown wool warm and coarse against his skin, and turned to face the spiral staircase that curled upward like a tempting vine.

Eddie paused and peered at the rune etched on the floor near the stairwell, its aqua glow beckoning. The rune, made by his elder brother Alfred, made the thousand-step ascent feel like a mere ten. Eddie was burdened by the prospect of wielding magic, something he had grudgingly abandoned. Instead, he prepared for the grueling climb.

He inhaled and stepped up the first step of the stairs, echoing his footsteps through the tower's stone walls. As he climbed, the polished wood creaked gently. He walked with resolve, his legs burning with effort and his breath quickening in the silence.

He felt the ascend to extend forever, a struggle that reflected the miles ahead. Eddie continued up the tower while the floorboards groaned and the wind moaned through his side windows.

-o-

Eddie finally reached the top of the tower, his lungs burning and breath hitching in quick, ragged bursts as he crossed the threshold into the alchemist’s lab on top of the tower.

Soft light from the open window cast amusing shadows on the craggy stone walls. He was surrounded by the odours of crushed plants and boiling concoctions and the saline air from big windows with delicate wooden beams. This vantage position revealed the Hamlet of Weshaven, a seaside hamlet full with merchants and fishermen ready for their voyages.

“Hey there, Eddie!” Mr. Welton said, looking up from his meticulous work with a casual air.

Mr. Welton looked up from his desk, relaxed. Ageing grey hair fell in wild curls over his face, giving him a quirky genius look. On his nasal bridge, round glasses framed his bright blue eyes that gleamed with warmth and mischief. He looked like someone who had spent his life studying and working, wearing a basic collared shirt with rolled sleeves. Despite his age, his slender frame was nimble.

“How is it possible for a young guy like you to be panting like you just ran a marathon, hmm? I meanwhile, just an old man in my seventies, breezing up and down these stairs like it's no big deal!"

Eddie rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shot back,

“You’re totally cheating, Dad! You totally used that illusion rune Alfred whipped up to bypass all those stairs!”

“Touché!” His booming, contagious laughter filled the room and rattled the jars on their shelves. “But it’s all for the sake of speed, and efficiency!”

“Right, what’s on the agenda today, Dad?” he asked, eyeing the neatly organised notes that laid out the day’s missions.

“Alright, we will need to get these raw materials processed,” Mr. Welton said, slipping on a pair of protective goggles as he approached the array of ingredients strewn across the workbench. “We’ve got to get them ready for brewing in the apothecary. Your mom's a bit understaffed today, and I could really use another set of hands around here.”

Eddie nodded, shaking off his lengthy sleep's fog. He joined his dad and used a wicked-looking knife to slice through the twisted roots. The boiling concoctions, clinking glass devices, and scent of plants and chemicals comforted him as he worked.

Lab was busy. On another table, glass jars bubbled and steamed, their twisting tubes blazing like ancient monster veins in the faint light. Some bubbled with vibrant hues, while others lay in little glass vials with ethereal light. Eddie saw jars of dried dragon's blood, sparkling scales from mythological fish, and powdered gems on the walls and recalled his childhood ambitions of becoming a famous alchemist, which he had long abandoned.

-o-

As Eddie and Mr. Welton toiled together, the harmonious symphony of slicing and grinding resonated through the lab, mingling with the bubbling and hissing of potions brewing in their cauldrons.

“You know, Eddie,” Mr. Welton began, his hands steady as he measured out a vibrant powder, “You’re almost twenty now. Time zips by quicker than the potions I whip up in my cauldron.”

Eddie took a moment, his eyes drifting from the herbs he was chopping to the lab around him. “Sure, I suppose so. It seems like it was only yesterday that I was just a kid,"

“So,” Mr. Welton started, casting a sideways glance at his son, “Have you thought about the Sage’s Scholarship program yet?”

Eddie froze, the knife suspended in the air in a moment of suspense, poised above the root he was about to slice.

“Not really,” he said, giving a casual shrug. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for something like that.” It’s been tough to think about anything beyond today.”

His dad nodded, a look of deep contemplation crossing his features.

“It’s not merely a matter of age, son. Your potential is off the charts! If you don’t seize the moment during these years, you could end up letting amazing chances slip right through your fingers.”

“Once you hit twenty-five, the door to the Sage’s Scholarship program swings shut. You can no longer apply to one, think about it.”

“I get it, Dad. But I—”

“Hey, listen up,” Mr. Welton chimed in, his tone a mix of authority and warmth. “Your aunt Catherine is going to be pretty bummed if you don’t go for it. From the very beginning, she’s had your back, even when you doubted yourself. Imagine the incredible things you could accomplish.”

Eddie, hit by a sudden rush of memories, stopped his chopping and glanced up at his dad.

“Oh, Mom mentioned about Catherine swinging by this week,” Eddie said, a spark of curiosity cutting through his usual indifference. “It’s been ages since Catherine crossed my mind. So, how’s she holding up?”

“Ah, Catherine.” Mr. Welton grinned, a spark of nostalgia dancing in his eyes, “Your aunt is a real piece of work! She’s a pretty impressive Alchemist all on her own. It’s amazing how much alchemical talent flows through the family, particularly with that Elven heritage of hers.”

“Yeah, remember her being amazing at that,” Eddie said, his mind wandering as he chopped the herbs with a casual flick of his wrist. “But I totally blanked on how much time has passed since we last met.”

