Chapter 04 ~ Fayrouz.
The inside of the wooden restaurant was bathed in the warm, golden glow of lanterns. Some hung from the ceiling on dark chains, swaying gently, while others rested on individual tables as requested, casting intimate pools of light. The establishment was humble but clean and vibrantly alive with the chatter of people.
Fulan sat on a simple wooden chair at an empty, round table, his brown leather pack resting on the floor beside him. Opposite him sat Sobata, his calm smile a familiar comfort. The lantern light softened the sharp angles of Fulan's face, making his pale skin seem warmer and casting a gentle gleam in his black hair.
His eyes moved left and right, taking in the unfamiliar tableau of normalcy. He saw tables of friends laughing, families sharing meals, and people drinking fresh juices from tall glasses. (In my story, the mention of alcohol and debauchery is forbidden unless I command it, thank you). In the background, a waiter moved deftly between the tables carrying plates of food. From another room came the sizzle and clatter of the kitchen, carrying with it the rich, savory scent of grilled meats. Behind a simple wooden counter at the reception, rows of gleaming glasses and pitchers stood ready.
"Do you like the place?" Sobata asked, his voice a low hum amidst the restaurant's cheerful din.
Fulan brought his gaze back to Sobata. "I've never been in a restaurant before, to be honest," he replied. "I always ate home-cooked meals with my family."
Sobata smiled kindly. "That's a good sign, that you have a family."
At that, Fulan's eyebrows lowered and his gaze dropped to the wooden tabletop. He fell silent. Sobata's own features softened, realizing from Fulan's stark reaction that something tragic had happened to his family. Seeing no other way, Sobata decided to be direct. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself? For example, why do you intend to go to the Kingdom of Saita?"
Fulan remained quiet for a moment. "Is it necessary to have a reason to visit it?"
"A boy like you wouldn't be going just for tourism," Sobata countered gently.
Fulan's eyes drifted to the large glass window of the shop. He stared out at the night sky, at the scattered stars. "I don't know," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't even know why I'm on this journey. I don't know if I will truly achieve my goal. I don't know if my path is the right one. But… it's not about my will, or what I want to do. This is something I must do."
Sobata's red eyes watched him, and he opened his mouth to ask another question, to delve deeper. But Fulan preempted him, his voice still quiet but firm. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your help, Sobata. But there are some things that no one can help me with."
At that very moment, the waiter arrived at their table. He was carrying a platter holding a whole roasted chicken, glistening and surrounded by a mountain of golden fried potatoes. He set it down with a smile. "Nahida's restaurant always welcomes travelers with a 20% discount. I hope you enjoy our cooking."
Fulan's eyes were fixed on the delicious-looking plate, on the steam rising from it and the incredible aroma it gave off.
"Well then," Sobata said, his smile returning. "Let's leave the past and personal problems for later and enjoy this feast."
The warmth of the meal settled in their bellies, a temporary truce with the world's hardships, and they soon found themselves seeking a more permanent shelter for the night. The inn was of the same humble, wooden design as the restaurant. At the reception counter, Sobata addressed the hostess, holding up two fingers. "A room for two, please."
The old woman, peering at him over her spectacles, replied, "That will be 50 Diamo per person."
"So, a total of 100 Diamo for one night…" Sobata mused, checking his pouch.
"Let me pay," Fulan offered immediately. "You paid at the restaurant."
Sobata waved his hand dismissively. "No, today is on me. Next time can be on you, alright?"
Fulan fell silent, and they followed the woman to their room.
Hours passed. The moon, a near-perfect half-circle, hung alone in the sky, with only a few loyal stars for company. Its silver light streamed through the window of the room where Fulan and Sobata were staying. Fulan was fast asleep on one of the beds, covered by a simple grey blanket, his pack resting on the wooden floor beside him.
But Sobata was not asleep.
He was seated at a small desk in the corner of the room. By the light of a single, flickering candle, his face was serene, a faint smile playing on his lips. In the darkness, his ruby-red eyes were calm and deep. The quiet scratch of a fountain pen on paper was the only sound in the room.
