The Death of a Dream [hiatus]

Chapter 1

Mystaline

I raced towards the edge of the forest, hair whipping through the air while my feet skipped over bulging roots and rocks. My chest heaved as I made short work of running from the forest exit down to the village plaza. The morning dew slipping from yawning trees and onto my skin was like a friendly greeting from the world around me. A soft breeze followed me wherever I ran, taking with it the fallen leaves of today's autumn morning. Nothing does a body better than a nice journey through the Mistle Woods.

I quickly exited the brightly lit forest and headed towards the familiar faded, yellow brick road that led to the main gates of Orzon. I slid down the steep slope down to the gates, carefully hopping over any and all rocks. Before long, I found myself at the start of the village plaza.

Orzon was a wonderful village to live in. Mornings were never sleepy with all of the action that happened down at the market streets; blacksmiths with their blazing forges, farmers with their fresh produce, hunters dragging in their latest kills, and not to mention all of the wives with their shameless haggling.

I loved every sound; I could feel every sound.

The way the horses' hooves clacked against the stone-paved streets, the way the water meandered through the village's underground pipes, the slight jingling of coins bouncing in a tradesman's purse, or even the muted conversations between the guards who stood high above in the sentry towers that lined the streets of the village. Every subtle vibration raced across my skin, trickling like up my spine like ants marching.

It was like safety and comfort rose every day with the sun and blanketed the village.

"Good morning, Myst!" Feldman called from the open window of his butchery.

"Good morning, sir!" I waved as I passed his window.

"Tell your mother I have her beef reserves ready!" he called out to me before I was out of earshot.

Mother. I slowed my pace to a halt before looking over my shoulder.

"Will do," I replied in a lower voice.

Mother didn't like it when I would leave home, even for simple chores like buying food. I would ask time and time again why she was so afraid, but all I'd get was a smack on the head from her broom handle and a long-winded story about how Belvegarde was a violent and dangerous world.

What was there to fear? Caledonia is the strongest empire in all of Belvegarde. Yes, we were in constant wars with the other kingdoms, but nothing terrible ever happens in our empire. I've heard stories of people being assassinated in the middle of the night or religious sects abducting children and turning them into emotionless killers. None of that has ever happened in Caledonia. We were safe here; so why was she so scared?

"Mystaline, my dear." An elder gentleman approached me, tipping his hat.

"Oh, hello there, Mayor Kefri. I didn't see you there," I apologized with a small bow.