“Ah, those were the days,” Mr. Welton remarked, a touch of nostalgia colouring his words. “Hey, remember when Catherine used to drag you off on wild adventures through dungeons and ancient ruins? You were always so curious and had a fearless back in those days.”

Eddie chuckled, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he recalled those thrilling escapades with his aunt, sneaking into shadowy nooks where every moment was bursting with joy and wonder.

“I can’t believe I ever had the energy to scramble up into those ancient ruins. What was I even thinking?”

“You were young, bursting with curiosity,” Mr. Welton said, a proud grin spreading across his face. “And it wasn’t just that; you were soaking up the wisdom from the greatest. Catherine was my Master before she set off on her own epic adventure. She taught me much of what I know today.”

“Hold on, you were her apprentice?” Eddie enquired, arching an eyebrow in curiosity. “You?” The legendary Mr. Welton?”

“Absolutely!” Mr. Welton laughed “Before I became the legendary Mr. Welton,” his father continued, waving his hand as if brushing away a pesky fly. “I was just a kid, and Catherine was already stirring up quite the storm in the alchemical world. It’s incredible to consider just how gifted she truly is.”

Eddie felt a twist in his gut, a sharp reminder of how much he craved those wild connections and epic adventures. “I totally need to get in touch with her, write a letter or something.”

“Absolutely,” his dad cheered on. “Catherine would totally be stoked to hear from you. She’s always seen the greatness in you, even when you couldn’t see it yourself.”

-o-

Eddie took a step back from the solid workbench, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead to clear the sweat. With a flourish, he stuffed the final ingredients into robust wooden crates, ready for their journey down to the bustling apothecary below. He paused for a second, taking in the impressive organisation he had pulled off, a wave of pride swelling within him

“Okay, Dad, I’m heading down,” he shouted, striding towards the door that opened to the twisting staircase. The doorframe creaked like it was just as eager to escape as he was.

But just as he was about to swing the door open, Mr. Welton’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Eddie, hold up for a second. could you hang around for just a little while longer? I've got one more favour to ask of you."

Eddie spun around, his curiosity ignited like a spark in a dark room. “Another favor?” What is it?”

Mr. Welton propped himself against the workbench, the morning light streaming in and painting warm shadows across his face.

“So, there’s this thing that popped up in my head, and I could really use your help with it.”

“What sort of thing are we talking about here?” Eddie asked, a twist of anxiety churning in his gut.

“It’s nothing too complicated, I swear,” his dad said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t do much to ease Eddie’s nerves. “Just a little tidbit I think you’ll find interesting.”

Eddie crossed his arms, caution dancing in his eyes. “Does it have anything to do with… magic?”

His dad let out a low chuckle, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Sort of. Hang on just a bit more; I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy this.”

Mr. Welton’s smile dimmed just a touch as he bent down beneath the workbench, retrieving a small, intricately designed cage. Within the confines of the cage itself, a lovely songbird flitted about, its radiant feathers shimmering in the soft glow of the light.

“Eddie, I need your help with something important,” he said, gently stroking the cage like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Eddie's brow knitted together in a mix of bewilderment and curiosity. “What’s this about?”

“Let this songbird go free,” Mr. Welton said, his voice a mix of kindness and authority. “It’s time for it to spread its wings and soar.”

Eddie paused, a surge of protectiveness washing over him for the tiny creature.

“But… it’s a songbird.” It could totally go missing or end up in a bit of trouble.”

“Songbirds are meant to sing and soar, not be caged,” his father said, the warmth in his voice clashing with the unease bubbling up inside Eddie. “Seriously, just let it slide.”

With a heavy sigh, Eddie stepped forward, gently accepting the cage from his father's grasp. As he opened the cage’s door, the songbird paused for a heartbeat, then erupted into the air, its wings a flurry of motion as it ascended into the vastness of the sky, a vibrant splash of colour against the endless blue. Eddie observed its departure, a bittersweet sensation unfurling within his heart.

“And just like that, she is free,” Mr. Welton declared, a spark of triumph dancing in his gaze.

Eddie spun around to face his dad, the heavy cloak of uncertainty still draped over his shoulders.

“Alright, but what’s the deal with that?”

Mr. Welton's face transformed into a mask of mischievous gravity.

“Alright, I've got another task for you.”

Mr. Welton then went on digging under the workbench again, he found a bigger, more elaborate cage. The morning light illuminated a gorgeous Fire Falcon in its cage, its plumage shimmering like liquid gold. The bird's ferocious glance fell on Eddie, and he suddenly saw its magnificent majesty.

“Let this one go, too,” Mr. Welton said, his voice playful.

Eddie's eyes went as wide as saucers. “You want me to release the Fire Falcon?” But it’s worth a fortune! You can’t just let it go!"

Mr. Welton leaned in closer, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “How about I wager you a hundred gold coins?”

“A hundred gold coins?” Eddie found himself caught in a whirlwind of temptation, the thrill of the wager tugging at him while his instincts screamed to safeguard the awe-inspiring beast before him. “But it’s a Fire Falcon!”

“Exactly,” Mr. Welton said, a grin spreading across his face like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure. “This isn’t merely about the wager; it’s about daring to leap into the unknown.” Consider it a crash course in bravery.”

Eddie paused, a storm of thoughts battling it out in his mind. “But what if it just doesn’t return?”

