Chapter Text
Aedes Elysiae seemed to exist out of time. From day to day, it remained the same. The old people who lived here all their lives claimed that even decades could not change its appearance in any way. It wasn't old, its buildings weren't cracked or abandoned. On the contrary, it was always blooming and always boasted of its rich harvest and the elegance of bright orange trees, which foliage never turned into dried branches. White houses with unremarkable wooden roofs stood among narrow streets paved with stone that was always gently warmed by the sun. Each Aedes Elysiae path wound like ribbons between the buildings. The air here always smelled of the sea, roasted chestnuts, and wheat. Especially in the morning, when the endless fertile fields were lit by the warm rays of dawn. The Lucid Hour.
Two small figures were busy in the backyard of one of the tiny houses. They were always trying to keep themselves occupied with something new and interesting, and this time they were assigned a very important task — to make orange jam for the evening. Their parents were always out in the fields, and it's the season for picking. In the Month of Everday, they disappeared every morning to pick ripe, bright red cherries. Now they were returning home with baskets full of pears, grapes, and figs. Thanks to this, each of their meals was saturated with a variety of aromas and tastes, no one here could ever get tired of the monotony. And everyone liked to put something of their own into the family table.
Khaslana couldn't cook. Yet he volunteered with childish delight to help his older sister, Cyrene, who was always happy to accept his help. Even if instead of cooking, he distracted her with endless curious stories that only a child's imagination was capable of. Although Cyrene also liked to put in one's two cents into these fantasies. These fictional stories always managed to capture her attention. Sometimes to such an extent that both stopped cooking.
Everyone could capture the moment when Khaslana started dreaming. He was too sincere and too simple of a child, with every thought written on his forehead. And each of these thoughts did not even think to hide under the white, silken strands of the boy's hair, which began to cover his eyes too often now. Someone needed a haircut.
Khaslana liked to listen to the old radio that their parents had put in their room because they felt sorry to throw it off completely. Various programs, music mixed with static, weather forecasts in Okhema... from which he learned about snowy winters and embarrassingly hot summers. He liked to wander around, and there wasn't a single corner of Aedes Elysiae that his prying nose couldn't get into. He memorized every place where he could come up with a new story by the bizarre shapes of trees and the number of stones on the paths leading to them. It could be said that he used everything that could only fill their village and home for the vividly lived stories in his head.
Even now, Khaslana stood with the orange peel in his hands, his head turned toward the woven baskets. He looked as if he was going to take another handful of oranges - all at once, so that he wouldn't have to go up and down the stairs, which were propped up against the white brick wall, over and over again. But before he could do so, his thoughts were diverted, as usual, by a motley series of images.
And he froze there silently, just like the slow passing of time in the village.
“What are you dreaming about this time?” Cyrene asked with interest as she fastened an empty orange peel to a string. “Could it be the Knights of Kremnos?”
“There are no knights in Kremnos.” Khaslana proudly shared his knowledge, listlessly rubbing the remaining peel.
The girl giggled, noting that the lack of knights in warrior land had never stopped her brother from thinking of himself as one. And how strange it was, she thought to herself, to dream of breakfast while making preparations for the evening's dessert. But she could understand him. No one likes to wake up early here. It was a pleasure to soak in the soft sheets for as long as possible. Sweet bread, ham, cucumbers, olives, tomatoes, freshly squeezed juice... so much was waiting on the morning table. For Aedes Elysiaens breakfast was considered the sweetest and most long-awaited part of the day. They didn't have to hurry anywhere: the harvest wouldn't be able to escape, and the children who needed to run to school would run away without the adults' requests. Because the teachers Pythias and Tribios were able to cultivate a sense of discipline even in the most disobedient children. Those who had to go to work in the city, even if there were not many of such people here, worked from ten to two, because it was more familiar to them.
Life here flowed along with the silent time, and no one tried to speed it up.
