Unia: Echo of Harmony

The warm embrace of the summer evening enveloped the room, a golden hue painting the walls as the sun performed its slow dance toward the horizon. In a modest room, there sat Raquel, a woman whose thirty years were marked by the same cycles of sun and moon that colored the very fields of Valoria del Sol, the kingdom she calls home, yet the mountains and cities of which she has never seen. Her raven hair, a stark contrast to the silver locks she now tended to, cascaded down her shoulders — untouched by time, unlike the village that had cradled her all her life.

Far from the grandeur of cities, her world was this small hamlet, a tapestry of daily toils and simple joys.

Raquel sat, her fingers weaving through her daughter's silver locks with a comb that seemed to be an extension of her nurturing will. Each stroke through the hair was a silent declaration of maternal love, the silken strands catching the sunlight that spilled through the window, casting prismatic reflections across the room. The delicate fragrance of jasmine from the vase on the windowsill mingled with the scent of the warm air.

The vestiges of afternoon slumber still clung to the child as the soft hum of a distant celebration trickled through the air. It seemed the whole world was taking a slow breath on this warm summer day. "Mamá, can you tell me again about the world before the Celestials made peace? Were there really wars everywhere?" the young soul inquired, her voice laced with curiosity, albeit dulled by the remnants of sleep as they both awakened from their afternoon repose.

As the languid sun caressed her daughter back to the waking world, Raquel’s voice, adorned with youthful vibrance, began to weave a story: "Rigel, honey, believe it or not, there was a time when our lands were full of turmoil, just like the festival crowds will be tonight."

The spark of curiosity began to chase away the remnants of sleep from Rigel's eyes, as she was drawn to her mother’s animated recounting. "Imagine, mi amor, the whole world was upside-down—un verdadero desastre! The Barbarians took whatever they wanted, loud as dancers in a tavern brawl. And the Sigrians, protective like Señora Alba with her roses."

A soft giggle escaped Raquel; her story infused with a levity that made even ancient wars seem a mere backdrop for a fanciful fable. "The Ardag? They roamed wild, causing trouble everywhere, like geese scattering through the market. And those Druids, think of old Luis when he can't find his tools—just as grumpy, guarding their forests!"

The gentle lilt of Raquel’s voice transformed the history into a fable, light and enchanting. "And don't forget about the Marshfolk and the Sandkin, mysteries like the stories told around the fire at the festival. Always so quiet, a riddle we couldn’t solve." As the relentless heat of the afternoon subtly began to wane, Raquel's hands twirled through the air, her tale approaching its crescendo. "But just when it seemed our world, Unia, would always be torn by strife, los Celestials came from the sky. Like master conductors, they turned our chaotic mess into a beautiful melody."

Raquel's unpracticed gesture clumsily mimicked a maestro, commanding the elements of an orchestra as she fancied a true conductor might. "They handpicked the Druids with the purest hearts—just like selecting the sweetest oranges from the market. These prophets, like the heroes from our old stories, persuaded everyone to put down their swords and hold hands in peace."

Rigel, now fully alert and her imagination ablaze with visions of Celestials and ancient heroes, nodded enthusiastically. Raquel, with the finesse of a seasoned storyteller, finished, "And that, Sunshine, is how war cries turned into the lullabies we sleep to now."

The young girl's eyes, alight with the flicker of doubt, turned towards the window where the world was steeped in the golden hues of the setting sun. Her mother's tales of a turbulent past seemed a distant storm to the peaceful shore she knew.

"But, Mamá, were the Druids really as harsh as the stories say?" Rigel's words were threaded with the purity of her heart, her small face scrunched in contemplation. "Tabitha’s always been kind to us. She wasn’t mean, was she?" The innocence of the child’s query raised the corners of Raquel's lips. It was a silent note of gratitude to Diurnix and the other Celestials, whose whispers had turned the tide of time to gentler waters, allowing her child the luxury of such innocent musings. "Ah, mi pequeña estrella, the Druids aren't our villains, especially not Tabitha." she assured, her voice a soft caress in the dimming light. " Back then, life wasn’t just black and white," Raquel continued, her words painting the shades of grey of the past. "Everybody looked out for themselves, deaf to others' needs."

