Pansilvan

 

"If you hesitate, Vine Lysandre will give you a wallop!" Oran called out from the ridge behind Pansilvan. A line of shivering children in swimwear waited their turn, nervously eyeing the cliff's edge.

"What if I can't, Oran?" Pansilvan said, doubt curling around his thoughts like a constricting vine. He'd apprenticed for three years, a year longer than most. Timid and fearful of heights, he was about to face the final initiation for the third time, standing atop the Grove's cliffs.

"Pan, you're the most talented Fielder I know! You've got this!" Oran smiled, giving Pansilvan a reassuring pat on the back. Oran, at eleven, seemed more confident than Pansilvan had been a year ago.

"I wish I'd chosen to be an Arbor. They don't even have to do this initiation like the rest of us," Pan said, crossing his arms. Despite the warm Aurus summer, the Suril Falls sent a cold mist that pricked at his skin. The stone slab beneath his feet was damp from the falling water and the children making their way up to the edge.

"Arbors are dull," Oran dismissed with a wave. "They spend all day talking to memory trees, sharing gossip and secrets. Who'd want that? We get to have fun! We tend to entire crop fields, grow flowers for weddings and the spring Palumara Festival! Plus, we get to leave sometimes. Only Fielders and Piners can do that. Remember Panlan? He returned from Talus, helping a merchant caravan sell apple barrels to Haventus convoys. He couldn't stop talking about it!"

Pansilvan cautiously approached the slippery edge and gazed out. The ridge was flanked by stone walls, shielding them from the cascading Suril Falls, which dropped another fifty feet into the deep pool below. The air was crisp, carrying the sweet scent of cavern blossoms in bloom. As requested, the pool's surface was covered in lily pads. The community had gathered to watch the ceremony from the shoreline and the winding staircase leading into the mountainside. The conclave, at the forefront, observed each child's skills and aptitude during their descent. Occasionally, a child would inadvertently reveal a talent for a different faction than the one they'd trained for. This was the ultimate test to determine their placement. Pansilvan was certain he could spot Lysandre, the Vine of the conclave, one of the two second-in-command positions, scrutinizing him with disapproval. Despite Lysandre's efforts to mentor him, this was now Pansilvan's third attempt to graduate. His parents, part of the Salvers faction, were absent today, working in the healer's ward.

"I've got this," Pansilvan whispered to himself. His nerves betrayed him however, and his hands shook.

"Show them your skills!" Oran shouted, rallying the other kids in line, who erupted into cheers. "You've practiced this countless times in the lower pools. Dive in, and as soon as you hit the water, command the water lilies to cluster together. It'll be stunning!"

“Thank you,” Pansilvan said as he turned to Oran with a small grateful smile.

 

"What are friends for?" Oran beamed. "Now, take the leap!"

 

With his heart pounding, Pan closed his eyes and jumped. His sudden dive surprised the entire community, and he thought he heard a collective gasp from below, though he suspected it was all in his head. There was no way he could hear them from this height.

A split second into his descent, fear once again gripped Pansilvan. His mind raced, and he momentarily forgot what to do as he neared the water's surface. Panic surged through him, and he began to flail wildly, his body consumed by the fear of hitting the ground. This time, he was certain he heard gasps from the crowd. Realizing that only he could save himself, he forced his eyes open and directed his thoughts to the lily pads resting on the water's surface. Instead of gracefully unfurling to reveal their beautiful flowers, they responded by growing larger and thicker, defying their natural behavior. Their waterborne roots intertwined, creating a massive floating raft. As Pansilvan landed, the pads enveloped his body, their buoyant faces cushioning his fall, while their edges folded up and around him, embracing him like a protective cocoon.

He laid still for a moment, the air quiet as he looked up to where he'd jumped from. That’s not what was supposed to happen. 

As Pan took a deep breath, he heard a light whisper. The words were unintelligible, but the sound was there, just beyond the roar of the falls. Before he could listen further, the lily pad opened and slid Pan into the water so he could swim ashore. His hands sank into the mossy edge as he stood and walked up onto the soft bank. Vine Lysander trudged up to him with his arms folded. 

