The Holy Dream

Prelude Part 9

As usual in the early winter of Lancia, a brilliant day paraded, blessed by the Sun’s full favor. However, a chill wind howled through the city, sending shudders through men and women tricked by the celestial star’s misleading indication.

Regardless of the frigid temperatures, Lancia was bustling; trade flourished, ventures were successful, and people were happy. However, a certain luster had been lost in the culture of the capital--After years of inactivity, people had begun to wonder what had happened to their beloved Sungod. A lapse in religion faith was on the rise, and with the wealth came crime, dystopia and tragedy in the darker corners of the cobbled boulevards.

“Maric!” Furia called out in her sweet, teasing voice. “You’re fifteen! You can make the jump! Come hither, it isn’t that bad of a fall!” She said. Maric swore he could make her out winking at him from across the rooftop.

He stood, looking down upon the city. Streamers and lines pinned with small flags and colored banners danced in the gusts, reminding him how alive his city was. How alive he was.

“I know, Furia! I’m merely… readying myself! Grand job, by the way! Your stride is impressive!” He said, winking back. Oh gods, he thought. I hope that wasn’t awkward.

Hopping over and over, he stretched out his muscles to make the jump across the rooftop. Furia and him had been practicing their parkour for the past few years. He had convinced her to do it with him when he had finally made up his mind about joining the Holy Dream. He had always looked up to the Templars, seeing them as the epitome of what he wanted to be when he was older. The Templars trained themselves to be strong, decisive adversaries in combat, capable of tremendous feats of strength, but also agile and capable of acrobatics and athletics alike.

He stepped towards the edge, his cloth tabard flapping in the wind. He wore pouches and small bags on his waist, strapped together by a thick leather belt. A cotton tunic adorned his chest, while his finely embroidered pants were followed by his worn shoes. He usually had these clothes out while running and performing acrobatics--they allowed room to be flexible, while able to take some hits if he fell. He couldn’t imagine wearing his religious garb while out on the rooftops, but the thought made him chuckle.

Looking down, he saw the two story drop. He gulped. Not far, right. I got this, he thought. City guards clad in thick plate armor with their Lancian colors and short swords strut down the street. Finely dressed merchants peddled their wares to the passerbys, always a new trick up their sleeve. Fancy women put one foot before the other, their thick but elegant dresses covering them in the cold winter air. Most were accompanied by men, most likely their father, brother or lover, but a few were by their lonesome. A few young men could be seen pointing and shaking their heads at the women, in awe of their beauty and aware of their newfound attraction.

“Maric, come on! We don’t have all day! Your mother will need you back at the Cathedral before dinner, and I must make posthaste to get back home for chores!” She said, tapping her foot. She yelled across the rooftop, partly because of the distance. The wind harshly tore her voice as it echoed yonder, unkind to her attempts to communicate.

Maric put his hands up to his shoulders. “I know, I know, give me one more minute. I need to gauge how far I need to jump!” He said. Alright, he thought. I can do this. Looking up to Furia one last time, he saw her in her similar attire. Most looked down upon women dressing as Furia did to go out jumping with Maric. As she had little stature in Lancian society and almost no family, most turned a blind eye, uncaring of her beauty or elegance. She had fiery red hair, flowing effortlessly down to her shoulders. Her soft features complimented her face with delicate grace; her small nose tilted up slightly, while her cheekbones lifted on her face always made her have a warm look. And those light red lips…