Cyrene, however, dreamed as much as her brother. It was just less noticeable, although according to her closest friend Livia, she often had to bring her back to reality. Her fantasies did not involve deeds of valor and thoughts of honor and duty, nor did they involve her running out into the fields in the middle of the day with a wooden sword and singing songs written by the old heroes of Amphoreus, like her brother. He was particularly fond of the latter, constantly embarrassed by his own attempts to squeeze the bass out of boyish voice. Instead, her fantasies were making her study and be curious, pursuing the image of a grown-up Cyrene who could contain all the places and stories of the world.
And that`s why she especially loved her morning routine, reading on their modest porch after breakfast. She didn't have many books. She read some of them several times, but that was only because she really liked them. She liked to read them in all sorts of ways: basking in the morning wind, sitting on the edge of Khas`s bed, reading each line with the expression of a real actor. She loved to read the textbooks that Lady Tribios gave out for free, whether they were intended for teaching, or given to the girl herself as an inquisitive and curious student. She even liked to read the scrolls that her mentor Pythias gave to her students for a short time. Even if they weren't all about the most interesting subjects for Cyrene - history, politics, and rhetorics - she still enjoyed studying them. Because they were given to the village by a student from the Grove of Muses itself, which means that they were written by some real science.
She especially liked to read the free sunday newspapers that came to them. Including the so-called “alternative newspapers". With their vivid pictures and emotionally narrated world events. Cyrene didn't always understand their content, especially the political debate columns. But through them she was learning about the culture of various places.
And she liked to cut colorful collages out of pictures from there.
Cyrene also liked to capture everything she liked. Everything that inspired her. She liked to draw landscapes of the village, her favorite mill, beautiful sights of unknown places, portraits of her parents and the sparkling blue Khaslana`s eyes in her albums. She even has a separate notebook with sketches of cute chimeras and friendly insects. She really wanted to convey the world around her in all possible ways, and if she only had a musical instrument, she would write music as well. It seemed very noble and sincere to her. After all, as long as she lives, she absorbs so many beautiful things that she would like to give shape to, that sometimes she couldn't even paint it. Be it with wax crayons, there were far more of these than real paints in the village, or the old paint palette in her room.
And while her younger brother dreamed of fantasy worlds, the ones described in the books she read several times, she dreams of traveling around the world. Not to the same extent as Khaslana, of course, who often hopes to meet a dragon in one of the caves of the village on the strength of pure enthusiasm. But it was precisely because of this that they still had something in common. Each of them tried to believe that the real miracle was at arm's length.
Their village, for example, is a real miracle, preserved forever by a silent statue of the titan of time, looking at what is happening in the village with its winds and delicious fruits.
“Cyrene, why do you think they don't have a face?”
“Because Oronyx takes care of us differently! They don't need a face to watch us…”
“I know! But still…” Khaslana muttered impatiently, still going back to work on the peel. “Do you think they`re watching us through the sun, or through the moon? During mornings, or nights? And what form does time take? Will time flow differently for chimeras?”
“Ohh, I need some...time,” Cyrene giggled, “to think about it and give you a decent answer!”
“Don't you ever think it's impossible to see time here?” The boy continued to ask difficult questions. “It seems to me that our parents have not changed at all since our childhood, and that neither you nor I seem to grow up at all... you are still the same little one.”
“And this is what I just noticed,” Cyrene snorted with a slight grudge, “you yourself seem to be fourteen, but it seems that you are still the same silly little boy who constantly cries and…”
“That's not true!”
“Hee-hee,” the girl laughed innocently, “let's get back to work, my dear Khaslana…”
The boy turned away with a slight resentment, jumped down from the ladder and bent over the basket of sweet fruits. He never liked it when adults didn't answer a hundred of his questions, and Cyrene knew it. Normally, she would answer every one of them, but here she felt only a confused tension inside. Their lands were never tinged with snow, never touched by yellowish fallen leaves like in her collages. Perhaps the “shape of time " was hidden in these unfamiliar pictures in her newspapers.
Cyrene looked at the stone statue's missing face in confusion. It was so grandiose, so calm and eternal, with its arms folded across its chest, holding a long, long sheet of text written in a language she didn't recognize. Perhaps They were watching them both through the sun and the moon at the same time; no one could know the answer to that question. No one could even ask, as the goddess wouldn't be able to answer.