"I'm shocked you jumped at all, Pansilvan," Vine Lysander said. A youth of eighteen, he'd been elected to his position of Vine three years prior. He'd be allowed to stay in that position until thirty. He would then be eligible to campaign for the leadership position of Jade Root, the leader of the entire community. After age fifty-five, he would be eligible to run for Jupal Root, the Jade Root's counterpart, a respected elder with wisdom. Lysander was a formidable Piner who loved to work with creeping vines and aquatic plants. "I'm also shocked you're not a Fielder. All this training and your instincts are to bend the plants' will instead of encouraging them to flourish independently. I could have sworn you'd be in the honey fields with Yariva. This isn't a scolding, however. I'm happy you've found your calling."

"Thank you, Vine Lysander," said Pansilvan. It was the only acceptable answer. There was no going back now, even though he didn’t want it. He wanted to be a fielder with Oran. He could attempt calling a petition to the head of his new faction, but the head of the Piners was Arabella, who was as prickly as the roses she loved to control. Piners could work with all the same plants as Fielders, plus many others. However, unlike Fielders, they coerced them to act unlike themselves. It took much more energy to tell a plant to proliferate, move, or change. Most Piners were warriors. Others dabbled with poisons. All Piners were offensive Phytoms. Some even worked as emissaries for great houses, aiding in knowledge, research, and battle. None of it appealed to Pansilvan. He wanted a quiet existence within the Grove. He wanted to be near his parents and his friends.

"Friends and family, conclave, and the greater community,” Vine Lysander called out over the roar of the falls. “I present Pansilvan Un, the newest addition to our formidable Piner faction!" He was met with raucous applause and cheering. Pan stood stone faced, realizing his simple farming days would never come.

Arabella made her way through the crowd. Dressed in violet robes, she donned two roses in her braids, complementing her strawberry-blonde hair. 

"Come, novice; we have much to discuss," she said. Pan nodded and moved through the crowd and up the stairs to where the Piner representatives stood. Arabella remained near the shore to collect any more children that fell into her faction.

From his new vantage point, Pan watched the remaining children jump. Oran pulled out of season koomotes off the hanging foliage as he jumped, bringing them to life and trailing their colored motes down behind him as he fell. Oran hit the water in a dusting of pale blues. With a massive smile, he immediately joined the Fielders. 

Twin sisters Hava and Turrey jumped together. Hava urged a rambling vine to grow from a patch above, and they both rode it down like a rope, plopping into the water when they reached it. Turrey pulled leaves off the vine and placed them on their bloodied hands from their grips. She blew on them, and they glowed green, healing the cuts they'd received. Hava was inducted into the Piners and Turrey into the Salvers. By the end of the line, only one other novice had swapped callings accidentally. Lysandre's little brother Poh had jumped, hoping to be a Piner like him, but ended up nursing his own back after slamming it into the water. He would be monitored for a week to see if he had Salver aptitude, or he would be sent to begin the novice school again. He would be eligible for a faction at the start of the next season.

Once the ceremony ended, Arabella walked back up to Pan and the rest of the new Piners on an outcropping of rock, holding violet robes. 

"Welcome, novices, to the Piner faction. We'll assign tutors to each of you so we can understand where your abilities lie within our group. Not everyone here will be on the front lines speaking to the earth for war. Many of you will be behind the scenes tinkering with the genetic makeup of different plants, looking for new defensive discoveries. Reverent families may purchase others as their children's teachers or as emissaries to other countries. There is more to us than aggressive warriors. We are scientists, explorers, builders, and more. We are excited to have you and cannot wait to start your formal training. Please take a robe and follow us to your newly prepared rooms in the Piner barracks."

Arabella walked down toward their sprawling city and away from the sacred pools, her students following close behind. As Pan followed, he saw Oran in an emerald green robe moving out toward the fields with his new group. Oran turned and waved. There would still be time to skip rocks on lower lake beds. Pan doubted he'd ever be sold off. He was terrified of heights and was more useful behind the scenes. 

"More scientist than explorer," he whispered to himself.

"We will see," said a voice from behind him. Vine Lysander walked up and gave him a stern look. "Whatever Arabella says, goes. You know the rules. You are a talented Phytom Pan, and I am happy to see you in my faction." He smiled, betraying his usual sternness. "I'll see you soon." He walked off, leaving Pan a few steps behind the others. Pan pulled on his new robe and ran to catch up to his new faction.