In the subdued gleam of the looking glass, Raquel observed the crease of worry that etched itself across Rigel's brow. The young girl's expression, laden with the weight of newfound wisdom, stirred a tender smile on Raquel's lips. "Caring for each other, that's what Unia is all about. It’s a dance we all must join, or the old songs will be forgotten," she explained, her voice soft but imbued with a poignant intensity. She added a meaningful glance, her eyes locking with her daughter's in a silent communion. Noticing Rigel's nod of agreement, Raquel smiled and continued her tender ministrations with renewed satisfaction.

As the moment stretched on, Raquel, still holding the wooden comb, paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And Rigel, there’s something else, muy importante," she declared with playful gravity. Rigel’s gaze, expectant and wide, fixed on her mother.

"If you show up with tangled hair, don’t always expect I’ll be here to fix it. ¿Comprendes?" Raquel's mock sternness was a thin veil over the warmth that bubbled from within.

"Okay," Rigel replied, drawing out the word thoughtfully before she began to sing a cherished children's melody: "When the world cries, in pain and fear, Celestials listen, drawing near; Their mighty hands dry every tear, in their embrace, we find our cheer." Her voice filled every corner of their modest home, echoing softly against the walls.

"She just can’t stand the silence, eh?" Raquel mused silently, her heart aflutter with joy, and her gaze swept the room, lingering upon the modest altar crafted by her own hands and those of young Rigel. Candlelight flickered there, its soft illumination casting a gentle radiance upon the gathered mementos of those whose spirits had long since departed mortal coil. Marigolds in their fiery splendor wreathed the altar, strewn petals like drops of sun caught in eternal repose, whilst the air was threaded with the pungent aroma of incense.

Her countenance, often stoic, melted into a visage of tender recollection as her gaze caressed the relics of yore. Each token, a missive from the bygone days, spoke to her soul, echoing with a mixture of veneration and the keen sting of memory. This simple altar was more than the observance of ancient custom; it stood as a bastion against the relentless tide of time, safeguarding memories about those who once walked by her side, now hidden behind the shroud of eternity.

Murmuring silent thanks to those who had passed, Raquel returned her attention to her singing daughter and resumed her gentle grooming. In their shared solitude, only the two of them existed, united in an embrace that encapsulated all her hopes. Each stroke through Rigel’s hair was tender, reminiscent of a breeze rustling through autumn leaves. Yet, as Raquel’s fingers unintentionally traced the unique contour of Rigel’s ears, the girl flinched, a fleeting shadow crossing her bright eyes. Raquel caught the subtle change in the mirror's reflection, her heart twinging as she observed the dimming of her daughter’s vibrant spirit.

Rigel’s features were elongated, the high cheekbones framing her large, expressive brown eyes, which seemed all the more vast beneath thick lashes. These eyes were perhaps the sole inheritance from her mother, Raquel, whose own appearance bore the marks of common beauty. The children, and at times even the adults, often remarked upon Rigel's peculiar looks, not with malice, but with a curiosity that bordered on intrusion. Yet, it was not her striking face that drew whispers but the peculiar shape of her ears, marred slightly from an injury at birth.

Raquel had spent countless hours nurturing Rigel’s self-esteem, trying to help her see her own beauty, yet the shadows of self-doubt stubbornly remained. Often, she would withdraw into herself, her gaze lowering as old resentments, nurtured over the years, darkened her expression. Sensing her daughter's inner turmoil, Raquel acted to shift the atmosphere. She reached out, touching Rigel’s cheek gently, drawing her into a comforting embrace. “What’s troubling you, mi amor?” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. Rigel’s response was barely audible, “It’s nothing, mamá.” But Raquel could sense the weight behind those words.

All Raquel's attempts to find words that might lift the gloom hung in the air unclaimed; her jests fell flat. On the brink of her resolve, a bird fluttered through the window, a scroll bound to its leg offering unexpected salvation. Raquel untied the message, her eyes scanning the words. A smile broke across her face, a plan forming in her mind as she revealed excitedly, "Guess what, Rigel? Tabitha’s coming to visit us!"

