The heavy snowfall from the evening continued well into the night, muffling the usual sounds of Oakhaven and casting a soft, ethereal glow through the small window of his home. Alph moved about the modest kitchen, the familiar motions of preparing a simple dinner a strange comfort amidst the turmoil in his mind.
He knew Aunt Elara wouldn't be back until morning. Her duties as Old Man Hemlock's apprentice often kept her out, especially on nights like these. His borrowed memories reminded him that her Frostmoon bloodline meant she had a particular affinity for the cold and the night, and her druidic abilities required dedicated practice, often alongside her formidable beast companion, a large Snow Wolf that was as much a part of their small family as Elara herself.
After finishing a simple but warming dinner of hot broth and a salad of boiled root vegetables, Alph felt the familiar pull towards his collection of scrolls and worn books. It was a meager library by any grand standard, mostly historical texts and a few local legends, but it was his sanctuary, the one place this new world felt somewhat decipherable.
With the information Kael and Emil had provided about the Awakening Ceremony still fresh and unsettling, he now rummaged through his little library of sorts with a new purpose: to find anything, any scrap of information, that might shed more light on the mystical properties of this world or the nature of druidic power.
His gaze soon fell upon a familiar, weathered tome titled "Whispers of the White Peaks: A Collection of Mountain Folk Tales." He pulled it from its shelf, the worn leather cool beneath his fingers. The book detailed the varied customs of the different tribes and isolated communities scattered across the vast mountain ranges.
Following a nudge from his borrowed memories, Alph carefully turned the brittle pages to a particular section he vaguely recalled, one that described the different powers and affinities tribesmen were known to develop after their own versions of a 'Coming of Age' ceremony.
The passage he found was an account from a traveling scholar, hailing from Port Haethwy, who had once been invited to witness such a ceremony in a remote village within the White Peaks.
The author described in detail how the village elder, with solemn reverence, appeared to communicate with a carved totem, a central spiritual focus for their community. Through this communion, the elder would then assess the aptitudes of the participating youngsters, discerning their innate connection to various elements or spirits.
The scholar had even noted with interest that the fundamental principle seemed "fairly similar to the methods employed by the testing stones at The Lumina Academy back in the capital, which served to guide promising students towards their most suitable 'Profession'."
Alph leaned back, the book resting in his lap. 'Professions,' he mused. The term resonated with a familiarity that was distinctly from his old life. If the Academy in Port Haethwy used testing stones to determine 'Professions,' that implied a system far more diverse than just druidic paths. Could there be mages, priests, warriors with unique skills, or other fantasy-oriented classes like in the stories and games he vaguely remembered?
A wry thought crossed his mind: his former life as a criminal defense lawyer on Earth hadn't exactly prepared him for a world of magic and 'Professions.' The original Alph might have devoured history, but the man he was before this had been buried in legal briefs. If only he'd picked up a few more fantasy novels back then, all this might have made a lot more sense a lot sooner.
His eyes scanned further down the page, eager for more clues about these 'Professions.' He found another entry, almost a footnote to the main account. "Regarding the youth whose aptitude lent itself so clearly to the melodic arts," Alph read, tracing the faded script with a finger, "the village elder sagely advised him to pursue this 'music' that resonated within him. It has since reached my ears," the author continued, and Alph could almost hear the dry, academic tone, "that this same young man eventually forsook the harsh climes of his birth, finding his way to a Bards Guild in some southerly city. Indeed, several of his compositions—poems and ditties of a rather… spirited nature—have gained a certain notoriety. They are, I am told, quite popular within particular cliques of the nobility, those whose tastes perhaps lean more towards the boisterous than the strictly refined." Alph smirked; the scholar's disdain for what were likely lewd tavern songs was almost palpable even through the ancient text.
He spent another hour or so poring over "Whispers of the White Peaks" and a few other dusty scrolls that touched upon societal structures beyond their isolated mountain. By the time his eyelids grew heavy, Alph had pieced together a general understanding of how this world viewed inherent talents and specialized roles.
While the terminology varied from region to region – 'Callings,' 'Birthrights,' or the more formal 'Professions' used in the capital – the underlying concept was similar. From what he could gather, there seemed to be seven commonly recognized 'Professions' that individuals could typically awaken to or be guided towards through ceremonies like Oakhaven's, forming the bedrock of most communities' specialized labor and defense but none of them gave clear indication as to what causes these affinities to develop or how to cultivate them.
* * *
Morning arrived with a pale light filtering through the snow-caked window. Alph stirred, his first conscious sensation a weight on his chest and the rhythmic, low huff of heavy breathing. He blinked his eyes open slowly, and for a heart-stopping moment, his breath hitched.
Standing over him, its front paws planted firmly on either side of his torso, was an enormous wolf, its fur the pristine white of freshly fallen snow. Staring down at him, mere inches from his face, were its intelligent, ice-blue eyes. The sheer size of the creature, its wildness so apparent even in its stillness, almost sent him scrambling backwards in a panic before recognition, and a wave of relief washed over him.
"Alright, alright, Iska," Alph grunted, the name surfacing effortlessly from his borrowed memories. "Off. You weigh a ton." The Snow Wolf, Iska, didn't budge. Instead, it let out a soft, rumbling whine, a surprisingly husky-like sound that seemed to complain about the indignity of being awake all night, or perhaps, Alph's audacity in sleeping so soundly while it stood guard. It then nudged its cold, wet nose against his cheek, a gesture that was both an affectionate greeting and a clear demand for attention.