“Here, look.” Cyrene says calmly with a distracted smile, drawing the offended brother's attention. “Some of them are already starting to dry under the sun! You see, the peel is still dripping with sweet orange juice in your hands, but as soon as you hang it up here, it will become bitter as the time flies by…”
“There`s still something that time does change…” The boy nodded with a smile, shoving a slice of citrus fruit into his mouth. “Want some?”
“But just one, remember, we need to make jam,” Cyrene winked slyly at her brother, taking a juicy and still alive slice in her hands. Such a vibrant flavor couldn't help but turn the anticipation of an evening dessert into a truly special occasion.
Khaslana accepted her simple explanation without another word. After refreshing himself with a slice of orange, he now waited just as eagerly for the dish time would make from those bitter rinds. And the gentle breeze still continued to flutter the bell hanging under the roof of the porch. But it didn`t make a single sound. It was too quiet here. Always too quiet.
And as much as the siblings were fascinated by the thought that their sweet village would truly remain like this forever, that they would forever be carefree children living in their own dreams for years, that they would never see their parents grow old - it couldn't help but frighten them. The kind of fear that crept up to the very depths of the heart and spread through the body with a slight disappointment. If Aedes Elysiae was indeed sealed forever under the dome of Time itself, then they, too, were protected by the will of Oronyx. And the endless concoction of their own expectations and fantasies could forever remain in a form of merely a story inside their heads.
There was a brief silence between them, torn between the words “forever”and "never". The dried orange peel was too small for them to contemplate Time itself. Neither wanted to linger on it — no more than the briefest shiver down their spine.
"You know, I would like to have a lot more people living in our village…” Khaslana confessed shyly. “Oh and I don`t mean..! I love playing with Livia and Piso, sharing the adventures of the Deliverer Phainon with them, helping old Galba with the hunt, and…”
“Oh, don't call him old in front of him, dear Khaslana…”
“Oh,” The boy clapped a hand over his mouth, flushing as though caught red-handed in real mischief. “Okay ... ahem, anyway! I wish I could…Show our favorite places to others too! Introduce everyone to our village! I'm sure I can make this tour really exciting! For example, on the northern slope, the Deliverer once helped a wounded Chimera king, and…”
“And that's where I found you once, with your knees scraped off when you fell off your bike, shouting so loudly-”
“T-this isn't a story about the Deliverer. I won't tell anyone that.”
“I'll tell!” Cyrene winked at her brother, immediately startled by the puppy eyes.
In the end, Khaslana was just... a boy. Of course, he only wants to tell people about the exploits of an unattainable Hero, while Cyrene would have gladly shown everyone those faded photos taken with an old camera - pictures of her little brother with his face smeared either with birthday cake or with dirt from yet another scuffle with the neighbors' scarecrow. Because he's so cute and sincere in these, just like Mom. The absolute copy.
“Children!” Audata shouted from somewhere near the fence, and the children immediately reacted. Kirena smiled, thinking how convenient it was when their parents showed up at the exact moment she was thinking about them. “Help me with baskets! And wash the fruits well. I'll go keep an eye on your father. I bet he tries to strain himself again, this stubborn…”
“Okay!” Cyrene and Khaslana exclaimed in unison, smiling happily at each other as they took the heavy baskets from their mother.
They casually kicked off the flip-flops they'd slipped on barefoot and dashed into the house without turning on the kitchen light. You'd be surprised how many great ideas pop up when you're doing mundane tasks like this. And so Cyrene mysteriously runs to their room, looks for a blank white sheet, tears off just a little bit and quickly writes down on a piece of paper a message to the main fan of riddles:
“At the Curtain-fall Hour, I'll meet you by the warm fire."
And behind a pile of green grapes, Khaslana finds the note with his heart beating in anticipation, glances curiously at his sister, and begins to smile proudly. The Deliverer took up the sudden task with sparks in his eyes and his legs bouncing with excitement.