“Well, I guess that’s how the universe works,” Mr. Welton said, his eyes unwavering. “Sometimes, you’ve got to release your grip to discover what treasures await you.”

Eddie let out a reluctant sigh, his head bobbing in agreement as he fought to push down the knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

As he drew near the cage, Eddie inhaled deeply, his heart pounds. He opened the cage’s door and with a gentle push, urged the Fire Falcon onwards, anticipating its swift ascent into the sky.

Yet, to his astonishment, the falcon stayed resolutely perched within the confines of the cage, its golden eyes locked onto him, as though contemplating the choices before it.

“Come on!” Eddie urged, his heart racing like a runaway chariot on a quest. “You’re meant to soar off into the sky!”

But the Fire Falcon just cocked its head to the side, refusing to budge. Eddie felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach as the truth dawned on him. “No way… this is not happening.”

Mr. Welton let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, well, well, it seems I’ve come out on top, son.”

Eddie was hit by a wave of disappointment, swirling with anger and confusion like a storm brewing in his chest. “Why not?” Why didn’t it just take off into the sky?

Mr. Welton's expression turned warm as he moved in closer. “Sometimes, Eddie, just like that falcon, we get a little too cosy in our cages. We hesitate to take that leap, even when the chance to escape is staring us in the face.”

Eddie lingered, the disappointment brushing against him like a cool breeze, as he reached for the meticulously arranged ingredients resting on the workbench. The vivid hues of the herbs and raw materials drew his gaze, yet his thoughts wandered, circling back to that moment when the Fire Falcon had stubbornly remained in its cage.

“Thanks for the lesson, Dad,” he said, managing a tight smile as he turned to face his father.

He sensed the words dripped with sweetness, yet beneath the surface, frustration bubbled like a volcano ready to erupt. He wasn’t looking for some fancy metaphor about comfort zones and soaring through the skies—he just needed to find his own way forward.

As he approached the door, Eddie wore a mask of calm, resolute in his mission to keep the irritation simmering just below the surface a secret. “I’ll just take these to the Apothecary,” he said, trying to keep his voice cheerful, even though a storm of irritation brewed inside him. “Appreciate the, um, ‘lesson’.”

Mr. Welton observed his son's silhouette,worry reflected in his eyes. He could perceive the strain in Eddie’s shoulders, the manner in which his jaw clenched tightly. “Eddie,” he called after him, but the young man had already vanished through the door, descending the twisting staircase that spiralled down from the tower.

The lab door creaked shut behind Eddie as Mr. Welton leaned against the workbench, arms folded, watching his boy descend the stairs. His quiet sigh blended with the rich, aromatic alchemical concoctions around him.

“Ah, Edward,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head slightly. “If only you could see what I see.”

Mr. Welton felt a deep ache in his chest, aware that Eddie was ensnared in a tangle of fear and reluctance. His heart ached for his son, longing to share the wisdom he had known through the years. He grasped, with a profound clarity, the anxieties that tethered souls to the ground, preventing them from taking flight.

“At times, one must allow them to navigate their own path,” he murmured, observing the final sight of Eddie as he faded from sight.

“Do not remain in that cage, son,” he breathed softly, his voice a mere flutter in the air. “A vast realm lies ahead, eager for you to take flight.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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edenfield · 1 month ago

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Edenfield Chornicles | Prologue

“You were never a prince. You were never born in this kingdom. But you are strong, and you have a good heart. Should fate be kind, there may come a moment when you find your way back once more. Until then, embrace your life unshackled by these burdens..”

Silence fills in the hallway.

Silence holds its breath, Stillness wraps the palace in peace, The night’s quiet pause.

Footsteps echo clear, Sharp against cold stone walls, Rhythm in the night.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A figure emerges from the hallway of the kingdom's palace, her crimson cloak swirled with each step, its vivid colour a striking challenge to the sombre, grey expanse of the grand hallway. Her short crimson hair, a wild tempest, swirled about her elegant features—those that bore the faintest trace of dissatisfaction. Her arms, burdened by the weight of ancient tomes, codices, and scrolls, moved with a delicate grace as she forged ahead. A polished brass mahogany staff, ornate and gleaming, rested beneath her arm, precariously balanced on the brink of free fall as she shifted the weight of her tomes.

It was The Alchemist

“Of all the absurd ideas,” she grumbled, her voice resonating softly in the dim light. “Twin princes… wielders of the Alchemical art!" She said sarcastically, "As though they possessed the power to command anything other than the art of tormenting my very own existence!”

She huffed, adjusting the stack of books as they threatened to topple. The staff bumped against her side, and she let out a frustrated sigh.

“If they spent half as much effort on their lessons as they do on their escapes, they’d be prodigies by now,” she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “But nooo, of course not. Why learn the art of transmutation when they can climb trees or… whatever it is they do when they vanish.”

The Alchemist’s steps quickened as her irritation mounted.

“But of course, the wise king insists,” she continued, mimicking a regal tone, ‘‘They must master Alchemy if they are to stand against Them.” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind that they barely know a crucible from a cauldron.”

The hallway stretched on, the oppressive silence broken only by her footsteps and her muttering.

Her grip tightened as the pile swayed again. “And now I have to drag these lessons to their chambers? Hmph. No excuses this time!” she declared with a hint of triumph in her tone. “If they won’t come to their lessons, I’ll bring the lessons to them!”

