Feudal Phase

Catalyst

"Ophelia!"

Aster burst through the darkness brandishing a stick. They were thirteen at the time, converging on twelve. By some metrics, metrics they'd never believed in, that was too young to be out. The others were asleep in their beds.

Most of the others.

"Ophelia!"

Two gleaming eyes cut the dark. Snarling vines fell despondently on either side as Aster continued hacking away. The stick at this point had taken its fair share of hits, the seawood brittle and fracturing, and Aster was beginning to receive a similarly concerning amount of damage. Beneath almost formless feet, spiked leaves crunched and writhed, tearing up any tender flesh they could dig their teeth into. Aster's face twitched slightly, the freckle-like spores on their face crumpling, but their eyes remained emotionless, fixed with desperation on the path ahead.

At Aster's side, a small creature darted forwards, half her already unthreatening height. It was made taller only by a rack of horns, which complemented a wiry frame only offset by thick back legs. Its long ears angled about as it scanned the surroundings with the same intensity Aster did, but, like its master, it found nothing in the dark.

"Gota?"

The Owai was not particularly well trained, but it seemed to recognize, behind its watery eyes and its twitching nose, a sense of urgency. It raised its head to get the scent.

"Gota?" Aster repeated, bending down, curved as to approach the beast without spooking it.

The Owai sniffed the air twice. The rumbling of distant animals stilled to a placid silence, the air like the surface of an unstirred lake. There was even that rank, almost sweet scent Aster associated with water, with Ophelia. They both smelled it. Aster's eyes darted to the Owai, but instead of returning their gaze, the Owai dashed forwards, and Aster's small heart rose with the sudden thrill of the chase. They had played games like this, before, but then they were games. There was a difference between chases that felt real and chases that were real, and Aster learned it now, in their heart.

Vines snuck themselves against their skin as they abandoned all caution, their rush becoming fueled not by any conscious input from their own body but a reckless, fearful and joyful inertia. It seemed with every moment that the scent grew stronger, that Ophelia's hair might be caught in the branches, that they were close, against all odds, and then they hit the edge of the lake. Water-scent overwhelmed Aster, who stared out across the still waters, and the Owai padded back to Aster. As they were still young, they thought they recognized in the animal a kindred distress. They knelt down again, but this time, relinquishing any attempt to hold with what they had been taught, they grabbed the tawny animal as hard as they could. A soft, shuddering sob rose out of their throat, and the Owai began to keen.

Aster almost jolted back. The Owai were known only to make noise when one of their pack had died. The lake scent turned from sweet to pungent, like spoiled fruit, and Aster's eyes widened with realization. They rose, legs trembling, and stumbled forth into the lake, which gleamed silver beneath the watchful eye of thousands of stars and dozens of small moons. There was no body to be found in the shallows, and looking out across the expanse, towards the waters that seemed infinite to someone so young, they thought for a moment of pure denial that they might have to search all of them, and then, rushing in behind that, was the realization that there was no way they could. Still, numbly, they waded, their ragged clothing filling with murk and mutable pockets of air.

On the shore, the Owai was still keening, loudly, pacing at the edge. Aster looked back at it, numb with gratitude as they were with distress, and slowly, they lifted their own voice to join it.