Shuang Yan Chronicles : 01

The Druid

The Druids, cloaked in greens and browns, hesitated, their axes glinting with the cold gleam of tempered iron. Their eyes flickered with doubt, lingering on Sai Yue, the figure many of them still doubted was truly the Saviour. One by one, the axes lowered, the Druids shifting and glancing at each other, some whispering, their voices barely audible in the soft rustle of leaves. Reluctance was painted across their faces like a shadow they couldn't shake. Slowly, they retreated, merging back into the forest, until only two remained: an older woman, her long silver hair braided with leaves, and a young boy clutching the hem of her robe, his gaze fixed on Yue.

The woman inclined her head in a slight bow. "To reach the Northern Kingdom, you'll need to pass through the Silent Whisper Hills. It's a long climb, with the Draconian village high up and the kingdom's edge even farther beyond. You'll need your strength." Her voice was smooth, aged but firm. She cast her gaze westward, where the great red sun, Rahon, had begun to dip beneath the trees, casting long shadows.

"I suggest you come to my home and take refreshment before setting off. Night is upon us, and Northern Druids are blind after dark. It's a curse from too much sun, unlike our eastern kin." She straightened, the authority in her voice as clear as her name: "Duan AnWei."

Sai Yue dipped her head in gratitude, sensing the woman's wisdom and sincerity. She could feel Du Si Bo's small body leaning against her side, his breathing slowing as fatigue settled over him. Climbing mountains with him at her back would be arduous, yet Yue's heart steeled itself; she would bear the weight.

For now, she accepted the sanctuary Duan AnWei offered.
The cottage was humble but crafted with purpose. Vines of delicate pink flowers draped over the thatch roof, and the walls were woven from twigs, bound tightly by dried vines. Inside, the floor was lined with wide slabs of bark from ancient trees, creating a soft, dust-free path. A simple hearth crackled in one corner, casting a warm glow over the modest furnishings.

As Sai Yue and Du Si Bo took their seats, Duan AnWei folded her hands in her lap, her face etched with shadows as she shared her story. "Five days after my wedding, the rulers took my parents. They claimed the debt from my dowry was grounds for punishment, and that punishment was death. Here, joy is dangerous; sorrow invites suspicion. To have more than your share or to fall into debt—both are crimes, and both lead to death." Her voice dropped, weighted with bitterness. "If there's a chance to overthrow them, I would help. Many would. But fear chokes us, isolates us. We don't know whom we can trust, only that betrayal lives close at hand."

The words hung heavy in the air until a soft knock on the door interrupted them.

"Grandmother, it's Duan BaRong and my friends," came a young voice, barely a whisper, as if fearful of disturbing the dark.

Duan AnWei's brow furrowed, but she rose, using a gnarled stick to guide her way across the floor. She opened the door to reveal a cluster of young faces, their eyes bright despite the encroaching night. Four children entered, two girls and two boys, all carrying an air of quiet determination.

Duan AnWei smiled at them, a look of amusement softening her usual stern expression. Yue noted the way Duan BaRong, the eldest, bore a striking resemblance to Duan AnWei. The same resolve lit her gaze, young as she was.

"We want to help," Duan BaRong said, her voice clear and steady.

Yue raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to do that? You're so young."

"They're always eager," Duan AnWei chuckled, nodding to her granddaughter.

Duan BaRong stepped forward. "We're young, yes, but we can spy. Druid, Gangshao, and Draconian children all go to the same school, and we hear what our families talk about. Summer's coming, and that's when the grown-ups gossip." She flashed a small, conspiratorial grin. "We can send you messages through the Pentadec birds."

Duan AnWei's eyes narrowed in concern. "And if you're caught?"

"We won't be, Grandmother," Duan BaRong assured her. "Our literature teacher insists we write letters to the faraway kingdoms to 'promote goodwill.' We'll send you anonymous letters with what we learn. The birds can only fly to the hills' edge, so you'll need someone there to retrieve the messages."

Sai Yue gave the girl an approving nod. "So long as you're sure you'll be safe. But we'll need to set out at first light."

"Then let me send you off with supplies." Duan AnWei rose, moving toward a small chest tucked in the corner. The children watched with wide eyes, as the old woman gathered simple provisions: dried herbs, bread, and a flask wrapped in woven reeds.

Yue felt a flicker of warmth within her chest. It was a beginning, however small. As Rahon set fully behind the hills, the air in Duan AnWei's cottage filled with a quiet, unspoken promise.

***

As Sai Yue examined the intricately woven basket in Duan AnWei's hands, she couldn't help but be intrigued by the craftsmanship. It was larger than any sling or pack she'd seen, reinforced with thick straps and lined with soft, durable leather—a carrier made to last. Duan AnWei's eyes softened as she held it out to Yue.

"I used this for my daughter," she said, voice thick with memories, though her expression remained serene. "She lost the use of her legs at thirteen. I carried her in this until… well, until she could no longer stay with us. She was eighteen then." A flicker of something unreadable crossed Duan AnWei's face, only for her calm, practiced smile to settle back into place. "This should suit your friend. You're tall, and your steps are strong. This shouldn't hinder you. Your wings, however…" she trailed off, glancing with curiosity at the feathery arcs folded against Yue's back.

Gingerly, Sai Yue slipped her arms through the straps, adjusting the basket with care. Her wings bent with ease, tucking close to her body as though they'd already learned to make space for this burden. She tested her balance, shifting her weight as Du Si Bo was secured snugly in the basket. His breathing, faint and weak, drifted over her shoulder.
Duan AnWei placed a small satchel into Yue's hands. The material, dark and slightly glossy, felt like nothing Yue had ever touched. It pulsed with an unnatural toughness and power.

"Banshee hide," Duan AnWei explained, her voice low. "Only dragonhide is stronger. Inside are potions—carefully prepared. Your body will be drawn to whichever one you need. Their scents will call to you."

Yue nodded in gratitude, clutching the satchel close. The knowledge of this enchanted gift, so carefully bestowed, settled a calm determination in her heart. She was ready. Exiting the humble cottage, Yue blinked against the bright sunlight as the village's younger ones gathered, their faces brimming with eager energy.

"We have something for you too!" Duan BaRong piped up, grinning mischievously as he held out two small vials—one red, one blue.
Yue tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.

"At summer school, we learn about minerals and salts," Duan BaRong explained with a sparkle in his eyes. "If you mix these, they explode. They're good for… distractions, or even… deterring enemies," he said, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret.

Sai Yue let out a rare laugh, and the young ones' grins grew brighter.
"But Duan BaRong, are you certain it's wise for you to be handling such things?"

"Don't worry!" he replied, puffing up his chest. "We know how to make more."

"Then I'll gladly accept," Yue replied, tucking the vials into her pack. She gave them a grateful nod and a small smile. There was something about this place that stirred emotions she thought she'd long buried.

With the young ones waving her off, Yue turned her gaze to the distant hills that rose like silent Gangshaos, marking her path. The basket pressed firmly against her back as she started forward, her stride steady and sure. Every step was a promise—of endurance, of hope for Du Si Bo's recovery, and of gratitude for the gifts this strange, resilient village had given her.