Thalora

Interlude: Home

Taken from the journals of Alyssa Tan, pulled from the Thalora Archives. No date recorded. 

The wind here was always soft, carrying the scent of warm earth and the faint sweetness of ripe fruit. My mother and I moved through the grove, our footsteps cushioned by the rich soil. I remembered every path, every twist and turn between the trees. This land had been home for as long as I could remember, stretching out like a vast, peaceful sea under the deep orange sky.

I reached up, fingers grazing the leaves of a low-hanging branch, and plucked one of the ripe, golden fruits that clung to it. It was heavy in my palm, its smooth skin cool against my fingers, its faint scent filling the air around me. I glanced over at my mother, who was bent over a nearby tree, her hands expertly picking fruits and placing them in the woven basket strapped to her hip. She looked so peaceful, so calm, like she was part of this place, rooted here as deeply as the trees themselves.

"You've gotten taller, Alyssa," she said, without turning to look at me, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Almost reaching the high branches now."

I grinned, holding up the fruit in triumph. "Just watch, I'll be climbing these trees soon."

She laughed, a warm, easy sound that drifted through the grove. "As long as you're careful. One fall from these branches, and you'll be coming home with more than a basket of bruised fruit."

I rolled my eyes, but her voice was gentle, affectionate. There was a deep stillness here, a quiet kind of magic that settled into your bones and made you feel like you belonged. I breathed in the familiar smells of the grove, of our village beyond it—of the simple life we led here, a life I never thought could be disturbed.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the hills and cliffs that bordered our village. Our colony was small, humble, but strong—our homes were built from stone and wood, decorated with patterns and colors my mother had once said were passed down through generations. I'd always loved the colors here, how the walls and pathways glowed under the warm light, casting everything in deep shades of red and gold, like a tapestry woven by the sun itself.

But then, something shifted. A shadow fell over us, darkening the grove and sending a shiver down my spine. I looked up, squinting against the fading light, and felt my heart drop.

A ship. Huge and silent, it soared overhead, casting a long, ominous shadow over the trees. Its surface was dark and glinted like scales, catching the sun in flashes of metallic light. It moved with a strange grace, like it was gliding rather than flying, as if it owned the sky and everything below it.

I felt my mother's hand on my shoulder, her grip tightening. "Alyssa," she whispered, her voice suddenly tense. "Stay close."

I could hear the fear in her voice, a fear that I hadn't heard before—not even during the storms that sometimes swept through our village, tearing at the trees and rattling the walls of our home. This was different. This was something she couldn't control, something none of us could control.

The ship's engines let out a low, rumbling hum, vibrating through the earth beneath our feet. I watched, frozen, as it passed over the grove, casting everything in an eerie twilight. I could make out symbols along its hull, strange, twisted shapes that seemed to pulse and shimmer like they were alive.

The Belaaki. I'd heard stories about them, whispered in the village at night, tales told to warn children to stay close to their families. But I'd never seen one of their ships, never thought I would. They were nothing more than rumors, shadows that haunted the edges of our peaceful world.

Until now.

My mother pulled me closer, her hand trembling slightly. "We need to go," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Now."

The weight of her words settled over me, heavy and final. I nodded, clutching the fruit in my hand as we hurried back through the grove, the familiar paths now strange and distorted under the ship's dark shadow. The sky above us seemed darker, the colors of our village muted, as if the very life of this place was being drained by the presence of that ship.

As we reached the edge of the grove, I dared a final glance over my shoulder. The ship was still there, hovering over our village like a predator watching its prey, its engines rumbling like a warning.

***