"You don't like to talk much, do you, dear?" Vien asked. She scratched the side of her head awkwardly in response.
I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know you, she thought to herself.
Vien was chatty and full of energy. It was clear she hadn't spoken to anyone other than Orthan in a long time, and she seemed genuinely happy to see another human, especially another woman.
"Are you from Ugarta? Or Kaelshara?" Vien inquired. She simply shrugged and shook her head, looking confused.
"Yeah, you're probably not from Ugarta. I would know for sure if someone there had heterochromia like you. I might even know your grandparents if there was a resemblance," Vien continued.
Heterochromia? My eyes are two different colors? I really should've made a mirror sooner rather than later. I still don't know what I look like.
It started to make sense. She would soon learn that the couple were master artisans.
Vien, the old woman, was raised in Ugarta—a land known for deep traditions and exceptional craftsmanship. Soul-bonding was also a ritual commonly practiced there, mastered and passed down through generations. Many famous crafts and wares originated from its capital city.
According to Vien, most of Azarette's workforce was hired from Ugarta, as its people were known for their work ethic, patience, and dedication.
There weren't many nobles in Ugarta—only two noble families from old money. One family was famous for masterpiece paintings, while the other was known for exquisite sculptures. The rest of the population consisted mostly of common folk and artisans.
This was why many Ugartans sought opportunities abroad—for better lives and financial stability.
Orthan, the old man, was born in Kaelshara—a region where strength and spirit were essential to life. Discipline was their pride. Children were trained as soldiers from birth, regardless of gender.
While children elsewhere received toys or dolls at age four, Kaelsharan children were given wooden swords. Those without the physical aptitude for combat, but who showed potential for clergy work or sorcery, were sent to study in Ophilim or Ophiyllion.
This world, Elioudra… it feels so dreamlike. I wonder how Ugarta looks. Kaelshara seems like a strict boot camp. Maybe I could ask them to travel with me someday.
During a spot of tea inside their cabin, Vien lovingly told her that their love story wasn't an unusual one. They met by chance — Orthan on a mission in Ugarta, Vien busy at her trade.
She once owned a clothing shop passed down through generations of her family. One day, while Kaelsharan warriors were preparing to return to their homeland, Orthan—busy shopping for souvenirs to take back—stumbled upon Vien's shop.
"I didn't intend to visit a clothing shop that day," he said, "but the quality displays drew me in, and that's when I saw her," glancing at Vien as if reliving the moment.
She felt a flicker of jealousy as she looked at the endearing old couple. Must be nice, she thought.
He fell in love at first sight. Since then, they had never been apart.
Orthan and Vien were not fortunate enough to have children. Vien shared an intimate detail about Ugarta that not many people across Elioudra knew, something sacred: Vien came from a lineage of women whose unborn children were believed to bond their souls with their mothers' chosen craft.
Vien wove clothing. Orthan forged tools. And they kept crafting, not for profit, but in honor of the souls that never took form.
It seemed peculiar to her to have noticed they had no carts or mounts — no way to transport goods.
"Why did you keep making such beautiful clothes and equipment? It doesn't seem like you guys are selling them," she inquired.
Vien simply smiled, quiet and solemn, and said:
"Because each piece is the home of a soul that might have lived."
This left her wondering if Vien did some kind of ritual to transfer unborn souls and bond them to the artisan goods they continued to make.
"And your voice, finally, you spoke. It's very alluring,g dear," Vien spoke teasingly.
She felt a little embarrassed at the comment about her voice. It was the first time she'd spoken since arriving here. And it never crossed her mind that her tone was alluring.
Their wares, she realized, weren't just items — they were sacred. Stronger than those made anywhere else, because they were made with intention, memory, and love. It must have been a heavy responsibility to bear, that's why they continued.
She hesitated, unsure if it was proper to ask. Still, she found the courage to speak.
"Is it possible to uhm… borrow some clothes from you? I don't have much."
