Nightspun (#ONC_2020)

Chapter 1 - Outcrop

30 years later...

Sybil slammed her shovel angrily into the dirt, her frustration causing the metal to glow with a latent Sunspell. She bit down the urge to cast an incantation big enough to explode the entire plot and focused on shovelling instead. Two months she had spent working on the new plantation, two whole months and suddenly one stray Stormspell ripped her entire crop of mandraroot just as they were about to ripen.

"Damn that High Stormcaster! Thinks he's above one, lowly Sunspell elf and suddenly his dumb as a brick apprentices get away scot free. Damn him and his stupid-"

"Stupid what, Miss Nightspun? Surely you aren't running your mouth again after that little mishap in Bridge's Keep?" A voice replied a little ways behind her.

Sybil turned around, half tempted to knock the peeping old man out with her shovel but kept it planted in the ground. Her expression was impassive but it didn't take a genius to notice the rapid movement of the soil beneath her. Least of all the High Nightcaster of Neridia. 

"No, sir. Just talking to the seedlings is all. It helps them grow, y'know?" Sybil said, giving him her famous ditzy smile.

The High Nighcaster himself, Rayner Sunrisen was one of the most well known Casters in all of Nerida. But among Sunspell elves, he was the most well known for being the biggest pain in the ass for at least a century or two. It didn't matter whether you were less than half a century old or a few days shy of a thousand, Rayner treated everyone with the same mild disdain as everyone else. None more so than the family who once lived on the infamous hill of Daybreak.

"Of course. You Outercrop folk certainly have their ways of coping with your...unfortunate situation. I suppose it helps to spin stories when your poor mother is doing her best to mend your little mishap." He reminded her, Sybil's ears turning red with shame.

She gripped the shovel harder, her Sunspell bleeding into the veins of the wood, cracking bit by bit at the blatant disregard for her new lifestyle. So much for wanting to keep a low profile. Hiding from a Nightspell elf was harder than ploughing fields in the rain. But she wouldn't back down. She couldn't wallow in self pity anymore.

"I decide my fate, High Nightcaster. I've had forty nine years to choose my path and unlike you that won't change no matter how many centuries go by." Sybil said, her voice far calmer than she appeared.

Rayner narrowed his eyes in suspicion, his withering gaze proof that Sybil's jab at his eventual profession had not gone unnoticed.

She knew it wasn't enough to soothe her Sunspell, nor combat his cunning mind for seeking out the weak willed.

"Of course. I'm sure your dear grandmother would have loved to have seen you toiling away your livelihood on a backwater farm in the middle of nowhere instead of up on that stage reigniting tales of her legacy. After all, not everyone can hold up to the name your father gave you."

Sybil hissed, half knowing she deserved that after reminding him of what he used to be but the truth still stung worse than a beesnap flower. The last time she had seen either of her parents was when she had left Daybreak for good. They had fought with half told lies and strays of sunbolts skimming off the treetops but still her father refused to prove his loyalty.

Her mother, Siara had disowned her that night in a fit of rage, clinging to her husband to stay one moment more but he did not. He could not. So Sybil left them on the market street before her grandmother's warning truly took hold.

As long as the next generation of Sunspell elves chose to call this place home, here the cabin would stay on Daybreak hill.

Sybil had chosen to leave and as soon as she took one step outside of the market square her beloved home was buried in a landslide of soil. The Daybreak hill collapsed and took her childhood home with it. Luckily no one was harmed but her mother never spoke a word to her since, left alone to face the consequences. Perhaps that was why she decided to ruin Sybil's life or maybe it was already ruined the moment Daybreak hill was no more.

"I won't regret what I did so don't even bother trying, Rayner. My grandmother, my mother and my deadbeat of a father owe me nothing whatsoever and I don't owe them an ounce. I never have and I never will!" She retorted, slamming the broken shovel away from her newly packed soil.

The High Nightcaster finally looked down, only just aware of the finely threaded Sunspell beneath his feet. It had steadily sifted through the soil in a delicate dance of seeking out every waterlogged clump beneath a protective layer of magic and gently sieving out what debris and excess water had been added from the storm. Molecular control wasn't easy but when you used to live on a hill with plenty of rainfall, you got used to keeping yourself dry and safe from the Chilling.

"So if you'll excuse me I have work to do. Can't feed people without crops, after all." Sybil said, clapping her hands together before picking up the shovel, her hands glowing with Sunspell protection.

In a matter of moments, a spiteful exchange had turned into an opportunity for the young Sunspell to make use of the adrenaline he had caused. Sybil normally kept her talents a secret but she couldn't help but show off her multi track mind to such an insufferable snake such as him. 

"Very well, Outcropper. Your quota awaits." Rayner said eerily, his voice drifting even after she had turned her back on him.

Leaving the High Nightcaster behind Sybil headed towards the greenhouse a little ways past the jetty and stepped off the floating Outcrop with ease. She half hoped to see Rayner's permanent scowl falter once he was sent plummeting into the canal below but luck truly wasn't on her side. He had already vanished.

"Heh, and they call me a show off." Sybil muttered to herself, pulling open the door to be met with a comforting blast of heat.

Tossing the broken shovel aside she breathed in the warm air and avoided cleaning up the growing pile of broken handles and dented blades. Instead she headed towards the back shelves, leaving scorched footprints in her wake while picking out a few choice bags of insta grow seedlings. Bumpkins. Redderbies. Jackalopes.

Sybil sighed at the last choice, her heart aching at the sight of the very thing that was no longer hers. She knew no matter what she tried it would fill even half of her quota. But she belonged in the Outcrop now and her ancestral home was buried under mountains of broken trees and a landslide of soil. 

But most importantly, she could never be a storyteller again. Siara had made sure of that. Sybil had tried so hard not to blame her and to blame herself but the whispers of the palace were almost impossible to ignore. Now, her only goal was to make a living for herself, outside of her family and the cursed name she had been given.

Her dream of becoming a Nightspun was over.