Extra Arc (Volume II). "Leaves That Do Not Fall."
Three weeks before Corvis and Tessia Eralith's tenth birthday.
Corvis Eralith
"Corvis, quick!" Tessia exclaimed, rushing ahead of me as I followed quietly behind.
The trees of the Elshire Forest towered around us, their trunks wide as houses, their branches weaving together into a canopy that filtered the summer sunlight into scattered pools of gold.
Zestier was far behind us now, the familiar silhouette of the Watchful Willows long since swallowed by the green. The heat of summer, carried on rays that had traveled from the sun to the forest floor, warmed the woods with a gentle, persistent embrace.
It was the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones, that made you want to lie down in a patch of grass and close your eyes, that reminded you that the world was alive and growing and full of promise.
Summer. The season of the Crow. Tessia's favorite season, together with Spring. She liked the warmth, the sun, the joy. She liked the way the forest came alive, the way the flowers bloomed, the way the days stretched long and golden into the evening. She was a creature of light, my sister.
She always had been, which was completely different from me.
I very much preferred Autumn and Winter. I preferred the cold a thousand times more than the heat. There was something about the chill that felt honest, that stripped away the pretense of warmth and left only what was real. The bare branches, the grey sky, the mist that clung to the forest like a secret. In Winter, I could think. In Winter, I could breathe.
Berna padded behind us, her massive paws silent on the forest floor. In her mouth, she held a large basket woven from reeds, containing tablecloths, plates and cutlery and all the other necessities for a proper meal.
Her green eyes were bright, her tail wagging slightly, and through our bond, I felt her contentment. She liked being useful.
I guessed it was the imperative of all Guardian Beasts.
Tessia wanted to do something with me and only me, something other than training. So I had suggested bringing the Earthen practice of an outdoor meal between nature (a picnic) to this world and she had declared it the perfect thing for us.
For elves.
I was actually quite surprised that picnicking was not already a thing in Elenoir; but it was also true that the Elshire Forest remained a wild thing, full of mana beasts that were not always the friendly Forest Hounds we had grown up with. The forest gave, and the forest took.
But today, we were not hunters or mages or heirs to a kingdom. Today, we were just brother and sister, walking through the woods with baskets in our hands and the sun on our faces.
I, too, was holding a basket. This one was smaller, lighter, filled with food rather than supplies. I had spent the better part of the morning preparing it, arranging the dishes with a care that I usually reserved for battle strategies and political negotiations.
"This spot is perfect!" Tessia exclaimed, stopping so suddenly that I nearly walked into her.
I stepped beside her, climbing over a large root that curved across the forest floor like the spine of some buried beast.
Tessia was standing between two massive trees, their trunks so close together that they formed a natural gateway, and as I came to stand beside her, the view that welcomed me stole my breath.
A clearing. Small and quiet and secluded, tucked away between the trees like a secret the forest had been keeping just for us. The sun was high in the sky, its light filtering through the canopy in long, golden shafts that illuminated the grass and the wildflowers and the small, moss-covered stones that dotted the clearing like scattered jewels.
The mist was absent. In summer, the peculiar fog of the Elshire Forest lasted only for the first hours of morning, burning away as the sun rose higher. Today, the air was clear and warm, and I could see for what felt like miles through the gaps in the trees.
"Yes," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "I agree."
We moved to the center of the clearing, our footsteps soft on the grass. I set down my basket and stretched my arms above my head, feeling the pleasant pull of muscles that had been tensed for too long.
The tension of the past months—the training, the planning, the endless, grinding weight of responsibility—began to ease, just a little.
"Berna, give me the basket!"
I was looking up at the sky, my mind wandering through the threats and hazards that awaited us when I heard Tessia's annoyed voice directed at my Guardian Bear.
I turned. And as my eyes landed on them, I had a very hard time containing a laugh.
Tessia was pulling on the large basket, trying to free it from Berna's mouth. Berna was pulling back, her massive head held high, her eyes half-closed in what could only be described as smug satisfaction.
It was a game of tug-of-war: a game of tug-of-war between a ten-year-old princess and a god-forged beast.
Berna gave me a side glance. When she saw my expression—the barely suppressed grin, the raised eyebrow, the way my shoulders were shaking with the effort of not laughing—she let go of the basket.
