“Is that…nectarfly honey?”
I peer through the glass display case, staring at little jars of opaque golden liquid.
“Honey and milk—nectarfly pudding.” The baker stands proud behind the counter. “Ingredients all from Cain’s ranch.”
The baker is a portly man with short blond hair and chubby cheeks. An apron hangs over his sagging belly, stained by grease and dusted with flour. His name is Tenvor, and he’s the greatest chef in town.
Not that there’s much competition.
“Wow. It looks amazing.” I salivate. “How much?”
“For you? Only 50g. It’s a family recipe, you know.” He drops a wink.
We exchange payment, and he slides me a little jar and a spoon. The bakery is a small, tidy space with open windows and only a few tables. I head to the corner, savoring the scent of fresh bread and listening to the hum of conversation. For a weekday afternoon, it’s surprisingly busy.
“Come now, children. Settle down!” Clara enters the shop, a trio of young kids trailing like ducklings.
“Oh boy! Cookies!” A little girl in a flowing white frock races to the display case, pressing her hands against the glass.
“Careful, Rala. You’ll get it dirty.” Clara pulls her back.
“Miss Clara, do nectarflies like cookies too?” Another little girl moves in, peering at the pudding jars with wide, inquisitive eyes.
“No, Sandra. Nectarflies eat…nectar.” Clara pats her head.
“I want to be a nectarfly someday.” Sandra closes her eyes and emits a low, meditative buzz.
A strange child.
“And what about you, Garrett?” Clara crouches low, speaking to a shy, tiny boy in a kind voice.
“…donut,” he mutters while clutching a plush green sphere—a stuffed forest slime.
I admire Clara’s patience. She teaches youngsters at the library during the week. It’s the standard fare—reading, arithmetic, creature identification, potioncraft, and magical lore. Though at their age, I’m sure they’re only brewing herbal tea and identifying chickens at Cain’s ranch.
“Right this way. Have a seat. No, Sandra! Pudding isn’t paint!” Clara gets the kids situated at a table across the room.
The bakery door opens, but it isn’t a usual customer.
Ivan’s sturdy, copper-studded boots pound while he enters. Viktor follows in his shadow. Crag scampers at his feet while Ivy flutters above.
Clara’s class goes silent, eyes wide with disbelief. Rala’s mouth gapes while she examines his copper armor and goggles. Sandra drops her pudding, fixated on Ivy’s colorful eye. Garrett peeks over his stuffed slime, unable to look away from Crag.
“The all-seeing eye…” Sandra mutters.
Ivan flashes her a weird look before sauntering toward me.
“Just the man I wanted to see!” He drops a heavy tome on my table, causing my honey pudding to jiggle.
“Been reading?” I raise an eyebrow, taking a bite of my dessert. It’s sweet with just a hint of sour.
“You betcha. Local libraries and churches are the best place to start an adventure. Research, lad! Take a look!”
He pushes the book close. “PANTHEON ENCYCLOPEDIA: Vol. 21 - Endra” is printed on the tattered leather cover. Its worn pages are yellow with age. They emit a musty, gluey scent while Ivan cracks the book open, flipping through. He points to a passage.
17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxPgWrjDyFm
The First Garden
Endra was a kind, quiet soul. Born of the soil and nurtured in the distant world before men, she was favored by the other gods. Long before the Holy War, she fashioned a small plot of earth. It was her sanctuary—a work of art. She invented the plants. She invented the animals. Her soil grew lush and vibrant, marking one of the first biomes fashioned by the divine.
The first garden.
The way a child might observe an ant farm, she studied her creations. Other deities forged their own lands, joining them together as our world took shape. Endra was no exception. She protected her garden with soaring, craggy mountains, nestling it in a quiet corner of what is believed to be modern Triana (Village of Verda, Toronor).
In time, humans and other complex creatures spread into the land, colonizing her creation. As before, she watched from afar, admiring their successes and weeping at their quarrels.
As the first garden became nought but another valley, she never forgot its past. Some say its stories were written, secured and entrusted to her followers. Whether or not this vault of knowledge exists is unknown. With no supporting evidence, it is likely legend.
The final tale of the first garden.
17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBnoLefg1bA
I look up from the book. Ivan stares with a wide grin.
“Well?” He clenches his fists. “I knew there was treasure out there! A hoard! And who knows, with enough luck, we’ll find your precious icons.”