He wrote:
Dear Fulan,
When you read this, unfortunately, I will no longer be by your side. I want to be honest with you; I lied about one thing…
He continued to write, his expression unchanging, as the candle flame danced and trembled, casting long shadows on the wall.
A sliver of morning sun blinked through the clear sky, its rays piercing the glass window of the small wooden room. The warmth of the light touched Fulan's feet and thighs where they lay uncovered by the blanket, gently coaxing him from sleep. He yawned, his black hair slightly tousled. The familiar grogginess of a deep sleep was still in his eyes, and he rubbed them as he sat up.
His eyes moved to the other bed. It was empty and perfectly made.
He pushed the grey blanket aside and stood barefoot on the cool wooden floor. He wore the same white shirt and black trousers from the day before. There was no trace of his traveling companion, Sobata. The only thing out of place was a single sheet of paper resting on the desk.
Fulan walked towards it. An extinguished candle and a pen were laid neatly beside the paper. He picked up the letter, his dark eyes staring at the elegant script for a few seconds.
"Is this your way of saying goodbye?" he whispered to the empty room. He let out a small, humorless sigh. "I forgot to tell you… I don't even know how to read."
He carefully folded the paper and knelt by his brown pack. He opened it, placed the letter inside with his other meager belongings, and closed it again. He walked to the simple wooden hooks on the wall and took down his grey, hooded vest, shrugging it on. It remained open, revealing the white shirt beneath. He pulled on his brown boots, slung the pack over his shoulder, and walked out, closing the door to the room behind him.
At the top of the stairs, he passed a hanging mirror. He paused, looking at his reflection, and flattened his messy hair with his hands. His expression was calm, unaffected, as if he had always known he was alone on this journey from the start. He descended the stairs and left the inn.
He walked through the sandy streets of the village. All the houses were built of wood, and it was clear from their humble state and the simple clothes of the people that this was a modest place.
Reaching this point is a good thing, Fulan thought as he moved through the morning crowd. The fact that Mister Sobata left me now must mean I'm close to the kingdom and can reach it on my own. Should I just head west? Or get some more specific directions?
He glanced at the people around him. Getting directions is the most logical choice. But the real question is, who do I ask?
He found himself at a crossroads where two streets intersected. Among the passersby, one person caught his attention.
A girl, the same height and roughly the same age as him, walked past just a few steps away. A blue blindfold was tied neatly over her eyes. Her skin was a stark, pure white, her lips a natural pink. Her hair was long and silky black, with streaks of deep blue at the tips. She wore loose black trousers and what looked like a dark blue coat, though its fabric was not stiff but moved with a fluid grace.
Fulan followed her with his eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest of the villagers; not richer, but rarer, more unique.
The clatter of hooves and wheels broke his trance. "Excuse me, young man, could you make way?" a voice called out.
Fulan finally moved his gaze to find a well-made wooden carriage pulled by two young horses. A Black man with a kind face was holding the reins. "Time is gold, as they say," the man added with a smile.
Fulan stepped aside. "Thank you," the driver said, and was about to snap the reins when Fulan spoke up.
"Wait. Are you heading to the Kingdom of Saita?"
The driver looked him over. "So you're not from the village then. No wonder I haven't seen your face before. Unfortunately, that's not my destination. It's too far." He pointed with a thumb down the street the girl had taken. "At the end of that street, you'll find an old man who can take you where you want to go. There are four of us in total who make the trips: east, west, south, and north. You're heading west, so go to him."
"Thank you," Fulan said with a small smile.
"Take care of yourself, boy," the driver called out, snapping the reins. The horses and carriage moved on.
That's the same street the girl went down, Fulan thought as he began to walk. After a few minutes, he spotted the carriage parked at the side of the road. The two horses tied to it were older and dozing in the morning sun. An old man wearing a straw hat, his white hair indicating his age, was sitting on a wooden bench next to the carriage. A single stalk of yellow wheat was stuck in the corner of his mouth.
