Chapter 7 – Luion
"Hey, Arifaom, who is the guest in town?"
The voice came from a tall man with a dark beard and neatly combed hair streaked slightly with white. His body looked strong and well-kept, and his tone carried the confidence of someone used to respect. Even the way he stood—firm, unmoving—made people subconsciously give him space.
This was the very uncle Luion had tried to avoid.
"Oh, Ivar. What's going on these days?" Arifaom replied casually, though his posture straightened just a little.
"I heard you've become very close with one of the town's Sappions. Trying to rival me in the community, are you?"
A Sappion was something like a mayor—chosen mostly from respected families based on reputation, experience, and service to the town.
Ivar laughed lightly, the sound controlled, almost deliberate.
"That's not it, Arifaom. You know how proud I am of our community. I only went to him because I needed help with the irrigation plant on my farm. He's from our community too. Besides, you built your own position with your effort. I'd never compete with that."
Arifaom's chest swelled proudly, his chin lifting a fraction higher.
"Well… you'd better not."
Then Ivar came back with his original question, as though he knew Arifaom well enough to circle back without resistance.
"But I asked you something. Who is the wain in the saein?"
Saein was a white grain similar to rice but used to make soft, fluffy naan. Wain was another grain used for the same purpose—but even a single grain of wain mixed into saein ruined the batter, making it watery and impossible to shape. And both were traditional foods in the Inamon community, which had now spread locally in Vin'ash.
"Ah, him?" Arifaom gestured toward Laryoal, his fingers moving lazily as if the answer carried no real weight.
"He's a guest. Master welcomed him. His name is Laryoal… and he's from another Swarg."
Ivar's eyes widened, the calm mask slipping for a brief moment.
"What? Really?"
He stepped forward and extended his hand, his curiosity now fully awake.
"Hello, sir. My name is Ivar."
He spoke in Vaerman.
Laryoal shook his hand slowly, his grip steady, his gaze unreadable.
"So you can speak Vaerman. But the language you were speaking before… I've never heard it."
His sharp eyes studied them carefully, not missing even the smallest reaction.
"Oh, that," Ivar replied calmly, regaining his composed tone.
"Our ancestors weren't originally from Vin'ash. They migrated here about ten generations ago. We still maintain our own community."
Arifaom puffed his chest again, clearly enjoying the moment.
"And I raised our community's name high by becoming the highest-ranked officer in the Vin'ash government among our people."
Ivar smiled politely, though his eyes showed he had heard this many times before.
"Yes, within our community we speak our own language—Inanom. But for someone from another Swarg to speak Vaerman so fluently… that's unusual."
"I learned it on the road," Laryoal replied simply, his tone flat, offering nothing more.
"But an isolated town like this having another separate community… that's unusual too."
Ivar chuckled, a softer sound this time.
"Well, that's a long story connected to the leadership of our great lord Seva,who was the leader of our community at that time we migrated here ,now a god"
He looked at the sky briefly, as if recalling something distant.
"Anyway, Arifaom, I'm running late. I need to give the map of my farm for the canal installation."
He bowed slightly toward Laryoal.
"Good day to you too, sir."
Then he walked away down the road, his steps steady and unhurried, disappearing into the town's rhythm.
__
Luion finally exhaled.
He had been holding his breath without realizing it. Thoughts had been running through his mind the entire time, heavy and restless.
He had always been an introverted boy. But the bitterness he felt toward his uncle came from deeper wounds. As a child, he had watched his uncle often shout at his mother whenever Luion's father was away. Sometimes it even turned into beatings, usually over petty complaints. His uncle had no children of his own, and that frustration seemed to spill onto others like poison.
So he always avoided any cross with them, though deep inside he felt it was cowardice. Still… it was not worth more than the peace of being alone.
He stepped forward and began walking quickly—almost like a run without running—trying not to become the center of attention on the black rocky road.
His footsteps were light, careful.
He passed both men without drawing attention and slipped quietly into a smaller crossing street, disappearing into the lonely paths he preferred.
Laryoal noticed him again.