She stopped to adjust the staff under her arm, sighing as she resumed her walk. “Honestly, this isn’t even about Alchemy anymore. It’s about him.” Her voice softened, though the irritation lingered. “The king thinks the world will bend to his will if he just molds them into what he wants. But they…” Her lips curved into a faint, rueful smile. “They’re not his tools. And they’ll never learn Alchemy with their hearts elsewhere.”

The Alchemist’s steps grew slower as she neared a junction in the corridor, her thoughts drifting. For a moment, the youthful playfulness in her demeanor returned, a flicker of rebellion sparking in her emerald eyes. “Maybe I should turn them into frogs for a day,” she mused aloud, her smile widening. “See how far they run then.”

The sound of footsteps stopped.

Silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, frowning. The air felt heavier now, the stillness unnerving. The flicker of the torches seemed dimmer, the shadows longer. Her grip on her staff tightened instinctively as she scanned the hallway behind her.

Nothing.

The hallway that stretched towards the Twin Princes' chamber lay before her, shrouded in shadows and thick with an eerie silence. The Alchemist’s boots echoed with a sharp cadence upon the cold stone floor as she drew near, her crimson cloak trailing behind her like blood in the shadows. In the dimly lit hallway, two royal guards stood sentinel, their halberds crossed in a formidable barrier, denying passage to any who dared approach. Their fully enclosed helmets bestowed upon them an imposing, faceless presence, a silent testament to their formidable nature.

The Alchemist's ire ignited once more. She shifted the staff beneath her arm, her stack of tomes teetering dangerously as she cast a fierce glare upon them.

“Step aside. I need to see the princes,” she demanded, her tone sharp.

The guards stood unmoved, their silent defiance irritating her further. “Did you not hear me?” she snapped. “The king ordered me to tutor the princes tonight. Let me through!”

The guards remained unmoved. One of them spoke, his voice muffled by the helmet. “You cannot pass.”

The Alchemist’s eyes narrowed. “And why not? By whose order?”

The other guard answered flatly,

“By the order of the king.”

Her irritation morphed into a chill that seeped into her very bones—a foreboding dread that lingered in her very skin. The tomes she bore weighed upon her like the burdens of fate themselves, her thoughts surged forth in a tempest of urgency. Such a notion seemed most improbable. The King had given her a clear command to instruct the young princes on this very evening. He yearned for them to delve into their Alchemical studies, to prepare themselves for the trials that lay ahead. The breath of the Alchemist caught in her throat, and her eyes darted between the two guards.

“No…” she murmured, taking a step back. “You’re no royal guards.”

A whisper of movement behind her. The Alchemist’s instincts screamed danger. With a sharp clatter, she let her books fall, pivoting on her heel as two hooded figures materialised from the darkness, their daggers glinting ominously in the dim light. They surged forth, their intentions dark, seeking to seize her from behind.

But she was faster.

The Alchemist seized her staff from beneath her arm, the brass tip shimmering with a subtle glow as she summoned her alchemical power. With a swift gesture, she pointed at one of the guards. The metal of his chestplate shimmered, then visibly weakened. She sidestepped the assassin’s attack, using her staff to redirect his momentum. The dagger plunged into the weakened chestplate, the force knocking the assassin out cold.

The second impostor guard lunged forward with fierce intent. The Alchemist’s staff spun in her grasp, a seamless extension of her very being. With a swift motion, she lunged upward, her strike striking against the false guard's armour. With a surge of transmutational energy, the metal coiled tightly, hoisting the imposter from the ground as if he were but a feather in the wind. His breaths emerged in ragged gasps, each one a struggle as the armour constricted mercilessly around his chest.

“Who are you?” the Alchemist demanded, her voice cold and commanding. “What do you want?”

The imposter remained mute, his silence a stubborn defiance even in the face of his torment. The Alchemist's fingers clenched around her staff, the armour yielding further under the strain, each tortured groan of metal echoing the agony that escaped his lips.

“Speak!” she commanded, her fury and trepidation surging forth like a tempest.

At long last, with his final, laboured gasp, the imposter roared, “By the order of the Black Hand!”

"This realm shall crumble beneath the weight of its own treachery this very night!”

His body fell slack, the armour relinquishing its cruel grip. The Alchemist remained motionless, her staff quivering ever so slightly in her grasp as the resonance of his words lingered in the stillness around her.

The shadowy grip of the Black Hand looms, a silent force weaving through the tapestry of power and intrigue. The words sent a shiver down her spine, far colder than the darkest night could ever hope to be.

Before she could catch her breath, movement drew her gaze down the hallway. Three more guards stood there, their halberds lowered in readiness. Their posture was rigid, their silence damning. They had been heading toward the Twin Princes’ chamber but now stood frozen, caught off-guard by their cover being blown.

The Alchemist’s blood ran cold. They weren’t guards either.

In unison, the impostors readied their halberds, their visors angling towards her with a menacing intent. The Alchemist lifted her staff, its brass head shimmering with a burgeoning energy, a harbinger of the alchemical forces at her command. She planted her feet firmly, her crimson cloak swirling around her as the air thickened with palpable tension.

The princes found themselves ensnared on the brink of peril.

No—the entire realm teetered on the brink of peril.

