154Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRygMWx1Bm7CHAPTER I: THE COTTAGE
The Sun shines. Its light pierces through worn curtains. Metro’s modest lodging cottage.
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He gently rouses from a deep slumber, stirring up on a straw mattress. The murmuring of neighbors are heard outside, a new day in the village square begins. Metro rises to his feet, approaching the window, a weathered frame. Peering outside, he sees the mass of a moving people, their auras, it’s a rhythm connecting to a central well, a lifeline and gathering place for the community. The rhythm of the village hums, yet Metro’s mind pulses with questions, a nagging uncertainty amidst the tranquil scene.
Putting on his commoner’s clothes, a comforting bliss is felt. He also grabs a set of dagger’s, they slide into separate sheaths down into his belt. A quick count confirms the weight of the gold sac. Afterwards, he stretches thoroughly, loosening himself from the trance of sleep.
— The door pushes open —
VILLAGE SQUARE
The village square is welcoming.
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Alive.
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With morning activity.
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Farmers lead their carts of goods, children chase each other with friendly shouts, the scent of freshly baked bread drifts from the communal oven. Metro lets the morning sun rays heal his exterior, light bouncing off his face, just right. He's ready for whatever the day has to offer.
The aroma of simmering stew guides him to the food stalls. Approaching the old woman with wrinkles of kindness, she ladles a generous portion of steaming stew soup into a wooden bowl, then hands it over with a warm crusty loaf. A single gold coin is pressed into her weathered hand, a small fortune for a simple meal. She bows in humble gratitude.
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Walking away, the bread is dunked into the rich broth. Metro’s path leads him to Ana's cottage. Her herbal and vegetable garden, usually a mix of vibrant greens with pastel blossoms, looks a little different today. A few rows seemed disturbed, some of the erbs look trampled. An earthy smell passes his nose, as the wooden cottage door creaks open-
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—ANA’S COTTAGE—
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Inside, a scent of dried herbs and old wood fills the small, quaint home . Ana sits by a small sunlit window, her silver and white hair, braided with flowers, radiating a gentle glow that surrounds her advanced age. Her ears are slightly pointed, her eyes deep, bright, and true blue. She crinkles her nose as she looks up.
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Ana:(voice soft)
“Come in, you’re in time for some ice porridge.”
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She gestures with the spoon towards a steaming pot on a nearby table, but as she moves, a wince crosses her face, her gaze fixes on the garden outside.
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Metro (smiling, warm, radiant glow)
“Sorry Ama, I’ve had breakfast already. I’m here to pick up the extra bundle.’
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(beat)
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‘My backpack should be here.”
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Ana:(soft smile, somewhat absent)
“Of course.”
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She reaches under her stool, pulling out a woven backpack that rest against the stool’s leg, comfy to the touch. Ana stares again, watching the garden. She sighs, a sound of unspoken worry.
Ana:
“There’s something going on there. Something bad.”
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METRO:
What happened in the garden?
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Metro slides his pack strap over his shoulder, gathering closer to Ana. Her brows furrow, instantly clutching her cane.
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Ana:
(looks out window, vacant expression)
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“It’s not just plants, the prints, like tiny animal feet. They dug-up one of the ice-burg patches, scattering the petals everywhere.”
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Metro looks up towards her.
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METRO:
“Hmm well, we don’t know what it is. I think we should build a fence. I can visit Paul today for some wood then I’ll help with building when I return.”
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Ana's eyes widen slightly at this suggestion, a sign of relief.
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Ana(nods)
“A fence would be a great blessing. Perhaps it will deter whatever's causing trouble.
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“Thank you for being swift. Be careful, dear!”
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Metro offers a reassuring smile. The warmth, glowing radiantly from his backpack—
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He opens the door outside.
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— VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS—
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Stepping back out into the morning light. The village grasslands are surveyed. A beautiful bright blue sky. The white clouds move slowly overhead. The idea of constructing a fence seems like a solid response to the unsettling discovery, yet his mind wanders to an unknown enemy, and if a sturdy barrier would deter the mischievous prints.
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Metro snaps back to reality, unleashing his black horse, Sally. He leaps onto her back, adjusting himself into the saddle, feeling a familiar surge of power, as the magnificent mare responds instantly to his touch.
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They thunder through the village, passing bustling market stalls, galloping through the quiet reverence of the church, bells ringing, hammers from smiths banging and hushed scribblings within the cartographer’s abode.