Rigel’s feet found the rhythm of excitement, bouncing off the chair in a flutter of joy. "¡Yay!" she cheered, her jubilation painting the room in vibrant strokes.

"And she’s bringing Diurnix along too!" Raquel exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and delight.

“De veras? Really?" Rigel gasped.

"Sí, mi estrella," Raquel affirmed with a soft smile, her finger pressed to her lips, sharing the secret as if it were a sacred vow between their hearts. Rigel gave a nod, an agreement spoken without words.

"Would you like to go say hello to Tabitha?" Raquel’s voice was as inviting as the open door to the fiesta.

"¡Claro que sí!" Rigel’s response was immediate.

"Then, let’s go!" Raquel tossed aside the comb and let the robe of leisure fall away, revealing the grace beneath.

Rigel, her spirit now as untamed as the mane she wore, dashed through the door, the melody of her song trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind: “From north to south, from east to west, Their watchful eyes allow no rest; For every trial, every test, They offer solace and suggest.“

In that fleeting moment of unguarded solitude, the sun's rays tenderly kissed the young woman’s skin, and Raquel noticed the door left carelessly ajar. "You could at least close the door," she whispered under her breath. With a swift motion, she reached for the nearest dress, its soft fabric molding to her subtle curves, shielding her from the intrusive gazes of passersby.

As she stepped into the open air, the world outside greeted her with a warm wind, carrying the scent of the upcoming festivity and promise of joy. Rich with the anticipation of the night's celebrations, it filled her lungs, urging her forward in pursuit of her daughter.

Raquel's gaze darted ahead, seeking the silhouette of her spirited daughter. Rigel, a small figure of joy in the distance, skipped with a lively step. Her voice floating up, carrying a song that spoke of the Celestials' grace.

As Raquel quickened her pace, eager to close the distance between her and the fading echoes of Rigel's laughter, the path unfurled before her, lined with wooden homes draped in strings of marigolds and glowing lanterns. The air was alive with the clang of pots and the joyful laughter of children darting through stalls. Each nook of the settlement seemed to transform into a vibrant stage, a living tableau celebrating the memories of those who had once trod these lands.

The narrow, winding paths were lined with the overgrown embrace of nature reclaiming its space and slowing Raquel down. Meanwhile, Rigel threaded her way with the agile ease of a feline, her small boots finding their purchase among the tangled roots and lush green that overreached the path's confines. Her movements were quick and assured, as if the very earth beneath her was an old friend whispering the way forward.

"Rigel, slow down a bit!" Raquel’s voice, tinged with the mirth of a mother's enduring patience, wove through the verdant tapestry of the path, seeking to temper her daughter's brisk pace.

Suddenly, Raquel's attention was drawn to a stain marring the hem of her dress—a splotch of earth unwelcome against the fabric. With an instinct as old as time, she plucked a leaf heavy with dew from an overhanging branch to dab away the offense. Yet, in her attentiveness to the dress, Raquel's balance was betrayed by a sudden, forceful clash, and with grace abandoned, she succumbed to the pull of gravity, her body meeting the earth below.

"¡Caramba, Raquela! What’s this mess?” exclaimed the man, his voice rough with sudden alarm. "I swear my eyes played tricks on me... you're not hurt, are you? May the heavens be kind." His words stumbled into silence as he extended a hand roughened by seasons of labor. Yet, as his gaze unwittingly caught the glimpse of her form revealed through the slipped collar of her dress, a momentary lust flickered in his eyes, a testament to the baser instincts of man.

Perceiving the unwanted attention, she chose to maintain her dignity in silence and regained her stance, her movement graceful despite the fall and soil of the earth clinging to her dress. "It's no big deal," Raquel replied, her voice carried with the composure of nobility.

"Why are you out here, away from the plaza at this time? Everyone’s getting ready for the festival. Noche de las Almas Pasadas! Did you forget?" He exclaimed, his brow furrowed in confusion. His question hung in the air, unexpected and pointed, catching her off guard like an unforeseen arrow.