-o-

Upon awakening, the Older Twin was met with an enveloping darkness and an unsettling stillness. His dreams—vague and glimmering—fractured into a thousand pieces. Departing with nothing but a faint, lingering echo of what once was.

A jarring, resonant clash of steel rang out from the shadows beyond the chamber. A strangled cry echoed through the air, abruptly silenced by a chilling, wet, gurgling sound.

The stillness that ensued hung in the air, thick and oppressive. He sprang to attention, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered hoarsely, shaking his younger brother awake.

“What...?” The Younger Twin stirred awake, his voice thick with sleep.

The sounds intensified, reverberating through the air with an urgency that could not be ignored. Boots echoed against the marble floors, the sharp sound of glass shattering resonating through the air.

Stillness, choking and oppresive enveloped the surroundings.

The door to their chamber swung wide

It crashes against the wall with a force that echoed through the bedroom chamber of the young princes. A silhouette loomed. The figure stood stark against the dim glow of torchlight spilling from the corridor. The Older Twin recoiled, his form tense with fear, yet the figure emerged into the lights of the gaslamps inside.

It was the Alchemist

Steely resolve etched her angular face; her hair lay in wild disarray. Her staff gripped firmly in her hands, as if she wielded a spear. With a forceful motion, she slammed the door shut, her hand twisting the key in the lock before she secured the bolt with a decisive snap.

“Wake up, boys. Quickly now.” She moved to the Younger Twin’s bedside, shaking his shoulder gently amidst her own panic. “You must come with me. Don’t worry about changing—just your slippers, yes? That’s it.”

“Wha- What’s happening?“ the Older Twin asked, his voice trembling.

The Alchemist crouched before him. Her sharp emerald green eyes were steady and reassuring. “There are some bad people in the palace tonight,“ she whispered. “But I won’t let them hurt you. You must stay close to me, and we’ll be fine. Do you understand?”

The twins sat in their beds, clearly frozen trying to process what had happened

The Alchemist took her breath again, "Do you understand?" she repeated, softer this time.

The Older Twin nodded, his chest tight with fear. Now more alert, the Younger Twin came to stand beside his brother, clutching his arm.

“Good,“ the Alchemist said, forcing a smile, her voice calm but firm. She turned toward the door as it shuddered under a heavy blow.

A heavy thud reverberated through the door behind them.

The sharp crack of splintering wood echoed through the air. The Alchemist whirled, her staff lifted high, ready to channel her power. A radiant barrier of light sprang to life, shimmering with an ethereal glow as it stretched across the door.

The door shattered with a resounding crack, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. Three hooded figures surged into the room, their daggers and short swords catching the faint light and reflecting it like shards of ice. The Alchemist advanced, her staff lifted high, a beacon of power and intent.

“Stay behind me,” she commanded, her voice resolute.

The hooded figures closed in, yet the Alchemist moved with swiftness unmatched by the assailants. As she raises her staff, warm light emanated from her staff, illuminating the shadows around her. The metal frames of the princes' beds shimmered and twisted, transforming into fluid. The twins inhaled sharply, their eyes wide as the liquid metal ascended, twisting and turning like a dance of molten silver in the air.

“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice gentle but urgent.

The Older Twin complied without hesitation. He pressed his eyes tightly closed, yet the Younger Twin dared to glance through his lashes. With a deft motion of the Alchemist’s wrist, the liquid metal crystallised into razor-sharp shards that shot forth, aimed directly at the intruders. The sound of impact resonated with a sickening finality, soon accompanied by the heavy thuds of bodies collapsing to the ground.

As the Older Twin finally summoned the courage to open his eyes, a wave of nausea washed over him at the sight before him. The cloaked figures remained still, a dark stain spreading beneath their forms. Blood pooling beneath them. The Younger Twin's grip on his arm grew firm, a subtle tremor coursing through it.

The Alchemist knelt before them, her voice a gentle whisper, filled with an ancient wisdom. “Look at me, not on them,” she urged, her eyes warm even as her voice carried an edge of urgency. “I know this is frightening, but we must keep moving. Can you do that for me?”

The boys exchanged glances, their bodies trembling with fear. Yet, she bestowed a subtle, uplifting smile. “Good. Hold onto each other and follow me. I’ll take care of the rest.”

-o-

The hallway stretched ahead, the sight was beyond nightmare. Royal Guards engaged fiercely with mercenaries and assassins clad in mismatched armour, the sound of swords clashing against shields echoing through the corridor. Clouds of smoke from a fire stings deeply in their nose, the sharp smell was mixed with the metallic scent of blood and the desperate wails of the wounded.

The Alchemist moved in swift arcs. As she moved, her staff flashed as she turned the simplest objects into weapons. A decorative vase became a cloud of shrapnel, cutting down an attacker who lunged at them. A decorative armour become twisting metal threads, forcing another enemy to retreat.

“Keep close,“ she reminded the princes as they followed her. Their tiny hands clutched at her robes.

Amidst the chaos of the palace, the twins found solace in the steady demeanour of the Alchemist. As yet another assassin emerged from the shadows, the Alchemist responded with a decisive strike, rendering him incapacitated in an instant. The Older Twin turned his gaze away, his hold on his brother’s hand growing firmer.

The Younger Twin, typically so composed, faltered as he tripped over a corpse of a Royal Guard, his pale face glistening with sweat. The Alchemist placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, grounding him in the moment. “You’re brave,“ she whispered. “Just a little further now.”