And half an hour before midnight, a curious boy almost runs out to the kitchen, hides behind the sofa and watches with impatience as Cyrene prepares something delicious. Khaslana would be lying if he said that he didn't recognize the smell of his favorite hot cocoa and didn't notice the empty bag of marshmallows on top of the trash bag. Fortunately, the weak firelight of the fireplace allows him to see the inscriptions on discarded packages. It's his favorite dessert, after the orange jam, of course - his older sister's signature cocoa. Always so sweet and loving, always carrying the scent of a million wondrous stories.
“You can come closer, you know.” Cyrene didn't even turn around, just knew for a fact that the boy wouldn't have had the patience to wait for the appointed time.
“T-this is the Deliverer, and I'm ready to-”
“The Deliverer?” Cyrene set down a large spoon by the stove, turning off the fire. “But I need Khaslana for this adventure. What a pity. Apparently, it will have to be canceled…”
“Uh..? B-but!” The boy's eyes darted nervously around the tiny kitchen. “Khaslana is here too, and he's... ready for an adventure, too?”
“Great!”
Cyrene handed her brother a mug of cocoa, watching the faint childhood resentment over her refusal to play games about his favorite Hero melt into tentative delight. She put her arm around the boy's shoulder as she laid a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace and took out the diary hidden under the pillow. She opened it exactly in the middle, holding it close to the fire so that the boy could see the entire colorized map of Amphoreus, which she had spent the entire evening redrawing from her geography textbook, sitting comfortably on her favorite, huge swing in the Sacrament Courtyard. The boy's eyes lit up with pure delight, even though he immediately recognized that this map wasn't about the glittering realms of other fairy-tale worlds. But there were two cardboard cut-out figures on it, his and Cyrene's.
Khaslana looked timidly at his sister, asking permission to touch them. Cyrene just nodded, giggled, and sipped her hot drink out of her favorite mug.
Small cardboard figures could be moved all over the map, so Khaslana found himself in his favorite kastrum Kremnos. He was searching for any information about it in books with greedy curiosity. After that he found himself in the Grove of Muses, but quickly moved his figurine to Janusopolis, smiling happily. The Grove of Muses, the birthplace of knowledge, was definitely not for him, but the hometown of his dear teacher was always interesting for him to visit.
“I suggest we create our own story!” Cyrene whispered, picking up her prepared pencils. “A story about how many new and interesting travelers are coming to visit us!”
“Or how we visit them!” Khaslana responded with delight, immediately remembering that his parents had been sleeping in the room across the hall for some time now and turning to a whisper. “First of all, the Deliverer Phainon would have gone to kastrum Kremnos full of glory!”
“Or ... would the Crown Prince himself have come to Aedes Elysiae?”
“And I would learn swordsmanship from the very..!” Khaslana blushed with delight, swallowing his overwhelming emotions excitedly. “And the professors of the Grove of Muses would have come to Cyrene so that she could continue to study this vast world!”
Cyrene blinked a few times, looked at her younger brother's flushed face in surprise, and smiled sheepishly. There was a slight sadness in her eyes - she really would have liked to talk to the people of the Grove of Muses someday, she was sure that the knowledge they possessed was a hundred times greater than the thoughtless notes in the weekly newspapers.
“And even more,” Cyrene continued to write down sketches for a future story, “a designer from the Eternal Holy City Okhema will visit us and give me a bunch of the most beautiful dresses…”
“But your dresses are already the most beautiful,” Khaslana nodded absently, still twirling his pencil thoughtfully near the mark labeled 'Kremnos'. “And when I'll become a true warrior, like the Kremnoans, I'll free the princess from the dark towers of Styxia! And dragons!!”
“Will you free the dragons too?”
“Yes!! Wait, what? No, i mean… ah. Well – yeah! I promise to save everyone!”
Cyrene chuckled softly, stroked her brother's hair, and continued watching with fascination as countless stories flowed from the little dreamer's pencil. But she was just as much a dreamer herself, and so the pages kept filling with the handwriting of two small figures, basking by the warm fireplace in the glow of their own imaginations.
Thus began the very first epic of Aedes Elysiae.