91st day.
The sun rose from the earth and brought with it light and warmth; it bathed the forest in yellow as sun rays passed through leaves and illuminated the ground in sporadic patches. The forest was peaceful as leaves and bushes danced under the wind while animals awakened. Birds, most notably, sang like every morning with the same energy. Their joyful chirpings traveled through the air, only to arrive at the lovely, lonely house situated under the shadow of a century-old tree.
The old Abigail woke up at the sound of birds outside. Her glassy eyes opened slowly as her body shifted from under the blanket to the edge of the bed: every movement was a routine she had perfect long ago.
She paused for a second, took a deep breath, and stared at the window: the outside was foggy, and droplets of rain were sliding down the window. It was like this every morning: birds chirping, fog, droplets of rain. Abigail was very fond of this routine.
Her window was dusty and cracked, but Abigail never thought of repairing or replacing it: such things were tiring, and she an old lady who wanted her life to be uneventful. Something which she didn't succeeded at very often.
Furthermore, this window was mostly doing its job: keeping the wind and the insects outside. Abigail thought mostly as she looked at the spider in the corner of her bedroom, a small black spider.
After some time, she stood up and used her nightstand as support. This furniture had become nearly essential to make her stand up, but she didn't complain and patted her back a few times to straighten it as a diffuse pain spread through her back. Abigail walked to her dresser and took her old red robe: it was her favorite, and she liked to wear it nearly every day. This was why it was so faded despite being only thirteen years old.
She then strolled around the house, like every morning, to stretch her legs. Walking around the quiet house always allowed her to focus on the day, what needed to be done, and what should be done, not that she had anything to do, though.
Abigail then went outside with a bucket in hand. Her eyes slid across the forest: admiring it. In the morning light, the forest was especially clear, unlike the rest of the day; the morning hours were the perfect time to observe the small animals, insects—the nature in general. It was the hour of awakening.
The old lady always thought it was a shame people weren't taking time to appreciate the things around them. A smile appeared on her face as she strolled to the well.
She followed a path of stone slabs she had made herself some years ago. Abigail was proud of this stone path: it had resisted the passage of time better than she and would surely exist for many decades, maybe even centuries. Silently and without spoiling her joy, the old lady made fun of clout-seekers. She always thought it funny that most of them finished disappointed, crushed, or disheartened to see their life becoming the very same thing they looked down upon.
It was a dark thought, but the old lady had a wry sense of humor.
Abigail stopped in front of the old well and lifted her bucket. This well, unlike many others, was activated by a pulley mechanism, which greatly helped her. A few minutes later, the bucket was full and heavy, and Abigail grunted as she lifted it.
She then went to her kitchen to heat the water. Abigail wasn't sensitive to cold in her younger years, but it was the past; now she was an old person—or elderly like some polite persons say.
Abigail scoffed at her thoughts and put the water to boil in a cauldron, then sat on a stool in front of it.
Ortenz stood up from his bed and smiled proudly: today had begun as a fantastic day for him.
His legs were still weak but had improved thanks to his training. The gashes on his back would still need at least a week to disappear, but his pain had significantly diminished, so much he could now stand up without screaming: truly something to be celebrated.
"What a nice day, for now."
Ortenz left his room fully dressed with his satchel on his back and his staff under the arm like an improvised crutch. It worked, even if it was impractical, but Ortenz had no time to improve the design: he wanted to leave, even if that meant walking like a weirdo.
For the first time, Ortenz walked through the corridor. The wooden walls were adorned by a few paints of landscapes, which Ortenz didn't pay much attention to as his mind was actually curious about another mystery: how he got here. He had some difficulty believing the old woman carried him all the way here.
But something caught his attention, a boiling sound coming from the end of the corridor, beside the door leading to outside. "If she's awake..." The young mage pondered. He wanted to buy a pot of ointment if possible, and if it wasn't too pricey: his purse was of thin side lately, and he had other things to buy.
But since the occasion presented itself on a silver plate, Ortenz was going to take it. He approached the door as wood planks creaked under, and as he was about to touch the handle, the door opened.
The old woman looked at Ortenz with a sly smile. "I knew it," she laughed quietly. "You want ointment, right?"