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Metro offers Sally a piece of magic leaf, hand feeding her as they ride; her ears flick back as she savors it. A visible spark of renewed energy storms her stride; the white patch between her eyes blazes a streak against morning light.
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Metro:
“Nice! Right, Sal? That’s the good stuff babe. Hahahahahaha!!”
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Energy radiates a soft, translucent white aura around the horse and rider.
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The familiar path passes simple cottages near the outskirts of the village wall, before dipping and hills merging into vibrant grasslands flowing with streams that nourish the community.
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PAULs SHACK- WORKSTATION
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The rhythmic thud of her hooves slows down on the dirt trail. They approach a small stone shack with a workstation placed by a small house. The air here is thick with the scent of sawdust and cut timber. Piles of neatly stacked wood surround the clearing alongside half-finished carvings and contraptions that mark Paul’s blend of carpentry and magic.
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Paul is a stone, built like a lumberjack—green and blue flannel, with slightly unruly brownish-grey hair and a full beard. His sharp brown eyes look up from his workbench, temperate forest behind him.
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Paul:
“Metro! You old rogue! Just the man I was hoping to see! To what do I owe this visit?”
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Metro (smiles, dismounts Sally)
“Hey Paul, I came early (boots land) because the harvest is here sooner than expected.”
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Metro hands Paul a leaf pack pouch, double the size of what he gave Sally.
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Paul’s eyes light up intensely, his smile spreads wide.
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Paul:
I can tell it’s potent.
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Paul tucks the pouch away with content. Metro approaches the neatly forged lumber; he walks past a nearly perfect frame, smelling the fresh hewn logs, its bark still fragrant.
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Metro:
(looks up at Paul’s collection of handmade axes)
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“Ana’s garden has some unwelcome visitors…
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(beat)
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I’m thinking of a sturdy fence..."
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Paul breaks off axes with different color wood handles, hanging from his wall rack.
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Metro:
“Hmmmm… How about an axe for two zips?”
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Paul strokes his grizzled chin, his eyes twinkling as he considers. He reaches high for a selection of axes.
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Paul:
“That’s a trade..."
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(Beat.)
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"But I'm your friend, not a highwayman. Take this piece of steel for one."
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Paul holds two balanced axes in both hands; the handles worn smoothly from years of use. Paul holds the pair, heads gleaming; He hands one to Metro gently.
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Paul:
“I’ve got fresh cut oak — very strong. Good for a solid fence. Take the cart next to the shed, and load whatever you need. Just bring it back with those fruits… and careful with that axe, it bites deep.”
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Metro claps Paul’s hand, the handshake turning into a hearty hug.
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Metro: (boasting slightly)
"Thanks Paul! I’m meeting Veronica at The Den. She’s keeping me in the loop with big time trades.”
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Paul chuckles at that, half-heartedly.
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Paul: (waving casually with one hand)
“Give Ana my regards. We will gather soon, won’t we?”
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“I’ll be here if you need me.”
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With Sally properly yoked, Metro expertly maneuvers three freshly cut oak logs onto the bed. The mare braces, her powerful muscles rippling and bulging under the weight, but she pulls steadily, hooves gaining traction on the forest floor.
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Metro gives Paul one last wave. The creak of the cart’s wheels starts to fade. His mind drifts to the bustling environment where Veronica’s familiar smile will be.
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The journey back to the village contrasts the rustic charm of Paul's clearing, to the scent of fresh cut oak mingled with the familiar sights passing by.
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Approaching the versatile DEN restaurant, the riotous laughter and the clapping of eloquent wooden cups spill out into the street.
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-THE DEN - VILLAGE SQUARE
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It's midday, but the place is already packed with a collection of modest farmers, energetic merchants, and the usual array of traders.
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Metro navigates Sally and the cart through a dirt lane. He spots Veronica inside her establishment — sitting at a corner table bathed in sunlight by a dusty window. Her long dark brown hair with golden highlighted streaks (usually meticulously braided) falls loosely past her shoulders, and her eyes are a deep green, seeming to hold hundreds of untold stories.
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She slips slowly from a wooden cup; a half-eaten plate of stew sits before her.
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A faint glow still emanates from Metro's backpack as he leans against the table opposite her, feeling heavier than usual in this confined space.
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Metro:(voice louder than intended)
‘Veronica!’