 

✽

 

Pansilvan woke up with a start and was covered in sweat even though his sleep had been mostly peaceful. He dreamt about his childhood often these days, especially the day he'd been formally inducted into the Piner faction. It had been the last day he'd considered himself a child. Trained hard, he'd become a formidable offensive Piner in three years. His natural abilities grew quicker than any other novice, and he was brought to Lysander before long. Between him and Arabella, they'd decided what his specialty would be. Pan was sold to the Dalmachins a year later and sent as an emissary to Corvalis four years after that. Now nearly one and twenty, he was a shell of the person he'd once been. 

Two days removed from food, Pan still didn't have an appetite. He rolled over to the glass of water near his bedside table. The moment of calm he had reached was replaced with a sense of dread so overwhelming he nearly dropped the glass. As an emissary, he was bound to the Emissary Code. He was to be sent away for a specified allotment of time, acting on behalf of the Valivoim to consult with other countries and peoples in construction, wisdom, and as a sign of peace. Arabella's father, Lagorn, was the head of the Emissaries and stationed in Vanavallar. He was just as prickly as his rose-loving daughter. Pan was sure the man had heard by now that he'd returned but had yet to send for him to receive an update. Pan was afraid to speak with him. Much of what he'd experienced would never be believed by anyone. The atrocities both in Corvalis and the horrendous attack he witnessed upon his return home would make most men weep. Men, women, and children in a caravan headed north were cut down by someone…something…. 

"Just…do not think about it," Pansilvan said. The Emissary post had been the most challenging thing he'd ever done. He'd been dropped into Corvalis amidst a civilian uprising. He had worked alongside their leader and had assisted their capital in its defense against its own people. He’d killed so many and he'd wanted no recognition for it. Instead, he'd run home, leaving his post early. Lagorn would likely reprimand him if he told him how he had helped. Emissaries to Corvalis were barred from using their Blessings in the open. Instead, he had used it flippantly. Corvalis was severed from the rest of the world as it resided on the top of a tall plateau, higher than anything else in the known world. They were to think nothing more of Antiquoria than as desolate countries inhabited by farmers and barbarians. 

God Stones had not fallen in Corvalis and they were wary and untrusting. They were quick to persecute things they did not understand, and were ruled by the iron fist of a single family line. In return, the populace of Antiquoria was told the great plateau was unreachable and largely uninhabited. It was partially true. Reaching the old country was extremely difficult, but emissaries had hidden passages in the Allfaang that snaked up through the plateau.

Smoke and daggers suddenly filled Pansilvan’s mind and he forced the images out, squeezing his eyes shut.

Now, Pansilvan hoped his desolate disposition would make him seem useless in Lagorn’s eyes. He could finally go home and be with his parents. He had been waiting to hear from them for a year. Oran also used to write often, but he'd been sent to Suu to help with merchant caravans. Suddenly, a knock at the door made Pan’s heart jump and he nearly dropped his water as he held the cup to his lips.

"Come in," he said. The door swung inward, revealing Dorea, one of the Dalmachin's housekeepers. A frail older woman, she scurried across the room in her gray dress and white scarf, holding a small tray. Her scurrying sent images of men running past him on the battlefield through his mind. An axe in the back of one, the other ushering him to safety. Pansilvan's body heated up with anxiety.

"Ah, you're finally up, child," she said with a groan, "Are you going to eat or walk about today?"

"Hello, Dorea," he said, placing the half-drunk cup back on his nightstand. "I'm still feeling a bit under the weather today. I do appreciate your consistent check-ins, though. Is that a meal you've brought me?" The old woman placed the tray down at the end of the bed. 

The lowered tray flashed an image of a dark-haired man impaled on one of Pan's controlled vine strikes. The vision almost brought on a bout of nausea. He forced it down.

"I did," she said as she sat next to it. She quickly got up, making a face like she'd forgotten something. After closing Pan's bedchamber door, she retook her seat at the edge of the bed. She removed the cover off the bowl. Chicken and pea soup.