But his thoughts were more focused on the new community he had just learned about in this isolated town.
Still, his instincts never missed details.
"Well," he said slowly, watching Luion disappear into the narrow path.
He turned towards Arifaom and asked.
"He seemed friendly to a stranger."
Arifaom looked back in the direction Ivar had gone, then shrugged slightly before giving his reason.
"What do you mean? Our community is proud of—"
"Alright," Laryoal interrupted calmly, his tone firm but not rude.
"I think we should move. I need a bath… and I'd like to taste some of your food."
Before Arifaom could respond, Laryoal started walking.
Arifaom blinked once, then hurried after him, continuing his endless chatter as if nothing had been cut short.
___
In Leo'rashy
"Lord Leo is coming out."
The announcement came which was like informing them giving command,from a man dressed in long blue robes. His white hair rested neatly over his shoulders. He was standing in front of a two-story house which was no different from its surroundings, yet its position at the end of the row gave it a quiet sense of importance.
The moment people saw him, every gossip and cry came to a halt.As they knew what was coming.
The air itself seemed to still.
The room fell silent.
People stepped aside to clear a path.
Then Leo entered.
His long white hair flowed down his back. His body was slim and graceful, and his half-closed eyes carried a calm that seemed almost unnatural—like someone untouched by chaos.
Beads moved slowly through the fingers of his left hand as he whispered silent chants, each movement measured, steady.
He stepped inside the mourning house.
"Varna," he said softly.
"There is no need to cry so deeply. You are the wife of a warrior. You knew this day might come when you chose him."
His voice was gentle and melodic, yet it carried a weight that silenced even the loudest sobs nearby.
"Even Lord Leo'roanshy mourns today… for we have lost one of our five Moon Priests."
But Varna could barely breathe through her sobbing. Her body trembled as if each breath was a battle.
"Master… we didn't even receive his urn… we couldn't send him into the Fall."
"Don't worry it's already announced and I told Silvia too, Bossele's burned piece of cloth is enough. Everything that is touched by
someone always leaves a mark."
Her voice broke completely.
"And I heard… I heard Laryoal is missing too. I… I can't bear it without him."
Leo shook his head gently, his expression unchanged.
"No. That rumor is false."
"Laryoal is on the Lord's mission. He has taken the place of his father."
"You know he never liked crowds."
He slowly knelt and embraced the weeping mother, his movements calm, deliberate.
"But the Lord walks with him."
"And with his name… you need not worry."
"My dear… we are one."
The moment made the room even heavier with sorrow.
Tears spread through the crowd like water through sand.
In the Kitchen
"What are you doing?"
The blue-eyed boy with a thin layer of yellow cloth used a bandage to his hand from earlier looked curiously toward the stove, leaning slightly to peek at the simmering pot.
"Oh—Vanan," Silvia greeted him warmly while stirring hot water, the steam rising gently around her face.
"Is that lemon water for the Lord?" he asked.
"Yes."
She turned slightly, wiping her hand on a cloth.
"Aira, give me the ginger powder from the shelf on your right."
"Yes, sister… is this one?"
Aira spoke softly. She was Silvia's cousin, a gentle girl with hesitant movements. Her fingers lingered on the clay pots as if unsure which to trust.
But the kitchen was difficult for her. Every container was made of clay, and nothing could be seen inside without opening it. She rarely came here before.
"No, a little more to the right."
Silvia squeezed lemon juice into the warm water, the citrus scent filling the small space.
"Ah… this one?"
Aira held up another pot, her voice uncertain.
"Yes, that's it."
Soon the drink was ready.
"Master… your lemon water."
Silvia bowed and handed him the clay cup with both hands.
"Thank you, dear Silvia."
Leo drank the entire cup smoothly without spilling even a drop, his movements precise, almost ritualistic.
"As good as ever," he said with a faint smile, returning the cup.
Leo repeated once again to Varna, but this time looking at Silvia.
"Do not worry. Laryoal walks under the Lord's protection."
"After all… we all are one."
End of Chapter 7
To be continued ~