Ortenz stood silent for a second, the old woman had just stolen his line. The young mage then scratched his head, embarrassed, "Well... Yes, how much would it cost?" He made sure to point at his thin purse.
"Hehehe, short on money, are we?" She continued laughing as she went to a cupboard. "It will be one silver coin. It's a guest's price, be happy." Ortenz smiled wryly as the old woman put a small pot in his hand, then directly took a coin from his purse.
She then sat once again on her stool. "A pleasure doing business with you." Her toothless smile frightened a bit Ortenz, who was now convinced his decision to leave early was the best. Who knew what she would cook next in her cauldron. "Y-Yes, me too. Thank you for everything, and h-have a good day." He quickly pronounced his sentence and darted away.
The last door was direct to his left, no need to traverse anything.
The door opened on a larger room of rectangular dimension stretching to his left. He gazed around the room because he was not expecting this of this small, lost house. The room was a veranda, and the large glass panel had been replaced by four smaller but covering the same surface, surely for economic reasons. The panels were dusty, especially at the top, and were clearly old.
Against the wall, there was a bench made out of a trunk, cut at the base to make it flat and stable. It was a System D method, but if it worked, Ortenz couldn't say anything.
"Oooh, that's why there was light..." Ortenz had thought this was the last door because of the light coming from underneath, but it was just a naturally lit room. Nonetheless, it was the first time he saw a veranda in the house of a more humble person, and he had to admit: he clearly wanted to have a house with a veranda too now.
Finally, Ortenz left the house and walked into the forest.
Ortenz was sitting on the side of the road and was writing—for the first time in weeks, in his notebook. "So... I wanted to buy ink, look up this ointment, and what else?" His eyes stared at the clouds for a few seconds, then it hit him, "Yeah! A fucking battle-robe! This vengrel wrecked me so much, but it will only happen once, not twice!"
He scribbled his ideas and put back his notebook.
Ortenz stood up once again and began walking eastward, but just as he was about to go, he heard the characteristic clip-clop of a horse. And indeed: behind him, at approximately two hundred meters, was a carriage led by two horses.
The carriage was made of a dark wood Ortenz recognized as ebony. It was a costly wood coming from the warmer regions and only exported in small quantity; Ortenz doubted the whole vehicle was truly made of it. The wheelwright had surely used common wood for the wheel and the interior: the less visible parts. But the man had done a great job: golden lines outlined the vehicle and forced the eyes to focus on the most detailed parts: the doors and the vibrant red seats.
The doors were engraved with the house emblem, a deer with three rams, which Ortenz immediately recognized as the Dreiwälder family. It was a house renowned for its wood-works, rumored to be masterpieces. They were also making mage staff, but Ortenz never had the chance to have one, unfortunately.
As the carriage approached, Ortenz stepped on the road and waved his hand.
The coachman slowed down the horses but continued to advance as Ortenz walked the remaining distance. "Hello!" he said joyfully to the man. "Please excuse me, but as you can see, my legs are in bad shape. I wouldn't want to impose myself, but could I have a place at your side, or even with the luggage?"
Of course, the man had no say in the matter, but directly addressing nobles is considered rude, and since Ortenz wanted to make good impressions, it was in his best interest to be as polite as possible. The coachman nervously looked through the small window behind him and waited for a response.
Muffled sounds came from the carriage. Ortenz couldn't discern them, but the coachman certainly could, seeing his shifting expression; he went from nervous to stressed to reassured to nervous, and his eyes looked at Ortenz's staff.
"The lady asks you: are you a mage?" Ortenz had anticipated this question as nobles are more lenient toward mages. He put on a fake little smile and responded, "Yes, I graduated from Blue Waterfalls." Academies' names are important because they can only generate three responses from the interlocutor: "I never heard of that backwater academy.", "Doesn't that one have a long waiting list?" or "Hey! I went to that academy!" And Ortenz really hoped the lady's standards were not too high.
The coachman turned around once again and whipped his sweaty hands on his pants. Then a few seconds later, he sighed. "The lady says you can climb with me." He patted the seat on his right with a weak smile.
Ortenz lightly bowed, climbed, and said, "Thank you." to nobody in particular.
Amarant, the flawed city, was in sight.