Her old maid's dress—or nightgown, as she now realized—was comforting at night, but a burden during the day. It restricted her movement. She asked if they might be willing to give her something simpler: a shirt and a pair of trousers.
Vien and Orthan smiled. They didn't hesitate.
"Why of course dear," Vien gently took her measurements using a soft string, saying she would adjust some clothes already made and stored away, something that could fit her perfectly, given her voluptuous contour.
Then Vien invited her to stay for supper and promised her clothes would be ready by morning, giving her a reason to return, she added with a wink.
"I can already picture it on you, dear! I knew I'd have to match your striking look," Vien exclaimed excitedly.
That evening, Vien served Gulyás: a traditional Ugartan stew, slow-cooked with forest herbs and rich meats. Vien used rabbit and boar, just as she always did for Orthan.
"Gulyás is a traditional Ugartan dish," Vien shared as she set the plates and invited her to sit. "It's crafted from the bounties of the earth, rich with forest herbs, rabbit, and wild boar."
"It was once shared among the humble people of Ugarta as a way to nourish not just the body, but the spirit," she added.
Sounds delicious. And it smells amazing! I can't wait to eat—just the thought makes me drool.
"It became Orthan's favorite dish. The first time he tasted it, he fell for me even harder, said it could feed even the wildest Kaelsharan warrior." Her eyes landed on Orthan, who joyfully returned her gaze.
She couldn't help but salivate at the smell. Vien and Orthan held hands, murmuring a quiet prayer in a language she didn't understand. Kharin ekhomen hypér tays evlogías taftays tays pollas…
She smiled as she watched them — they were old, but still full of a soft, bright love.
They broke bread and shared slices of wild kiwi, along with cherry tomatoes and a forest salad adorned with edible flowers.
I can't believe how long it's been since I shared a meal this hearty with anyone. I wouldn't mind spending my third life among this lovely couple.
Halfway through her bowl, she paused. A bitter, almost metallic aftertaste lingered on her tongue with each spoonful of Gulyás she had eaten. A sudden chill crept up her spine. Her mouth and throat felt like they were burning.
Something's not right. Her thoughts began to race, darkening with each passing second.
Her breathing grew ragged, bordering on gasping. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the old couple across the table from her.
Both her hands instinctively clutched at her neck. She tried to reach for the glass of water, but her fingers had already gone cold, it slipped from her grasp.
The prayer echoed in her ears, though she didn't understand a word of it.
Kharin ekhomen hypér tays evlogías taftays tays pollas…
Kharin ekhomen hypér tays evlogías taftays tays pollas…
Kharin ekhomen hypér tays evlogías taftays tays pollas…
Her eyes rolled back. Her head felt heavy.
Vien noticed immediately and rushed to her, but it was too late—she collapsed. Orthan's reflexes were just quick enough to catch her head before it hit the floor.
—
Two hours passed before she stirred again.
A tear of blood dropped from her left eye and trickled down the side of her face. Her eyes twitched, and she groaned from the discomfort. She struggled, but eventually her eyes opened.
The scent of burning fennel leaves wafted through the room, curling around her like smoke. It was dim, she looked at her surroundings but can only see wavy, smoke-like haze and shuffled colors. It took a while before she can adjust her eyesight and see more clearer.
Vien and Orthan hovered nearby, tense, worried, quietly watching her.
She struggled but tried to sit up slowly. Looking at her hands, it no longer felt cold. She cleared her throat, it still had the lingering taste of bitterness. Her eyes slowly made its way to Vien. And then Orthan.
They both seemed worried, maybe just as disoriented as she was. Confused, and still nauseated, she asked, her voice weak, "What happened…?"
Orthan turned to Vien, his face etched with concern. Vien, calm, anxious, but clearly puzzled, looked at her and asked in a tone that made it sound like the most natural question in the world:
"Wait…dear… Are you not immune to poison?"