The Rosflame Chronicles

Chapter Fourteen: Reflections on the Path

The streets of Gridania were alive with the usual bustle, but Kiona's mind was elsewhere. After everything that had happened in Spirithold—the encounter with the masked mage, the vision, and the warnings from Miounne—he felt a pull deep within him, drawing him back to the Conjurers' Guild. It was as if the forest itself was calling him, urging him to return to the place where his journey had begun.

As he made his way through the shaded paths and over the flowing streams that wove through the city, Kiona's thoughts drifted to his past. The weight of his journey so far pressed on his shoulders, but it was nothing compared to the memories that surfaced in his mind.

He had never truly known where he came from. His earliest memories were of wandering alone, searching for answers that never seemed to come. He had no family, or at least, none that he remembered. The people who had taken him in had tried their best, but they were not his blood. They could never fill the void of not knowing who he was.

His thoughts turned to his parents—or the lack of them. They had disappeared when he was still young, and while he had long believed they were gone, something inside him had always held onto the faint hope that they were still out there, somewhere. But hope had turned to questions over the years. Why had they left? Were they alive? And if they were... why hadn't they come back for him?

Kiona's steps slowed as he approached the entrance to the Conjurers' Guild. The soft light that filtered through the trees above cast long shadows on the path before him, mirroring the shadows in his heart. He had come to Gridania seeking purpose, hoping to fill the emptiness left by his past. And while he had found some measure of peace in conjury, the deeper questions of his life remained unanswered.

His arrival at the guild had been the first step in a long journey, one that had brought him closer to nature, to the elementals, and to the land itself. But even as he mastered the art of conjury, learning to heal and protect, there was still a part of him that felt... lost.

As he stood at the entrance to the guild, Kiona's hand brushed against the staff on his back, the symbol of his connection to the land. Conjury had given him strength, but it had also opened his eyes to the delicate balance of life and death, growth and decay. In many ways, it had mirrored the path of his own life—always growing, always changing, but never fully whole.

The memories of his parents, the questions that lingered about his past, and the strange visions he had experienced in Spirithold all swirled together in his mind, a tangled web of uncertainty. But despite the uncertainty, one thing was clear: his journey was far from over.

Kiona stepped inside the Conjurers' Guild, the familiar scent of herbs and the soft glow of candlelight washing over him like a balm. The peace he found here, amidst the quiet strength of the guild, reminded him why he had chosen this path. He wasn't just a healer—he was a protector, a guardian of balance. And perhaps, through this path, he would find the answers he sought.

As he made his way deeper into the guild, his thoughts quieted. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of purpose. The Twelveswood needed him, and in protecting it, he hoped to discover the truth about himself as well.