Rise of Yahunyens: Origin

Episode 48: Wrings The Wings: Part 7

The air was thick with the scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a perfume that wafted through the streets, mingling with the distant echoes of drums, trumpets, and flutes that heralded the beginning of the celebrations. The festival was a magnificent convergence of the harvest season and the Gerwanasian New Year, a day when every town, city, and village across the country was transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors and joy.

Fheniz, however, was not caught up in the excitement. His morning began with a sense of obligation as he prepared to deliver the day's newspapers. Unlike most days, he felt a strange pull to do something different, to break the monotony of his usual routine. Today, he decided, he would knock on Mr. Palket's door and personally wish the old man a happy festival. Perhaps the warmth of a friendly conversation would lighten the burden that had settled in his heart ever since he delved into those accursed history books.

With this thought, Fheniz hurried through the town, his feets' slippers kicking up dust as he weaved through the bustling streets. Despite the festivities that were already in full swing, he was focused on his task. The town was alive with the sights and sounds of celebration—vendors lining the streets, selling everything from sweets to handcrafted ornaments, children chasing each other in games of tag, and families gathering to decorate their homes with garlands of vibrant flowers. The town square, normally a place of commerce, had been transformed into a stage for musicians and dancers, who performed with a joy that was palpable in every note and movement.

Fheniz paid little mind to the festivities as he made his way to Mr. Palket's house. He passed through the old iron gate and approached the door, knocking politely. The house stood quiet and still, a stark contrast to the clamor of the festival outside. He knocked again, but there was no response. He was about to knock a third time when he heard a voice behind him.

"Oii, boy!" called an old lady, her voice sharp but not unkind. Fheniz turned to see Mrs. Wenshy, the elderly neighbor who lived next door, approaching him on her morning walk. Her frail figure was wrapped in a colorful shawl, and she leaned heavily on a cane as she shuffled toward him. "There's no one in the house, that guy Mr. Palket has gone to celebrate today's day with his family and grandchildren who live in another city."

Fheniz nodded, absorbing the information. "Oh, thank you for telling me, but where has he gone exactly?"

Mrs. Wenshy peered at him curiously, her eyes narrowing. "First tell me, boy, who are you? I've seen you sometimes, here and there."

"Oh yeah, sorry!" Fheniz replied with a sheepish smile. "My name is Fheniz Wrings, with a 'W.' I'm like a friend to Uncle Palket who lives here."

"Wrings with a 'W'?" Mrs. Wenshy repeated, her expression softening. "Sounds like wings with rings. Wait, are you the newspaper boy?"

"Yes, ma'am, exactly," Fheniz said, nodding.

"Oh, alright, alright! Yes, Mr. Palket sometimes talks about you. So, what do you want from him?"

"Actually, nothing much," Fheniz explained. "I had just come to deliver the newspaper, and as it's the festival day, I thought to wish him too, but he isn't here, so..."

Mrs. Wenshy nodded sagely. "I see, no worries. He's gone to Edenrun—that's where his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren live."

"Where is Edenrun?" Fheniz asked, curiosity piqued.

"Well, boy, it's far. It's in the state of Futonvisa, somewhere in the Midwest."

"Ahh, alright. Thank you."

"Don't worry, wish him when he comes back!"

"Yeah, sure! Thanks a lot, Mrs...?"

"Mrs. Wenshy, dear."