Tessia stumbled backward, her arms flailing, her feet scrambling for purchase on the grass. But she was the ever-gracious princess she wanted everyone to see, and she landed softly, using a burst of wind magic to cushion her fall.
She landed on her feet, barely ruffled, and glared at Berna with an expression that was half outrage and half grudging respect.
"You trained her to make fun of me?" Tessia asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"She is just a playful bear," I said, walking over to take the basket from Berna's maw. The reeds were slightly damp from her saliva, but otherwise undamaged. "She does not know her own strength."
"Liar," Tessia muttered, but there was no heat in it.
I ignored her and reached into the basket, pulling out a tablecloth. It was a simple red one, large and made of soft silk, the kind of thing that would feel cool against the grass and comfortable beneath our backs. Perfect for a picnic.
"Not that one!" Tessia exclaimed, standing back up and snatching the tablecloth from my hands before I could even unfold it.
"What?" I protested, reaching for it. "I like it."
"All red?" Tessia held the cloth at arm's length, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "It's boring."
She rummaged through the basket and produced another tablecloth, this last one with a more artistic design, full of swirling patterns and bright colors.
"Whatever," I yielded, rolling my eyes.
But Tessia was not done. She crouched over the cloth, her brow furrowed in concentration, and I felt the gentle pulse of her mana as she began to weave plant magic into the grass beneath. The blades seemed to stiffen, to strengthen, to become something more than just grass.
The flowers too—small white blossoms that dotted the clearing like scattered stars—glowed faintly for a moment before settling back into their natural state.
"How are you doing that?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Doing what?" Tessia asked, not looking up from her work.
"That thing with plant magic. I have never seen anyone do that before."
"I am enforcing the grass and flowers with mana," Tessia explained, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. "They will be able to withstand our weight and make a very soft ground to lie on."
A cushion of plant magic. I filed the idea away for future reference. It was clever, resourceful, exactly the kind of creative thinking that would serve her well in the years to come.
"However," Tessia added, glancing up at Berna, "I do not know if it will be enough for Berna's weight."
Berna growled, a low, offended sound that vibrated through the clearing. Her massive head swung toward Tessia, and her green eyes narrowed.
"Berna is surprisingly light," I said, walking over to pat my bond's flank. Her fur was warm beneath my hand, thick and soft. "I think it has to do with gravity magic, but I do not know..."
Berna's magic was still a great mystery. Despite months of study, despite hours of experimentation, despite the insights I had gained from Avicenna, there was so much I did not understand about her.
We lay down on the tablecloth, Tessia and I, stretching out on the cushion of enchanted grass. The fabric was soft beneath us, the ground surprisingly comfortable, and for a moment, I simply closed my eyes and let the warmth of the sun wash over me.
We took out the food, arranging it on the cloth between us. There were breads and cheeses, fruits and vegetables, small pastries that Tessia had insisted on bringing despite my protests that they would be crushed during the walk.
There were drinks, too: cool water flavored with mint, and a sweet juice made from the berries that grew in the palace gardens.
In that time, a robin flew toward us. Coco landed on the back of Tessia's hand as my sister raised it, her golden eyes bright, her feathers ruffled from the flight.
Soleil chirped a greeting, and Tessia laughed, reaching into the basket to retrieve a small pouch of seeds. The same pumpkin seeds that Soleil still seemed to prefer, after all these years.
From the basket I was carrying, I retrieved an apple. It was green, with a fantastic brightness, its skin looking more like a beautiful meadow than the peel of a fruit.
Auntie Sind, was the name of this variety. I had discovered it years ago, in the markets of the Grand Nectary, and I had been obsessed with it ever since.
"You are already eating apples?" Tessia asked, frowning at me. "You will ruin your appetite! Do not you ever listen to Grandma Rinia?"
I flushed. Usually, children were chastised for their eating habits. But my family? Well, other than being royalty, the Eraliths were far from the usual family. I had learned that in the first years after I was reincarnated in this world.
Tessia, not even ten, cared very much about her diet—a habit that had become even more rigid after the Colour Timberland.
Mom and Dad spoiled us rotten; everything we wished to eat was granted to us and Grandpa was not exactly the type of parental figure who corrected eating habits.
That left Great-aunt Rinia as that figure. However, I ignored her advice and continued to eat the apple. Apples were too good to fall under the category of normal food.