Though Iska was undeniably Aunt Elara's beast companion, bonded to her through druidic ties Alph didn't fully understand, he had watched the wolf grow from a clumsy, oversized pup. In Elara's frequent absences for training or gathering, the original Alph had often been Iska's primary caretaker, feeding her, playing with her in the snow, and earning a unique place in the wolf's affections that transcended the formal bond she shared with his aunt.
After a few more moments of placating the demanding Snow Wolf with vigorous ear scratches—which Iska accepted with a contented sigh before finally hopping off his chest—Alph managed to extricate himself from bed. He quickly freshened up, the icy water from the basin a sharp but welcome jolt to his senses. Drawn by the smell of woodsmoke and something savory, he made his way to the small kitchen.
Aunt Elara was already there, her back to him as she stirred a pot of hearty oat porridge bubbling over the hearth, the aroma mingling with the scent of dried berries and toasted nuts she was likely adding.
He hadn't said or done anything overtly odd, yet as he stepped further into the room, Elara glanced over her shoulder. Her keen eyes, so much like Iska's in their sharp perceptiveness, seemed to linger on him for a moment longer than usual, a subtle frown creasing her brow as if she'd immediately recognized an undercurrent of nervousness he hadn't realized was so apparent.
She put down the wooden spoon with a soft clink against the pot's rim, turned fully towards him, and asked, her voice a mixture of concern and familiar exasperation, "Alright, Alph. What did you do now?"
Alph shifted uncomfortably, feeling a prickle of guilt despite not having done anything—yet. "Why do you always assume I've done something?" he asked, his voice a little more defensive than he intended.
Elara raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a gesture that spoke volumes. "Perhaps," she said, her tone dry as old parchment, "because the last time you were this twitchy after a night with your scrolls, you decided a 'lost king's treasure' described in some fanciful legend was hidden at the bottom of the Frozen Tarn. You were chasing after it in a leaky coracle and nearly drowned yourself, if I recall. Old Man Hemlock and I had to fish you out before you became a permanent resident of the lake bed."
A flush crept up Alph's neck as the embarrassing memory of the 'Frozen Tarn Incident' resurfaced. He mumbled an incoherent apology and quickly sat down on the woven floor mat at his usual spot near the low table, waiting for breakfast to be served. The porridge smelled good, but his appetite had diminished somewhat.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He couldn't avoid this. He needed answers, or at least, he needed to understand his aunt's perspective better before the Awakening Ceremony. He had to make his intentions clear, to explain his sudden curiosity about the mystical professions and the world beyond their village.
"It's not... it's not like that this time, Aunt Elara," Alph began, his voice more steady now. He looked up at her, trying to convey sincerity. "I've been reading, yes, but it's different. I've been thinking about... the outside world. About Port Haethwy, and other big cities, places beyond these mountains." He gestured vaguely towards the window. "And if I ever wanted to see them, to actually travel and explore, I'd need to be able to protect myself, wouldn't I? I can't just wander out there as I am." He paused, then met her gaze directly. "So, I want to know more about the Awakening Ceremony. Properly. What it really means, what the professions are, and... and how I should prepare for it. I want to take it seriously."
Elara stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to Alph's utter astonishment, her stern features softened, and a low chuckle rumbled in her chest, quickly escalating into a full, hearty giggle. The sound was so unexpected that Iska, who had settled by the hearth, lifted her head and tilted it with a confused canine curiosity.
Elara wiped a mirthful tear from the corner of her eye, finally regaining her composure. "Oh, Alph," she said, her voice still laced with amusement, shaking her head at his bewildered expression. "I've always supported you in whatever you truly wanted to pursue. My fear, silly boy, was never about your choices. It was that you'd leap into something, fueled by some half-baked notion from a book, without understanding the true difficulties, the sheer effort it takes to advance in any profession, especially the mystical ones. I worried you'd get your heart broken when reality didn't match the grand tales." She smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached her eyes.
"But now... now you're asking questions, trying to understand. That tells me you're more knowledgeable, more prepared to face whatever comes. You can make your own decisions, and make them well, when the time comes."
"Teacher Hemlock will explain the finer details of the ceremony to all you youngsters when the time is right, before it happens. You know he's thorough," Elara said, turning back to ladle a generous portion of the steaming porridge into a wooden bowl for him.
"Now, eat up. It's a cold day. And speaking of which, Finn's father mentioned his boy took a bit of a tumble during their hunt yesterday. Nothing too serious, a twisted ankle, but he'll be laid up for a few days. You should pay him a visit later." Alph nodded, accepting the bowl. "I will. But Aunt Elara, about preparing for the ceremony itself…" She waved a dismissive hand, a faint scoff escaping her lips. "Preparation? Alph, it's about what the mountain sees in you, what your spirit calls to. Talent, innate connection. You can't study for that. Now, eat."
Despite his aunt's dismissal of 'prep work,' Alph ate his porridge with a newfound determination. The conversation hadn't gone entirely as he'd expected, but it was a start. He finished his meal quickly, the image of Finn's potential injury and his aunt's words about talent swirling in his mind.
Giving Iska a final pat, he bundled himself against the morning chill and stepped out into the crisp, snow-laden air. Finn's family home was at the southern edge of Oakhaven, the last dwelling before the dense, snow-dusted forest began its relentless climb up the further slopes of the mountain. It was time to see how his friend was faring.