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(Beat)
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'What are you doing in a place like this?’
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Veronica raises her eyebrows, a slight smile playing on her lips. She sets down her drink, a soft thud. Her gaze sweeps over Metro’s awkward stance toward the illuminating light radiating from his backpack. Her eyes linger there before returning to him, a flicker of amusement dancing in their dark depths.
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Veronica:(Voice somehow cuts through the din.)
"Metro."
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Her speech stays soft, never rising in volume.
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‘And tell me, what are you doing clattering in my humble establishment with half the forest on your tail?’
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One might think you’re preparing for a siege, or perhaps a bon fire—’
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She gestures towards the door where Sally and the cart are parked-
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‘As for me?’ I simply keeping my head down and my ears open as always.
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Metro nods, disinterested.
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Metro: (Looks at Veronica, approaching the exit) “Mmhmm… c’mon, let’s go! I need to ask you some questions on the way to The Lodge.”
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Veronica rises with a fluid grace amongst the crowd, her expression playfully entertained by Metro’s suggestion to leave.
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Veronica: (purring with mischief in her tone)
“Always so eager...”
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She casually places a few coins onto the table, metal clicking softly, and follows Metro to the door. V walks lightly, tapping the faintly glowing backpack.
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Veronica:
"You got something in there for me?"
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Metro pauses, turns around with an innocent look, but doesn’t respond.
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— THE TAVERN DOOR — Opens
— VILLAGE SQUARE —
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Metro exhales, watching the bustling market square. The bright afternoon light washes over the street. The pair make their way toward Sally and the cart loaded with oak logs. Metro mounts, and Veronica climbs up behind him. They set off; her arms settle around his waist for balance. Metro blushes tensely at the closeness but says nothing. Sally trots steadily along the crowd of villagers carrying them deeper into the busy streets.
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The village unfolds around them—sound and color. Food market stalls where old growers barter, flowers and herbs hang above them. Stern money lenders are hunched over by the edges of their offices, with scales and coin stacks; gamblers inside dim doorways and traders of every sort. Exchanging coins and tense words.
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Eventually the streets grow wider. As they approach a timber framed lodge bearing the crest of Veronica’s father.
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-THE KINGS LODGES ENTRANCE-
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Metro brings Sally to a halt near the entrance.
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METRO:(dismounts with V, backpack on)
“Alright, that’ll be that sack of silver you gave your word on…”
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Veronica:(hand on hip, looks displeased)
“You’re not coming up to hang out?”
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METRO:(shakes his head)
“I told Ana I would help her build a fence today.”
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“Have you heard anything suspicious going on outside the walls? Ana's garden is trampled.”
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Veronica :(peering into Metro)
“Villagers like ours have hungry bottomless pits for stomachs. It could be pest, or maybe a wild magical accident.”
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She glances at Metro once more.
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“I haven’t heard anything though.”
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Metro walks towards the cart where the oak logs rest. His presence remains steady and calm. He reaches for his woven pack and pulls out a small pouch from a side pocket, hands it to Veronica. She pockets it unenthusiastically.
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Some time passes, busily wagons, and carriages stroll by the dusty community. Metro and Veronica post up leaning against the cart of stacked logs waiting for her contact to arrive. The backpack rests beside them on the ground next to the cart's wheel.
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--Just then, the large doors of the lodge swing open.
A tall figure. Tan skin, an intricate red, purple and gold design on his button up robe flaps in the wind. He steps from the doorway down into the stairway leading to Metro.
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It's Veronica’s Father.
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His eyes immediately settle on Metro and his daughter. His stern sight pierces through Metro first before softening.
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Theron:”(Careful commander’s voice)
"Veronica.. '
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(pauses)
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'Are you quite alright?
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I heard...'
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(beat)
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'...Rumors. “
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(another pause)
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'You know how quickly they spread in this cesspool of whispers."
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He glances pointedly at the surrounding street, a faint curl of disdain tugging at his lip. Then his eyes snap to Metro in a fierce way.
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Theron:
“I understand you possess certain botanical talents and have a unique gift for growing magic leaf.”
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He leans in slightly lowering his voice though it still carries authority.
“Tell me, what would it take to share the secrets of your green thumb? Name your price.”
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'Property.
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Gold."
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He gestures towards Veronica with a dramatic flourish, a twinkle of mischief in his eye, half testing, mostly power.