"I always listen to Great-aunt," I said, still munching.
Tessia gave me a look that suggested she did not believe me, but she let it go. Her attention had shifted to something else—a wooden can, polished and smooth, that she had pulled from one of the baskets.
"What is this?" she asked, turning it over in her hands.
It was a polished cylinder made from a type of wood that was very good at isolating heat. I had designed it myself—helped by Avicenna and a competent Zestese woodcarver, obviously—to store foods that would otherwise spoil in the summer heat.
The wood was dense, almost like stone, and it kept the contents cool for hours.
Coco chirped excitedly, hopping from Tessia's hand to the edge of the can. Her golden eyes were fixed on it, her head tilted, her whole body vibrating with anticipation.
"It is... gelato," I said.
"Gelato?" Tessia struggled to pronounce the word, her tongue tripping over the unfamiliar syllables. "What is that?"
"A frozen dessert," I explained. "I made it myself."
I had wanted to make something special for today. Something that would make Tessia smile. So I had tried to recreate something from my Earthen memories, a taste of a world that no longer existed.
Luckily, I had Soleil to help me. She had been very adamant about teaching me all the culinary traditions of the Asclepius Clan. It seemed that the Phoenixes had an ancient tradition of dessert-making, with many recipes for ice creams and ice cream equivalents.
Tessia opened the can by twisting off the cover, which was neatly embedded in the cylinder and required no screws—just a simple movement of the wrist.
Inside, there was a soft yellow ice cream, smooth and creamy, its surface gleaming in the sunlight.
"Lemon?!" Tessia exclaimed, turning to look at me. "You know I hate lemons!"
"Trust me," I said, sure of myself. "And eat it."
Coco chirped in support, bobbing her head emphatically.
Tessia hesitated, looking at the gelato inside the wooden can. Her expression was caught somewhere between suspicion and curiosity, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed together. Then, carefully, she dipped the tip of her finger into the gelato and tasted it.
"It's sweet!" Tessia exclaimed, her eyes widening. She took another sample, scooping up a larger portion this time. "But it is still acidic! How did you do it?"
I saw the pride in Coco's eyes, the way her feathers seemed to puff out slightly, the way she held herself a little taller.
And I saw Berna, too, trying to sneak her nose near the gelato's container. Despite her characteristic sneakiness, she remained a giant of a bear, and her efforts were about as subtle as a landslide.
"This is not for you!" Tessia said, raising her arm in a hopeless attempt to take the can out of Berna's reach. My Guardian Bear simply raised her head a little higher, her nose still pointed at the gelato, her eyes still fixed on the prize.
"I have made one for you too, girl," I said.
Berna's head turned immediately, her ears perked, her full attention now fixed on me. I reached into the basket near Tessia and pulled out another wooden can—this one much larger, more fit for a bear-sized meal.
It had a different flavor: chestnut, rich and earthy, with just a hint of sweetness.
"That one is different!" Tessia said, noticing the contrast.
"It is chestnut," I said. "And before you ask me to try it, it is a lot less sweet. I did not put as much honey inside."
Berna growled in protest, a low, offended sound that rumbled through the clearing. But it was Soleil who had warned me about giving too much sugar to a Guardian Bear.
It seemed that the reason why I had been able to help Berna regain control from the Vritra's yoke was because of the sweetness of the balm I had thrown into her mouth; the honey I had given her when she was a ravenous beast, lost to the corruption.
Sugar had the peculiar effect of making Guardian Bears, and all Guardian Beasts, hyperactive. It could even help them fight the decay magic of the Vritra Clan, giving them a burst of energy that burned through the poison like fire through dry grass.
I gave Berna her ice cream, and she took it gently from my hands, her massive jaws closing around the wooden can with surprising delicacy.
She lay down on the grass, her tail wagging slowly, and began to lick the gelato with obvious pleasure.
Me and Tessia started to eat our own meal. The food was good: simple, fresh, exactly what we needed after the long walk through the forest.
We talked about nothing and everything, our voices low and easy.
A/N:
From now on I will make these extra arcs at the end of each Volume. They serve to add scenes and moments that didn't end up in the final draft of their respective Volume.
They are entirely skippable, and don't add important things to the Volume itself: at most, they will set up future events.