All across the fields of the Frontier, known to those that live here as the Nostal Fields, the land was coming alive again with the sights and sounds of the spring season. Wildflowers were once again painting the plains with their varying shapes, sizes, and colors, standing out in contrast against the plush grass that had steadily been turning green since the month began.
The twitter of bird life had come with the flow of warmer air into the expansive valley, along with the larger waterfowl and some aerial monsters as well. All were hitching a ride on the warming air that flowed from the south now that the coattails of Old Man Winter had rolled back up north, as the old folk like to say.
Nestled in the very center of the valley was the largest of the two dwellings within this particular region of the world. A moderately sized cluster of houses with thatched roofs with stucco and mortar walls of varying sizes and colors stood erected around a central plaza where a giant tree loomed overhead; its branches dotted with the fresh green buds of its returning canopy.
Even now, in the chill but rapidly warming morning light, the village was already bustling with activity, both on the streets of the town and along the highways that had always been there as far as anyone could say. One stretching outwards to the east, towards the ridge that shielded the Frontier from its neighboring kingdom, and one to the northeast, to the Oldhill Farm. These highways, along with numerous other similar dirt paths that snaked out from the village like a root system, never saw growth occur and were always clear of debris and clutter.
One particular path strayed to the far northwest of town, between a small row of homes and the town’s schoolhouse(which doubled as a bakery-slash-eatery as well). The road was straightforward and had a very obvious destination, should one look hard enough.
A small cottage, its yard outlined by a weathered log fence, with an apple tree growing in the corner and a rope swing hanging from its branches, the wooden seat long since fallen apart and deteriorated.
The house sat on its lonesome, just where the veil that protected the villagers from aggressive monsters seemed to end, as indicated by the lack of yellow and pink Pollonkeg flowers anywhere beyond the houses, unlike the homes within the village that had been built with a single style in mind with small, varying differences.
The lone wolf of a house had been built using the logs from felled trees from the nearby woods, now showing decades upon decades worth of weather damage upon their otherwise perfectly preserved trunks. The only part still looking brand new was the chimney made of stone and cement jutting out of the black roof.
Sleeping away the early morning hours, nestled beneath the warm, woolen comforter atop a mattress that should have been replaced a long, long time ago, was a boy who lived the sort of life kids his age would dream up. A sturdy, well-built log cabin all to himself, his furred companion curled up beside him, and a huge world just outside his front door, begging to be explored.
His name is Remy Niscent, the only child born to Kyuu and Shielshe Niscent, both of whom disappeared nearly a decade ago while taking their toddler son on a walk through what had been determined, and still is considered, to be part of the veil. The boy, who was too young to have much of a recollection of said event, had gone on to grow up under the watchful, warm, and caring eyes of Teecher and Nana Bingsly after a kitten had appeared before them and verbally asked for them to follow to where his crying, cold and hungry self laid.
That same cat now lay coiled atop the blankets that the boy he helped rescue a decade ago had been lost under. Talking animals weren’t out of the ordinary, but one so young that not only did not age but also seemed perpetually stuck in the growth stage halfway between a kitten and a full-grown cat, however, were.
The wool-stuffed blanket began to tumble, and bulges appeared here and there as the child began to stir from his sleep, his feet creating upward impressions and sharking across the surface of the blanket like a Serpoid beneath the soft mud to the west. The cat was lying only a few inches away, thankful that he’d chosen the corner of the bed this time rather than be kicked in the ribs again.
Yawning while amidst a huge, overly long stretch, the boy finally said his first words that morning, “You still there, Purr?” his voice was heavy with the grog of sleep still firmly holding him in its grasp.
“Sure am,” the cat said, his voice too sounding heavy with sleep but less so than his human companion. “You didn’t think kicking me yesterday was going to prevent me from sleeping in here, did you?” The cat was sitting up now, revealing the little figure covered in grey fur, his chin, neck, forearms, and belly all in white. Two bleary green marbles for eyes set firmly in his skull.
“Darn…” Remy said, rolling over, trying to bury himself in the walls that were the mattress. Years of use and misuse had seen the center of the spring-filled furniture worn down, leaving a crevasse in the center that, no matter which side of the bed you fell asleep on, you’d find yourself waking up in that valley at the center.
The cat stretched, arching its back up and yawning in that horrifying way that cats did before striding towards the head of the bed, where he’d perch himself out of the boy’s reach and nag at him until he, too, finally woke up.
Moments later, the black-haired boy finally freed himself from the grasp of the Sandman and sat up in bed. It’d been the weekend, so sleeping in was an option that he was all too willing to choose. He’d only wished the cat understood what sleeping in meant.
“What time is it, anyway?” He asked, glancing around the room as it had been left the night before. Paper and crayons were on his writing desk, and an empty saucer and a half-drank cup of milk were sitting beside it. The curtains on all three windows pulled wide open, exposing the two-pane windows beyond.. He’d
“At least 9am.”
Throwing the covers back, Remy slipped out of bed and landed on the carpeted floor below. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around him, creasing the dirt-stained shirt he’d worn to bed against the cat’s suggestion otherwise. “Didn’t I activate the heater last night?” He tested his breath, somewhat disappointed that it wasn’t THAT cold.
“You did, you just shut your door like a doofus,”
“I always shut my door at bedtime,” Remy replied.
“Yeah, and you usually activate the Frytt orbs in here, not the ones in the living room, doofus.”
Remy had shifted through the contents of the blue trunk beneath the northern window that overlooked the Fiegmund mountain face, locating another blue two-tone shirt with the collar and sleeves being a much darker blue than the rest, along with a pair of black pants. He’d catch a whack across the ear if old man Teech caught him wearing shorts this early in the season.