“I mean, I don’t see anything in here about that…”
“Did someone say icons?” Clara wanders over, smacking Ivan on the back. “How goes it, traveler? Doing some research?”
Ivan fills her in on the situation while Viktor wanders over and joins the younger children. They watch and giggle while Ivy balances on Crag’s back.
“Well, fancy that.” Clara strokes her chin, eyes narrowing. “But if y’all wanna brave the woods, you’ll need a healer. Last thing you need is getting hurt and hauled off by a swarm of ants!”
My eyes widen. I shudder.
“And where do you reckon I can find a healer? Got an apothecary in this little town?” Ivan asks.
“No apothecary, unfortunately.” A smile creeps across her face. “But we have tricks up our sleeves.”
She reaches out, palm turned to the ceiling while faint light sparkles from her fingertips. It builds and builds, rising into the air and dancing like flurries of snow.
“Y-you can use magic?!” My jaw drops. “I didn’t know that!”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Willem.” She flashes a wicked smirk.
She’s right. Unlike most in the village, Clara didn’t grow up here. She moved from the city as an adult. Something rough happened with her family. I try not to ask questions.
“So, what do you say, traveler? Ready to expand the party?”
Ivan hesitates, eyes narrowing.
“Alright, alright. I’ll give ya a cut of the glory. But no holding us back! We’re heading up to see the witch this afternoon.”
“Amazing. Just give me time to get ready and—”
“Miss Claraaaaa!” Rala screeches. “I’m all doneeee!”
“I’ll get the kiddos home, then we meet at Willem’s farm, deal?” Clara lets out a sigh.
“Deal.” Ivan nods.
She herds her class, the three children roaring and flapping their arms, giving their best Ivy impressions. As they funnel out the door, silence drapes the bakery.
But it doesn't last.
“By the gods! Get off the grimoire! Away! Away!” Tenvor’s voice echoes from a back room. “No! Not the spoon!”
The door flings open, a silver ladle rolling across the floor.
Wait. It’s not rolling.
A strawberry ant.
The creature scuttles across the bakery while Tenvor flies into the room, brandishing a rolling pin.
“Where’d it go?! Get back here!” His eyes are wide and wild.
“Yeeeeeee!” A beam of light fires from Ivy’s eye. It’s a direct hit.
Situation resolved.
“Erm, thanks.” Tenvor gives the creature an uneasy nod.
“Yeeee! Yee! Yee!” Ivy smiles.
It’s creepy.
“I’d better get going. Lots of farm work to do.” I set my spoon in the empty pudding jar. A purple flash around Ivan’s neck catches my attention. “Hey, Ivan…would you mind if I borrowed the gaia lens for the afternoon? Might be helpful.”
“Hm…” He frowns. “Well, I’ll be at the forge, so I won’t need it for a bit. I don’t usually do this…but alright. Don’t try anything funny though. Run off, and Ivy will hunt you down. You’ll end up like that bug!”
“Uh, yeah…don’t worry.” I give an awkward smile.
He removes the pendant from his neck and places it over my head. The stone hangs, flickering while a familiar voice speaks.
[Hello, Willem. What shall we work on today? You’d better be quick—not much time until your journey begins!]
Ivan and I part ways. The moment he’s out of sight, I bolt down the cobblestone streets. I’m not about to pilfer his gaia lens…no, I’m gonna make the most of it. I was thinking about this last night. What would I do with a magical companion? What would I ask it to help with…?
“Th-there it is!” We rise over the hill outside my farm.
[A fine plot of land. Rough around the edges but workable.]
“Cel, this is what I want help with—farm layout. If you were to build the perfect farm, what would you add? How can I make this better?”
[ANALYZING LAND PROFILE
…
…
…
Recommendation: Additional buildings.
Construct coop at 46 paces southwest of your cabin. Barn at 28 paces.
You’ll never be taken seriously without livestock. A modest barn and coop are possible with resources harvested from your field. Use your hammer and axe to clear debris and collect building material.
Note: Your current tools are unrefined and your muscles untested. Build strength and experience. Once the tools grow light, bring them to the town smith for an upgrade. You’ll need to locate the requisite upgrade ores (copper, silver, gold). Consult the blacksmith for more details.]
“Anything else?”
[Yes. I know your secret. I can see it.]
“W-what?!”
[The trapdoor in the field—under the old oak tree. A clever deception, but you didn’t build it, did you?]
My brow begins to sweat. Yikes. Nothing gets past this guy.