Her gaze wandered and found itself resting upon a barrel, vast as a noble's appetite, nestled in the bed of his cart. It obstructed the path like a stone giant asleep in the road. "What’s in that big barrel?" Raquel inquired, dismissing the man's question with a flick of her interest. Her words were laced with a lively curiosity as she surveyed the imposing barrel.

The man's chest swelled with pride, and he turned to embrace the barrel as if greeting an old comrade-in-arms. "This barrel? It's full of ale; enough to keep the whole village singing!" he boasted, his hand landing upon the barrel with a thud of finality. "And you, Raquela, will get the first taste!" he declared, his pride as puffed as a mating grouse. Yet when his gaze sought her once more, he was greeted by the empty path, her presence replaced by the rustling whispers of his neighbor's tomato vines. From behind came her voice, light and teasing, "Make sure to save some for me, vale?" Acknowledging her with a nod as solemn as an oath, he watched as she turned and disappeared along the path, the mud a badge of her misadventure. "Don't wander off too far now!" he called after her retreating form, his voice chasing her down the winding path.

"Cabron! Idiot!" Her thoughts began to seethe with resentment, her stride now quickening not from the urgency to catch Rigel but from a woman's scorn at her soiled dress and the indignity of a public fall. Raquel's steps hastened, her mind spilling a stream of curses for the clumsy oaf who had toppled her to the ground earlier, her mood mirroring the tempestuous waters of the Scattered Coast.

The fences of the settlement, built around modest wooden abodes thatched with the straw of the summer harvest, rushed past as she hurried her retreat from the village.

As the shadow of the last house receded, the untamed thicket before Raquel surged like a verdant ocean. This was the small forest, a living testament to the nurturing hands of Raquel and Tabitha. Each carefully planted tree contributed to a lush canopy that mottled the earth with patterns of light and shadow. The air, vibrant with the chorus of birds and fragrant with pine and fresh earth, bespoke a secluded oasis born of their collective labor.

Within her breast, the irritation that had pricked at Raquel's spirit dissolved, replaced by the thought of Tabitha's return. The prospect of her mentor's presence was like the promise of a feast after a hard winter, warming her from the inside out.

Tabitha, that wandering soul chosen by the Celestials, bore a gift more precious than the jewels of the Diamond Ridge: the blessing to make barren earth bloom. A Prophet with the power to sow health and prosperity to kingdoms with but a touch.

Yet, for Raquel, her joy in Tabitha's return was not rooted in the miracles she wrought but in the simple love for a friend. To her, Tabitha was more than a prophet; she was a weaver of tales who transformed the everyday into the enchanting and a guardian who had once eased the burdens of a young woman facing motherhood alone.

As Raquel matured from a young girl into a woman, Tabitha and her husband, Baruch, became steadfast presences in her life, as constant as the Crimson constellation in the night sky. Yet, duty often summoned Tabitha away, and this time, her face had been absent from their midst for two long years. Raquel's heart had been heavy with worry until the very moment the bird brought word of Tabitha's return, and with it, a tide of relief.

Rigel, already at the edge of the thicket, darted ahead with youthful audacity, leaving Raquel trailing behind. The thought of her daughter being the first to embrace Tabitha sparked a flicker of rivalry within her. Despite her labored breathing, Raquel hastened her pace and, quickly closing the distance to the thicket, plunged into the high, dense grass, determined to keep pace with her daughter.

"Tabitha!" Rigel's voice, as sharp and commanding as a hunting hawk's cry, cut through the grove's stillness, startling a cacophony of birds into the sky in a wild flurry of feathers.

Raquel pressed on, her own anticipation a drumbeat that quickened her step. At last, she broke free from the thicket's grasp into a meadow, a secret glen bathed in dazzling light.

Amidst a verdant embrace, Raquel's gaze fell upon Rigel, poised beside a slender tree stretching two meters toward the heavens. Towering beside them stood Tabitha, her majestic horns curving upward like the branches of the forest's eldest tree.