Fulan approached him with quiet steps. "Excuse me," he said when he was close. "Is this the carriage headed towards the Kingdom of Saita?"
The old man chewed on the wheat stalk. "Another one asking for a trip to Saita," he mumbled. "Seems that kingdom is getting more famous by the day." He stood up, looking Fulan over. "I don't go all the way there, the journey is too long. But I can help you two get to the village of Petita. It's the second closest village to Saita, after Saikono."
"I still have two more villages to go through?" Fulan asked.
"You'll reach Petita by dawn tomorrow at the latest," the old man said. "And that's with rest stops. The villages are fairly close, so it's not too far a journey." He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, towards the back of the carriage. "I'm the only one going to Petita. Are you with us or not?"
Fulan sighed. "I don't have a choice either way." He started walking towards the carriage, his mind snagging on the old man's words. Wait, what did he mean by 'with us'?
He placed his hand on the wooden frame of the carriage entrance and looked inside. He was surprised to find the blindfolded girl he had seen earlier, lying on her back, fast asleep.
Inside, two long wooden benches faced each other, each capable of holding at least four people. The girl was stretched out alone on the bench to the right. Fulan entered and sat down on the left bench, bewildered by the strange situation.
The old driver climbed onto his seat at the front of the carriage. He took up the reins and gave them a firm shake. The old horses woke with a start, and at his command, the wheels of the carriage began to turn, carrying them onward.
The long road cut through fields of green grass and wild blossoms. The sun had vanished behind a blanket of greyish-white clouds, casting the world in a cool, quiet light devoid of rain or snow—a day that felt like the last breath of autumn before the onset of winter.
In a field of pink and yellow flowers, a butterfly fluttered. Its wings, a brilliant azure, came to rest on a pink petal. It flexed them gently as it drew nectar, and for a moment, the wings shimmered with a luminous blue glow, like a constellation of tiny stars.
Peace and tranquility reigned. Then, like a spark of orange electricity, a swift, brown-furred bird with a glowing aura shot past in a heartbeat. The sudden warmth of its passage cut through the cool air, shattering the silence and the calm. The butterfly flitted away in a panic as the flowers and grass trembled in the wake of the bird's passage.
Nearby, another sound broke the stillness: the persistent creak of a wooden carriage straining under the burden of its journey. The carriage, pulled by two old horses, was a patchwork of weathered wood and faded canvas. Its cracked and worn wheels wobbled on the path, sending shudders through its frame with every bump and loose pebble.
Inside, Fulan sat on the northern bench, his short black hair unkempt. A few feet away, on the opposite bench, the girl with the long, silky black hair lay asleep, the dark blue streaks in her hair stark against the wood. The strands of her hair draped over the edge of the bench like the ancient roots of a tree.
The driver was an old man, his white hair dancing in the breeze, his straw hat resting beside him as he sat at the front of the carriage. He hummed a soft tune while guiding the two old horses. His hands were wrinkled, but they held the reins with an easy, practiced expertise. A contented smile was etched on his face, the look of a man at peace with his life. For him, this was just another quiet day on the road.
The young man, however, did not feel the same calm. The constant, jarring shudder of the carriage was turning his stomach.
"Uncle..." Fulan finally said, his voice tight. "It's been two hours already. Shouldn't the horses be faster than this?"
The driver glanced back through the small wooden window between him and the passengers, his smile never fading. "Patience, lad. These two are twenty-four and twenty-six years old. They're not as young as they used to be, can't use their Menma anymore."
The word 'Menma' hung in the air like a whispered secret. It was not just a passing concept in this world, but a source of power and of life itself.
Fulan's annoyance shifted, his brow furrowing with a newfound curiosity. "Twenty-six? That's far beyond a horse's average lifespan. Why haven't you replaced them?"
The driver's gaze softened as he stared down the dusty road, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Replace them? Many have said the same. But to abandon them just because they've grown old? That's something I cannot do. They've been with me for so long... they're like family."