The palace stood in ruins, its former magnificence overshadowed by the scars of battle. The Alchemist’s determination served as their guiding light through the chaos. She leads them through the darkness, navigating the horrors that surround them in search of the safety that awaits beyond the shadows.

-o-

The Alchemist heaved the massive doors of the throne room, the creak of the ancient wood echoing through the vast chamber. With her staff raised high, the radiant tip cast a warm glow, piercing through the shadows that lights the surroundings. The chamber, once a symbol of might and power, now lay in a state of disarray. Tattered tapestries drooped in sorrow, shards of glass sparkled across the polished marble, and the throne itself was marred by the deep wounds of battle. The marble floor is stained with the blood of the royal guards, formidable warriors, their bodies lies in defeat.

In the heart of the chamber loomed a figure, encased in dark iron armour, his face hidden behind a mask shaped like a raven. He radiated threat, his enormous, spiked mace perched effortlessly on his shoulder, as though it were as light as a feather.

The Alchemist’s breath sharpen. She tightened her grip on her staff, drawing the Older and Younger Twins closer behind her. “Stay behind me,“ she whispered, her voice steady despite the fear.

The figure clad in the raven mask bowed his head, a flicker of joy shimmering within his gaze. “Ah, the King’s sorceress fancies herself capable of shielding them from my grasp,” he growled, his voice reverberating with a twisted, metallic timbre through the visage that concealed him. With a resolute stride, he pressed onwards, the mace trailing behind him, its weight scraping against the cold stone floor, issuing forth a discordant, rasping echo. “Yield them unto me, and I shall grant them a swift end.”

“I am no sorceress,” The Alchemist said, raising her staff, “I’m an Alchemist, and you have to kill me first,” she answered, her voice a whisper yet resolute as the mountains stand against the storm.

With a decisive motion, she propelled her staff ahead, the gleaming mahogany wood radiating with the essence of alchemical might. The marble beneath the enforcer’s feet twisted and melted, dragging him into its depths. He responded with a fierce retaliation, bringing his mace down upon the earth in a thunderous impact.

The surge of energy fractured the fluid stone. It unleashes a storm of shards, scattering them in every conceivable direction.

The twins huddled behind her, their wide eyes reflecting the chaos. The Older Twin’s heart raced as he clutched his brother’s hand.

The Alchemist advanced with meticulous grace. She transforms the remnants of broken marble into deadly spears and launches them with precision. Yet the man with the raven mask moved with a swiftness that belied his imposing size.

With each swing of his mace, he sent the projectiles spiralling away, his strikes efficient and brutal.

“You possess great courage, Alchemist…” he taunts, stepping closer, “Yet you are undeniably foolish.”

With a powerful motion, he swung the mace in a sweeping arc, narrowly missing the Alchemist, who deftly ducked to avoid the blow. The tremendous arc of the swing fractured a nearby column, unleashing a cascade of dust and debris that fell like a shroud over the throne chamber.

“Run!“ she shouted to the twins, her voice sharp with urgency.

The boys paused, uncertainty flickering in their eyes, but the Younger Twin grasped his brother’s arm, urging him forward towards the distant shadows of the room.

The Alchemist unleashed yet another wave of assault. This time, the debris transformed into a relentless storm of sharp blades, targeting the enforcer’s vulnerable joints with precision. One struck him in the shoulder, forcing him to stagger back, the impact reverberating through his body. She seized the moment, channelling every ounce of her strength to hold him back.

Yet she pressed on, unwavering in her pursuit recklessly. With a decisive strike, he striked The Alchemist square in the chest. The impact hurled her against a shattered pillar, the ancient stone groaning under the sudden violence. She inhaled sharply, a jolt of pain coursing through her lower back as she fought to push herself up.

The battle raged on, each clash intensifying as the Alchemist fought with a mixture of grace and desperation. Every strike was a calculated attempt to turn the tide, but the weight of the enforcer's relentless attacks bore down on her. She crafted the golden chandelier above them into a cascade of sharp, golden rain, but not a single shard of gold could pierce the dark iron of his armor.

She darted and weaved through the chaos, using the throne room's grandeur as a weapon—crystal chandeliers splintered into deadly shards, gilded furniture twisted into formidable barriers. Yet, the enforcer’s overwhelming might shattered every defense she could muster.

Each blow from his mace pushed her further back. Her limbs trembled, breaths labored with each passing moment. A final strike sent her crashing into a column. Her staff clattered against the cold stone floor, a sharp reminder of her vulnerability.

Amidst the turmoil, she caught sight of the twins—only one stood before her.

“Where’s your brother?” she gasped, her voice ragged as she fixed her eyes on the Older Twin.

“I—I don’t know!” he stammered, his voice trembling with fear.

Desperation flared in her chest. She forced herself to her feet, every movement painful as she limped toward him. Her hands trembled as she lifted his wounded body, her heart racing. The Younger Twin was gone, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

Just as the enforcer raised his mace for the final blow, a sharp cry rang out from the hallway. The Alchemist’s heart skipped—before the enforcer could strike, a powerful force collided with him, knocking him off balance.

The Eldest Prince, clad in both regal armor and the weight of untold power, had entered the fray.

The enforcer staggered back, his masked face twisted in rage as he swung his mace, but the Eldest Prince’s blade intercepted it with ease, the clash of steel ringing through the chamber.