He’s right though. I chose this plot of land for a reason—something beyond simple farming.
Far in the cluttered field, a dead, gnarled oak stretches to the sky. Its bare limbs claw at the clouds like skeletal fingers rising from the grave.
At its base, the dirt is loose and dusty. Most wouldn’t notice the disturbance, but the ground bulges ever so slightly.
A trapdoor hidden beneath the soil.
It was built long before I was born. An old cellar on the outskirts of town…a hidey-hole.
Not that there was ever much inside—just old tools and jarred food. It’s an underground safehouse, but to us kids, it was a fortress. We’d climb to the bottom, pretending to be explorers and archaeologists.
Now that I’m older though, I see the benefit.
A panic room in case of fae raids…
“Do I swing like this?” After taking the axe from the cabin, I stand in the field, holding it high.
[Affirmative. Aim for clean, perpendicular cuts.]
*thud!*
The axe comes down hard. A surprisingly clean break.
[Axe Skill +10 XP]
[+1 Lumber]
“Huh. Not bad.” I peer down at my handiwork.
Birds sing while I set to work, forming a rhythm. The sun warms my skin. My muscles stretch and tighten.
*thud!*
[+1 Lumber]
*thud!*
[+1 Lumber]
[Axe Skill +10 XP]
I switch to my hammer, brandishing the bulky iron tool. My arms struggle under its hefty weight. Cel is right—this will take some practice. In time though, I’ll clean this place up. I’ll show Brom how farming is done. He’ll come over, asking for advice.
I smirk.
*crack!*
[Hammer Skill +10 XP]
[+1 Stone]
While rocks pile high, I think back to that strange book Ivan brought to the bakery. We all know the story of Endra, Goddess of Bounty. In the Etherbloom Chapel, her gray stone statue stands tall. She’s the patron saint of our little valley—its creator.
Or so the stories go.
I don’t fancy myself a magical man, and I get uneasy at the thought of gods warring in a world beyond. Did she once visit our town though? Did she leave a gift behind? A treasure somewhere high in the mountains?
I pause, shielding my eyes and peering up at the soaring peaks. They suddenly seem ominous. Foreign.
“Oy! That’s a mighty haul!” Clara’s voice thunders over the farm.
She trots down the hill, eyeing my pile of lumber and stone.
“Thanks!” I smile.
“Who would’ve guessed…you have some muscle on you after all!”
I strike a pose, thrusting my hammer to the sky.
She giggles.
[Affection Score with Clara: +10]
“W-wha?!” I stagger back, cheeks turning red.
“Hm? You alright?” Clara cocks her head.
“Y-yeah. Just getting used to this necklace. Ivan’s got a powerful tool here.” I instinctively grip the stone.
Clara moves in, examining the gem while figures emerge over the hill. Ivan trots down the path while Ivy flutters overhead. Crag curls into a ball, rolling down the slope like a boulder.
And beside them, there’s someone unexpected. He’s a young teenager with wild black hair and skin dusted with pimples. His long arms are lean and strong, sinews visible in the sunlight. A hammer and tongs hang from his leather belt.
It’s Enrik—the blacksmith’s son.
“Hey! Shouldn’t you be helpin’ your pa?” Clara calls out.
“Nah, dad gave me the afternoon off.” Enrik flashes a cocky smile. “Polished and sharpened the blade! Nice and fast!”
Ivan nods, gripping his sword and pulling it from its sheath. Mechanical knobs and dials run up the hilt, leading to a tiny glass window with a fluctuating gauge. It’s the strangest weapon I’ve ever seen.
“And I’ve never met the witch before!” Enrik clenches his fists. “Magic! Can ya imagine it?! I can’t wait to see. Had to tag along. Mr. Ivan’s the best!”
“Heh, settle down, son. This isn’t a vacation. It’s serious business.”
“Where’s Viktor?” I ask.
“Left him above the tavern. An expedition is no place for a young boy. Maybe someday he’ll be ready, but not yet.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Clara cuts in. “If we leave now, we can reach the witch by nightfall. If we’re lucky, she’ll give us lodging in her cabin. It’s best if we can avoid camping…you know, with the fae and all.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ve got all the supplies we need.” Ivan pats the dimensional pouch on his belt. “And if things get dicey, monsters will see their reflection in my blade.”
Enrik’s eyes grow wide with admiration.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that, traveler.” Clara smacks his back. “You’ve never met a Redcap Stalker before. I can tell.”
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