Fulan looked at the old man's white hair, fluttering in the wind like a flag of surrender to the passage of time. He understood, then, that these were not just beasts of burden to the driver. A faint smile touched Fulan's lips, and he leaned his head back against the wooden frame, trying to ignore the carriage's incessant rattling. If some men are this loyal to a horse, he wondered, how loyal could they be to their wives?
His gaze drifted to the girl opposite him. She hadn't moved an inch during the entire journey. How can she possibly stay so calm and asleep through all this constant shaking?
The rickety, worn-out carriage continued on its way towards the village of Petita. The journey took another forty-five minutes. Finally, with a cheerful "Ahhh," the old man pulled the reins, bringing the horses to a halt. He climbed down from his seat.
"We've arrived before one in the afternoon," he announced. "Good timing, isn't it?"
Fulan jumped out from the back of the carriage, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. He looked up at the overcast sky with his black eyes. "We left early and arrived at noon," he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "I'm surprised you're so optimistic."
The old man, who was now patting one of his horses on the neck, chuckled. "Aren't you going to wake that girl?" he asked calmly.
Fulan turned and approached the carriage window. He touched the wooden frame with his fingers and looked in at the girl with the long black hair and the blue blindfold. She was still fast asleep. "How can I wake her when I don't even know her?" he murmured.
He turned away from her and opened the cloth pouch at his waist. He took out two silver coins, plain and without any markings, and placed them in the old driver's hand. The driver's eyes widened. He held one of the coins up towards the sky, squinting at it.
"This is real silver!" he exclaimed.
"What about it?" Fulan asked.
"One coin is more than enough," the driver said, looking at Fulan with new eyes. "Are you from a rich family or what?"
He tried to hand one of the coins back, but Fulan refused to take it. "Not really. Consider that one my apology to your family," he said, nodding his head towards the two old horses.
The driver looked at his horses, then back at Fulan. A warm, genuine smile spread across his face. "Thank you," he said. "You're a good lad, after all."
A few meters from the carriage, which had shuddered to a halt just seconds before, two guards stood sentinel at a large wooden gate. One stood on each side, motionless, their simple, unarmored brown uniforms marking them as local militia. They held long spears, their points glinting dully in the overcast light. The entire village of Petita, it seemed, was enclosed by a tall, wooden fence. On the chest of each guard was a badge that read: "Guard Recognized by the Kingdom of Saita," a clear sign that this village was under the kingdom's official protection.
As Fulan approached with quiet steps, one of the guards spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Hold there, young man. Have you come to this village specifically, or is this just a passing destination?"
"I intend to go to the Kingdom of Saita," Fulan replied. "Today, if I can."
The two guards exchanged a look. The other one answered, "We would like to let you pass, but the road between Petita and the next village, Saikono, is currently fraught with danger. There's a gang of thieves who call themselves the Nine Lizards. Even the merchants are avoiding the route. Relations between the two villages are cut off as long as this problem persists."
From a few feet away, the old driver's voice cut in. "What about the Knights? Isn't this their job?"
One of the guards sighed. "We've already sent a request to the Knights, but it's been ten days and we haven't heard back. I didn't expect them to be so delayed... Your only option is to wait until the Knights take care of the matter. It's too dangerous otherwise. But that will take more time."
"You're not in a hurry, are you?" the other guard added. "Our village welcomes travelers."
Fulan lowered his head, his mind flashing back to the cold throne room and the usurper king's final instructions.
The King's voice was a low, conspiratorial hiss. "I will not let you go to the Kingdom of Saita only to get lost or do something foolish and get caught by the Knights. I will give you the perfect, precise plan. According to the information my spies have gathered, it is impossible to reach the king unless there is a major event. Among the events where the king appears before the public are the anniversary of his coronation and the graduation day for new Knights. To be frank with you, no matter how fast you are, assassinating the king is difficult unless you are close to him, as he will be surrounded by powerful protectors. The correct way, therefore, is to become one of those people. A Knight."
"Seven days from now, the entrance exam for the Raganda Academy will begin. It is the academy that produces Knights and other orders. You will enroll on time, become a Knight, earn their trust, and carry out your mission when no one suspects you, at the right moment. Be assured, I want you to return safely, so make sure to finish the assassination in a single blow. Then, using the fastest means at your disposal, return to this kingdom, and my promise to you will be fulfilled."