"Listen," Dorea said, moving items about on the tray. She placed a slice of warm bread near the top and plopped a spoon into the bowl. Pan smelled the aroma as it filled the room. Maybe he was hungry after all. 

"You've been cooped up in this castle wing for months since your return. I know you can't talk about where you've been, but these old eyes don't deceive me. You saw things men don't often see and recover from - death. Soldiers, leaders, and men of important ranks have filed through these halls. No matter the age, the sight of death changed every last one of them. As it has done to you."

Pan said nothing. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his bare chest, hoping the old crone didn't notice. She paused and nodded at him. "You're running a fever, you know. I can send up the house Terve to take the edge off. I'm sure you could grow some medicine."

"I can't do that," Pan responded lightly. "I'm not part of the Salver faction of my people. While I could attempt to do it, I never trained in it, and there's a strong chance I would make it less useful or deadly."

"Interesting," Dorea said. "I've always found you Phytoms to be the most interesting lot of people. A whole other world, right under the rest of our noses. Your accent is strong, like you speak with marbles in your mouth. You live across the country in pockets but still have a strong bond with all your people in the Grove of Suril." 

A flash of memory: a line of men fighting, a flood of black smoke rushing the line, and the men toppling like dolls. Pan steadied himself.

"Yes, we are very close. We are all children of Kasvamaat and love each other as such. Your interest is refreshing; your type tends to be wary of us. Occasionally, superstitions are often discriminatory. Many kesk don't like our connection to the earth. They find it…unnatural." Pansilvan knew he was as natural as they could be, but kesk came from a place of fear, jealousy, or both when it came to those with Blessings. 

"I won't lie, I used to be very jealous of your kind," Dorea said, "Grew up down the road in a small village on the edge of the Umber Reach, Rattall, it was called. I think these days it's called Dalmasc. It was nestled right at the meeting of Palav River and the Shivering Run. The water there was always unpredictable; warm some days, cold others…." The old woman rattled on. 

When she realized Pan had lost interest, she veered back to the point of her side story. "Anyway, this girl down the road from me, she'd bring stray dogs home often. She was particularly drawn to the hurt ones. Dogs were often run down by carriages or caught in hunting traps. They'd be right as rain after a few days with her; thanks be to Valmandus. I cried whenever I saw her carrying them home. After a few months, I wondered how they healed so quickly. Figured she was good at praying. Lo' behold, she held her hands to their wounds and hummed. Her humming would hit tones I hadn't ever heard before. After a time, the wounds closed, the dogs ate, and she'd release them back to the wild. I was always jealous of her, as my pa' would never let me near a dog."

 

Pan, forgetting his despair momentarily, leaned in to hear the rest.

 

"It wasn't until after I'd moved here to Jalg and started working for the Dalmachins that I met more Blessed like yourself. I decided I wasn't jealous after seeing how you are all bought and sold like weapons and trinkets. This caretaker job is something I sought out. Your position was thrust upon you. So yes, I was jealous at one time. I'm too old now to hold something like that within me." She flitted a small smile to show she was sincere.

"Your kindness is appreciated," Pan said. The Dalmachin family was nice enough. He was fond of Valgus and Alumeria, but the rest were hard to stomach. It was refreshing to hear nice words. A piercing scream suddenly echoed in the back of his head. Pan smiled at Dorea, pushing the sound out as best he could.

"Now, I need to tell you," Dorea said. "Your time in this state has not gone unnoticed by the Baron and his family. I heard whispers as of late that they mean to get rid of you if you cannot recover."

"That isn't an issue; I'd be reassigned or sent home," Pansilvan said. 

Horses sped through a clearing as their riders hung limply from their saddles. Pan winced and hoped Dorea hadn't noticed.

"That I wouldn't be so sure of," the old woman warned. "You may be an emissary of your people, but you were legally sold to the Dalmachins, a pivotal piece of the Valivoim. You are the property of the world's most powerful people! You may not always feel the Valivoim's influence on you, but their hands are in everything. You are useless to Alumeria, lying here this way. I watch you twitch like phantoms stalk you around the castle. You have horror sitting behind those eyes."

She picked up a few stray pieces of clothing on the ground, tidying up. "You may be sold off to another family. Maybe to the Farnax family as a token of peace. Gods know they need order and wisdom out there on that spit of an island."