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"After all," (straightens gaze over busy markets) "men with influence inside the Providence need a steady supply of novelties."
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Metro steps back, subconsciously alarmed.
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Metro:(breath catching)
"Sir... I just came for the silver that was agreed upon."
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Metro speaks quickly, rattled by shifting tones. Theron looks away, distracted.
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Metro:
"I have a group, my team - I'm always looking for extra work - and Veronica has always been there for me, a great help. I love her."
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Metro glances at Veronica, then back at Theron, looking even paler.
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Metro:(nods slightly)
"I just have to run the idea by my folk first! We can get as much as you need."
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"I'm willing to sit down about the work!
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(pauses)
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Thank you for the opportunity!"
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Theron studies Metro's flustered retreat, a small smile spreading across his face. A soft, theatrical chuckle escapes him at the declaration of affection towards his daughter.
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His eyes flick to Veronica, who rolls hers; arms crossed.
Theron:(arms now crossed now)
"Do you have feelings for my daughter?"
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He lets the words hang.
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"I'm sure you already know that genuine affection can be nothing more than mere words."
(Theron stares into Metro’s soul.)
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“It usually requires a considerable investment, just like anything else worth having, fighting for, or protecting.”
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Metro’s face goes red, looking away, heart beating.
Theron looks stone cold now, analyzing the frenzy of emotions Metro has on display. He steps closer, papers tucked behind his back.
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“Bring your terms. My schedule. You will meet me at the appointed time.’
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(pauses)
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‘I prefer to deal directly, however…
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(beat.)
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I’ll humor your request if the tree glows like it should.”
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His gaze sharpens, cold, and calculating. Metro inches into his now lightened backpack, offering nothing but empty air where the Bloom of magic should have been.
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Theron’s brow arches, a silent cutting question in expression. Veronica stifles a cough in the background; her eyes meet Metro for a split second—impatiently pained with annoyance—before she looks away.
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Theron:(voice dripping w/ dry amusement)
“It seems your ‘folk’ have already made their first contribution to our… arrangement.”
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(thin smile)
“Though perhaps not in the manner you intended.”
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Veronica shifts slightly. Theron looks away, brushing the moment aside with a flick of his hand.
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“Your enthusiasm is noted.”
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He turns halfway towards The Lodge then pauses— Distant market chatter seems to quiet down. —For the briefest moment—a blink—a flicker— Theron's eyes— turn pitch black—
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Only Sally sees it.
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Her ears snap back, muscles tightening and nostrils flaring.
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Theron:(voice low, commanding)
“See that you are prepared, and that you present the quarter bloom before our next meeting.”
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With that, he pivots fully and strides toward the lodge's entrance, cloak trailing behind him. The crowd parts for him.
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Metro is left standing in the middle of the street, staring in the distance. A heavy weight is now suddenly felt on his shoulders.
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He mounts Sally angrily.
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Metro:(strong,direct)
“What’s this mean!?”
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Veronica lets out a short sigh, frustrated. She turns to Metro, her face a mix of weary resignation and something close to warning.
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“It means my father always gets what he wants, and right now, he wants a quarter blossom of Magic Leaf.
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'He doesn’t care that you don’t have it now...but he’ll want it when you meet again."
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She pauses, tightening.
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“My Dad sees everything as a business transaction...
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'Everything. '
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'He doesn’t forgive and he never forgets."
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Her eyes glance at The Lodge door.
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Veronica:(turns to Metro, no eye contact)
“You sure you don’t want to come up?”
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Metro:(sneers)
“What about the Leaf? It was for your father.”
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Veronica’s eyes widen slightly, then narrow as realization dawns.
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“Metro… you didn’t give me anything besides the sample. Maybe you’d forgotten it.”
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She looks again toward the lodge door where her father has disappeared.
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“That’s why he made the remark about your folk already making the trade. He thought that someone else took it from you, or that you were trying to play him”
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Her expression grows serious now.
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Veronica:(eye contact).
“Are you certain you had it?”
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Metro’s mind reels at her words; his jaw clenches. The leaf had definitely been in his pack. The conversation with Theron swirls together in confusing strands.
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Veronica’s bewildered face and the tightening sense of unease.
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Without another word, Metro swings his head forward and steps back, recoils behind him as he turns away from the lodge and guides Sally back toward the village.
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The vibrant market now feels distant.
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