“Run!” the Eldest Prince commanded, his voice unyielding. “Take the Older Twin and go! I will deal with him.”

Wounded and exhausted, the Alchemist hesitated only for a moment before nodding, her body protesting the effort. She grabbed the Older Twin, pulling him toward the shadows, her breath ragged. She didn’t look back.

The Eldest Prince raised his hand, his movements slow but purposeful, as if gathering the last of his strength. His voice, though strained, carried the authority of a king’s command. With a final, defiant gesture, he invoked the Royal Magic.

For a heartbeat, all was still.

Then, a deep rumble echoed through the chamber as if the very stones themselves were stirring from an ancient slumber. The gargoyles, perched high upon the pillars, cracked their stony eyelids open with an unsettling groan. Slowly, they shifted, stretching long-buried limbs, their stone bodies grinding against centuries of stillness. The statues lining the walls, once silent sentinels, came to life with an eerie, deliberate motion. Armor pieces, discarded and forgotten in the dust, began to rattle and clink, pulling themselves together as if drawn by some unspoken command.

Each movement was labored at first, the sound of stone scraping against stone like thunder rolling across the sky. The ancient figures stirred to life, their once frozen expressions hardening into grim resolve. One by one, they formed into an imposing array—gargoyles unfurling their wings with a deafening crack, statues bending and straightening with unnatural precision, and armor pieces assembling into armored warriors, their joints clicking and grinding as they formed solid, towering figures.

The Eldest Prince stood at the center of this storm of steel and stone, breathing heavily, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He knew his time was short. He had never expected to survive the battle against the Enforcer—this was not a fight he could win. But he would see his brother safe. That was his last purpose.

He staggered back as the first of the stone warriors, a gargoyle with eyes glowing like embers, stepped forward. It let out a haunting screech, a battle cry that pierced the tension of the room. The others followed suit, assembling in formation with military precision, their movements synchronized as if they had been waiting for this moment for centuries.

With a final rallying shout, the Eldest Prince surged forward, leading the charge, his sword flashing in the dim light. The gargoyles and statues, each more formidable than the last, followed him, a relentless force of stone and steel. Together, they advanced with a terrifying fury, the ground trembling beneath their weight.

The Alchemist didn’t pause to watch; the battle between the Prince and the enforcer was no longer hers to fight. She ran, clutching the Older Twin, the sound of battle ringing behind her.

-o-

Beyond the palace gates, the night unravelled into chaos. Flames roared wildly, their heat licking the air, while distant cries pierced the night, a haunting symphony of chaos. Amidst the chaos, her gaze fell upon a fisherman’s cart, heavy with barrels brimming with the day’s catch.

She faltered as she approached, the weight of the Older Twin held gently in her arms. Worry carved deep lines into his face as the fisherman raised his gaze from his crouched position beside the cart.

“Help me,“ she pleaded. “Please.”

He nodded, lifting the lid of an empty barrel. The Alchemist lowered the boy inside, arranging the surrounding fish to hide him from view. The Older Twin stirred, his eyelids fluttering.

The Alchemist brushed his hair back, her voice soft but firm. “Listen to me. You must stay here. These kind people will take you to safety.”

His eyes opened, glassy with confusion. “My brother...?”

She swallowed hard, her voice catching. “I’ll find your brother. I promise. But you must get away now. Do you understand?”

He nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks.

The Court Alchemist crouched beside the cart. Her hands trembling as she adjusted the barrel concealing the Older Twin. The boy stirred, his eyes fluttering open. His pale face, streaked with soot, filled with confusion and fear.

“Shh,“ she whispered, her voice soft but tinged with sorrow. “You’re safe. I promise.”

The fisherman stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot. “How far do you want me to take him?“ he asked, his voice low and uncertain.

“As far as you can go, far west if you must.“ the Alchemist replied, though her heart ached with every word. “To a place where no one will find him.”

The fisherman nodded, glancing at the chaos still unfolding in the palace. “What about you?“

“I’ll return for his brother,“ she said, her voice resolute. “But this one must leave now.”

Her mind flashed back to the throne room, the king’s bloodied face pale as his voice rasped its last command.

“If the princes survive, you must erase their memories. They were never princes, never born of this kingdom. Only if fate binds them to the prophecy shall they return. Until then, they must live free of this burden. Protect their lives, even if it means burying their past.”

The weight of those words bore down on her like an iron yoke. She looked at the boy in the cart, his innocent face still bearing traces of the life he would soon forget.

“I’m sorry,“ she whispered.

The Alchemist reached for the small vial tucked within her belt. A swirling liquid of deep blue and shimmering indigo. The Memory Draught . Her hands shook as she uncorked it, the faint scent of rain-soaked earth rising into the air.

The Older Twin stirred again, his half-lidded eyes meeting hers. “Where... where’s my brother?“ he murmured.

Tears welled in her eyes. “He’s safe. You both will be.”

He tried to sit up, but she pressed her hand against his chest. “Drink this,“ she said, her voice trembling despite her efforts to remain composed. “It will help you rest.”

The boy lingered, his eyes desperately seeking hers. In his eyes, there was a glimmer of trust, delicate and tender, that pierced her heart with a profound ache. He parted his lips, surrendering to her as she gently poured the liquid into his mouth.