Several minutes later, the boy emerged from the bathroom with clean, spiky black hair and clothes that were possibly only a fraction cleaner than the ones he’d taken off. Not that the shirt and shorts hadn’t been washed because they were, but simply because the dirt was so deep-seated at this point that it simply didn’t matter.
Returning to his bedroom, which now had warmed considerably thanks in part to the sun and warm air from the rest of the house having poured in, the comfort levels had risen, making him long to return to the coziness of his adult-sized bed. But much to his dismay, Purr had somehow already made his bed from him, the blanket in the middle sinking inward.
“You really need to get a new mattress, Remy.” He purred.
But the boy shrugged, not willing to chance at losing a bed meant for full-grown adults. The amount of space allowed for him to just go wild when it came to playtime. He’d seen his friend’s beds and knew there was no way he could sleep on such a thing.
Grabbing his shoes and socks that he’d left in the hallway, he slipped them on right there in the walkway before stepping out onto the hardwood that made up the rest of the house’s flooring. Standing at the exit of the hall, he looked around at his castle: The living area had an old rocking chair that was uncomfortable to sit in, along with a plush couch and matching recliner. They all sat atop a brown, shaggy rug. The grey stone fireplace, which had a large Frytt and Levin orb combo sitting within, stood before them. To the right of the fireplace was the red front door, and beside that, a large bay window with additional seating. He’d often wonder just how many people his parents must have had over, considering the amount of places there were to sit.
He seldom thought of his parents, honestly. Having disappeared so early in his life, he’d carried with him no memories of them as he matured. Adults would always dote on him, telling him how sad it was that he’d never known who his parents were. How could he be sad about that, though, having never actually known them himself? It was no different when he’d read about deaths in the newspapers from Vandole. He didn’t know these people, so why should he feel anything towards them?
Continuing through the hallway brought him into his kitchen. A table made up of a slice from the biggest tree he’d ever seen besides the Evermore stood in the center atop four legs made up of the trunks of smaller trees. Everything had been treated and looked as brand new as the day his father cut it down. Or so he assumed. It was adorned with a red cloth and a single chair made out of pine wood.
The kitchen had the usuals. Cabinets and a pantry for jarred and preserved goods. Baskets for bread and an oven made out of some type of metal. It was an older wood-burning type that had been retrofitted with a cradle for two fire elemental-infused orbs.
Sitting in the corner of the small 8x8 kitchen was a crude recreation of a cooler: A box made with insulation and four small ice elemental orbs inside. It had been a life changer for the entire world, particularly for the meat and dairy farmers as their product would be given much longer shelf life if the market or customer could store it in a cool place at home. The ice box had paved the way for an entirely new sort of product as well, with raw, uncured meats finally being sold directly from farms and larger item shops.
Remy’s personal favorite change this brought about was the introduction of the powerfully cold cooler called a “Freezer”, which led to the creation of a dessert called ‘ice cream’, which can now be purchased on Sundays at Nana’s Bakery and his primary reason for even waking up as early as he did today.
“So you wanna explain why you didn’t bring your dirty dishes with you? You could have at least put them in the sink.” Purr asked, silently padding his way across the kitchen floor beside the boy who hadn’t bothered to tie his shoes.
“I forgot,” he lied. Purr didn’t buy the excuse, naturally. He’d been with Remy since the very day he had been left in those woods to the south of the village, watching over him. Acting as a mentor as well as his best friend once the boy had been allowed to move back into his parent’s home two years ago, following some minor renovations by the villagers.
And while the cat had been asked to act the adult in Remy’s life by Teecher Bingsly specifically, he found that he viewed Remy more as a brother than anything else, which oftentimes led to him getting into just as much trouble as his human companion.
“Aha, there it is!” Remy said, grabbing a small brown burlap bag from the cabinet. “I’d tossed it in here the other day after we came back from shopping and forgot about it.
The cat said nothing but gave the boy a quizzical look instead.
Remy shook the bag, the sound of what could have been marbles rattling against each other inside could be heard. “Cure candies, just in case.”
Fueling the boy’s adventurous side was his imagination, which was always running wild with Remy. He’d described numerous times, not just to Purr but to his friends in the village and even the old man who was training Remy how to use a sword. The boy had grand aspirations and even grander ideas of how he could save the world, most of which involved giant dragons being fought atop a flying fortress while he wielded a legendary sword.
“All right then, buddy, you ready— Oh crap!”
“What?! What is it?!” the cat shouted, but Remy had already dashed passed him, down the hall, and back into his room. Purr dared to follow, finding the boy on the bed, arm reaching down into the crevice between the wall and the frame; the sound of stuff rustling beneath could be heard.
Several seconds later, Remy pulled back with an object firmly in his grasp: A wooden sword, the same color all the way through, evident that it had not been painted at any point after it had been carved. The blade was dulled, even rounded at the top, suggesting it had been broken at one point, and the previous owner sanded it down to make it a safe toy once more.
Only, despite this particular sword’s appearance, it was no toy.
“Seriously, Remy,” the cat scolded him, “You have a sword that’s literally a splinter from the Evermore tree, and you treat it like it’s a broken old toy.”
“Hey, that’s a cool name.”
The cat looked at him, mildly frustrated that he hadn’t completely gotten through but also curious as to what the boy meant.
“Splinter. Or ‘The Splinter’. Every cool sword in the storybooks I’ve read has a cool-sounding name. Like the ‘Legendary Sword of—“
A knock at the door cut him off mid-sentence, but Purr knew perfectly well which sword he’d been referring to, as it had been the very inspiration for Remy’s adventurous personality and spirit.
“I’m coming; be right there!”
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