"And what will you do if I actually succeed in escaping?" Fulan's voice echoed in his memory.
The King had smiled. "That is a matter between myself and the Kingdom of Saita. Do not concern yourself with it."
Fulan returned to the present. He lifted his head, his eyes now hard with purpose. "I intend to enroll in the Raganda Academy," he stated clearly. "I don't have time to wait for the Knights."
The guards stared, stunned. Even the old driver's jaw went slack, unable to believe he'd heard the name of the prestigious academy, unable to process that he might have just transported a future Knight.
The moment of shock passed. "I'm sorry to say this," the guard said, "but I don't think you'll make it to Raganda Academy on time. The exam is the day after tomorrow, isn't it? And you must register your attendance tomorrow to be accepted as a candidate. It will be difficult."
Fulan remained silent, no longer caring for the guards' words. He just wanted to pass through that gate. Suddenly, a new voice cut through the quiet tension from behind.
"You lazy guard, you'd do better to stop blaming the Knights."
Everyone turned to see the girl with the long black hair and the blue blindfold approaching them. The soft tread of her black boots was almost silent on the dirt road. Her voice was calm, yet it carried an unmistakable weight of confidence and awareness.
"Do you see that badge on the left side of your chest? It says you are a guard recognized by the Kingdom of Saita. Coincidentally, that is also where your heart is. Did they not tell you that this means it is your duty to sacrifice your life to protect this village?"
The guard and his companion looked slightly annoyed, but he retorted quickly, "Our duty is to protect the village, not the road. Before you blame me, you should know the law well."
The girl stopped walking when she reached Fulan's side. With the same calm, she said, "The Knights are needed everywhere in the world, every single day. If they haven't arrived here yet, it is because they are overwhelmed with work. And since I hate to hear you speak of them in such a way, I will deal with this gang of bandits myself."
Despite her calm demeanor, she radiated confidence. In that moment, the only question in Fulan's mind was: Can she really see through that blue blindfold?
After her final word, she prepared to walk towards the gate. But the old driver called out to her in a gentle voice. "Excuse me, young lady..." He held out his hand, expecting his fare.
In a scene of near-comedy, the girl produced a small, folded piece of paper with poorly written script on it: "Fayrouz; The world's strongest future knight." She placed the small paper into the old man's wrinkled hand. The scene was almost laughable, but the girl's dead-serious expression made it clear she was not joking.
"What is this...?" the old man asked in confusion.
"You could call it my autograph," she replied confidently. "In three years, I will become the strongest knight. When I return, I will grant you a special service."
One of the guards couldn't suppress a snort of laughter at the girl's unexpected behavior. Before the old man could respond, Fulan stepped forward and placed another silver coin on top of the paper in the old man's hand.
"Again," he said with a small smile, "thank you for the ride."
"I can't accept three silver coins from you, this is too much," the old driver protested.
"Then the next trip will be on your account, free of charge?" Fulan countered.
The old man smiled. "I will make sure I stay alive until I see you again."
The girl, Fayrouz, "looked" at Fulan for a few seconds, though it wasn't a literal look because of the blindfold. Then, with a smooth motion, she gently took her paper from the old man's hand and presented it to Fulan.
"I am Fayrouz," she announced with utter seriousness. "A future knight, and I will be the strongest in the world."
Fulan blinked, slightly taken aback by the situation. "I'm... Fulan—" he began, before catching himself. "Wait, that's not what I meant to say. What's the point of this paper anyway?"
"It simply means that I owe you a debt," she replied.
"Are you planning to travel between villages with just this paper? You have to carry some money. That's the law of life."
As Fulan was finishing his sentence, he noticed that Fayrouz had already started walking towards the village gate. He quickly walked after her, calling out, "Hey! I didn't say I accepted this paper!"
The two guards watched them go, looking at each other with weary expressions. "Were our warnings and advice of any value at all..." one muttered to the other.