The memories flooded back in bittersweet fragments: the joyous laughter shared with his brother in the royal gardens, the intense lessons under the watchful eyes of the court tutors, and the comforting warmth of his father’s hand resting gently on his shoulder. Every piece dissolved like delicate mist under the warm embrace of the morning sun, vanishing into the emptiness.

As the draught took effect, his eyes grew heavy, and his body relaxed. The Alchemist leaned close, her voice a whisper filled with sorrow and hope.

“You were never a prince. You were never born in this kingdom. But you are strong, and you are kind. Should fate be kind, there may come a moment when you find your way back once more. Until that moment arrives, embrace your life unshackled by these burdens..”

She turned to the fisherman, her voice firmer now. “Take him. Guard him with all the love and care you can muster, as if he were your own. No one must know who he is or where he came from.”

The fisherman nodded, solemnly.

As the cart began to creak and groan down the road, the Alchemist stood frozen, her heart heavy, watching it disappear into the enveloping fog of the night. Her chest tightened with a grief that weighed heavily on her heart.

With a deep breath, she turned back towards the palace, “I will find your brother,“ she murmured in her voice, a promise carried on by the night wind. Then, staff in hand, she disappeared into the shadows once more.

Turning, she faced the burning palace once more. Her heart ached, but her resolve was unshaken. Clutching the battered staff, she disappeared into the chaos, her silhouette swallowed by the smoke and flames.

The fisherman covered the barrel, his hands trembling, and with a sharp whistle, he urged the cart forward into the night.

Behind them, the palace burned, and the fate of the Younger Twin hung in the balance.

-o-

The Red-Haired Girl perched at her desk, as the soft morning light danced through the delicate lace curtains of her cosy chamber. The view from her window overlooked the palace perched upon the hill, its spires reaching skyward like slender, shimmering needles. It was a sight she had come to know well, yet its grandeur always managed to awaken something deep within her.

Her desk was a chaotic tapestry of scrolls, papers, and sketches, each telling a story of its own. She had sketched illustrations of fantastical beings—phoenixes adorned with elaborate feathered wings, dragons with luminous eyes, and gryphons boasting gracefully spiralled horns. Every figure bears its own annotations. Notes penned in her meticulous script, outlining their physiology and the herbs thought to possess healing properties. Alongside these sketches lay plans for poultices and elixirs, her thoughts spilling onto the page in a delightful whirlwind of organised chaos.

She leaned back in her chair, a delicate smile gracing her lips. Her thoughts wandered to the grand palace and, even more so, to the princes who had forged bonds of friendship with her during her stay there.

The girl’s red hair framed a face lost in the twins’ memories, her fingers tracing the edge of the sketch absentmindedly. The Older Twin’s bold smiles and unrestrained spirit had bestowed upon her a sense of bravery; the Younger Twin’s gentle insight had illuminated the grace found in introspection and the journey of self-discovery. United, they had transformed her perception of the world, urging her to look beyond the confines of what she believed to be her fate.

She wanted to express her gratitude to them properly.

Uncertain, her fingers lingered upon the meticulously folded paper that lay upon her desk. It was a letter she had wrote weeks prior, yet it remained unfinished, lingering in the shadows of her thoughts. The words seemed but a mere shadow, unable to capture the profound depths of her gratitude.

What could I even say? She thought. Thank you for showing me who I could be? For teaching me how to dream?

Her smile faltered as she peered through the window once more, her eyes drawn to the majestic palace beyond. A flicker of unease brushed against her heart, an inexplicable shadow lingering where it ought not to be. She brushed it aside.

The palace rose majestically, its golden rooftops shimmering in the soft embrace of dawn's first light. From where she sat, it all appeared perfectly ordinary. The world continued its endless march, just as it always had.

She resumed her task, grasping a pencil and hovering it over the paper. Yet the words eluded her grasp. Her gratitude for the princes swelled within her, an emotion so immense it could not be contained on a mere sheet of parchment.

Perhaps one day, she mused, as she gently folded the unfinished letter and returned it to its resting place. When I see them once more, I’ll tell them everything .

Her smile blossomed anew as she envisioned the joyous reunion, blissfully ignorant of the dark events that had transpired the night before. The palace she gazed upon with such fondness had faded from the vibrant beacon of life and laughter she once cherished.

The palace she viewed with such admiration was no longer the beacon of life and laughter she remembered.

The royal family was gone. The twins—her friends—were gone.

And all she had were memories of a brief, wondrous year that would never return. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello everyone! this will be my first time uploading the draft of Edenfield on Tumblr, so i'll try uploading my chapter progress as much as possible since i'm currently on the process of self-editing it Eddie, our protagonist, has always wanted to attend Edenfield University. Home of magical education created by the Nine Sages of Enlightenment. His studies is risky: failure entails expulsion, and eventual life in obscurity in the faraway fishing hamlet of Weshaven. Eddie is desperate to show he belongs in Edenfield and worthy of the Alchemical Tradition despite an unreliable magical source that regularly fails his alchemical projects.

This is a story about a stressed out university student,

For stressed out university students,

And sincerely, by a stressed out university student.

Feedbacks and criticism regarding the story is very welcome in the comments! Also check Edenfield on: Tapas | https://tapas.io/foxwell1918 Wattpad | https://www.wattpad.com/user/Reinhardt507 Archive of Our Own | https://archiveofourown.org/works/61817005 RoyalRoad | https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/102968/the-edenfield-chornicles

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