Pan's mind spun around. Sold off? His heart sank like a stone. He’d hoped to speak with Lagorn and the Emissary leaders and be sent home. He could help build within the village and train the next group of novices. That was a job he'd easily take. This made it sound like going home was never an option. The Farnaxes were a sad little kesk family who liked to beat on their chests and look more important than they were. Valgus Dalmachin tried to quell them with stern words to avoid a more formal engagement. Their massive haunted castle sat like onyx whitefang teeth jutting out of the center of on Uks Isle. Pansilvan would be even further from home.

"I see," Pansilvan said. "Well, I suppose I should try harder at my recovery then." 

A woman screamed as she was cut down in front of him. He pushed back the memory while holding a hand to his head with one hand and gripping at his sheets with the other.

Dorea nodded, her old neck releasing a soft crack as she did. She stood up and pointed at his food. "Eat up, Pansilvan. I don't grow attached to much, but I saw how Alumeria bonded with you. That girl is someone special. She isn't like the rest of them. I wouldn't want her to lose another friend around here. Also, and I mean it in the best way possible, child. Please bathe. The smell of this room could kill a leshy."

"Actually, a leshy doesn't have a nose… I'll be up in no time," Pansilvan said. Dorea stood and walked to the door. Before she closed it behind her, Pansilvan called out again. "Also, Dorea? I'll see the house Terve after all if you wouldn't mind." The old woman smiled and closed the door.

Pansilvan laid back down. Was it true? Could the Emissary leaders do nothing for him? Was that why they hadn't sent for him yet? He'd been home months, and Lagorn had never even sent a letter. The lack of correspondence from his family and friends was also oddly suspicious. Sitting up, Pansilvan spooned hot soup into his mouth, finally hungry. Reaching his bedside table again, he grabbed parchment, a quill, and his inkwell. He'd write to Lagorn first to see if the new ownership claims were valid. If they were, Pansilvan would need to get better much faster. He would not be moved around the Valivoim like a plaything. 

Pansilvan licked the quill's tip, dipped it in ink, and wrote to Lagorn to hopefully discredit Dorea, as lovely as she was, and secure passage home. All the while, screams of the civil war and the darkness of his trip home continued to surge through his mind.

 

Pan…open your eyes…

 

The whisper mimicked his visions of war, and Pan shook it off like an itch. He was used to the delusions now. They came and went, in sleep and while awake. 

 

Pan…you are more than your position…more than your subjugation to the Valivoim…more than your faction.

 

Pan shook his head as he pushed the buzzing words away. 

 

It's time you opened yourself to your roots…

 

Suddenly, Pansilvan felt a rumbling beneath his feet. He pushed back from his seat and dove out of the way as stems and grass blades burst through the floor and knocked over the bed. His inkwell splashed onto the floor, and the letter disappeared behind a bouquet of blooming violets as tall as he was. As the growth slowed, a booming, disembodied voice sounded from within.

"You are a powerful Phytom, child, and much stronger than you know," the voice said.

"How…who…did I do this? We are two stories up! This would have alerted anyone in the kitchens!" Pansilvan crawled back, sliding up against the far wall. As a Piner, he could force plants to act against their nature. They could grow faster, change the fruits they yielded, and even act offensively. However, he could feel a two-way connection when he spoke to the plant. This felt separate. It’s so powerful.

"Do not fear the raw power, child. It is what you were destined to do." The violets shifted around as if caught in a breeze. "Your letter will never change the fate that would befall you. You would be sold off to the next family until they also found no use. You are so much more…so important…and needed now."

"Who are you," Pansilvan asked. Instinctively, he touched the few roots that had started to grow near him. Pansilvan searched for its voice, the life inside the violets that caused its natural growth. He could trace it back to the other Phytom controlling them.

"Child…you know exactly who I am," the voice boomed. It reverberated around the room as it reached Pansilvan's ears. He worried someone else would have heard and would soon run to investigate. As Pansilvan pushed harder, something within the root system blocked him, throwing him back. His head hit the wall. The pain was both physical and mental, exhausting him instantly. 

"You do not need to search to find the answer you seek. I have had many names, but you've prayed to me every night since you were young. You are as much my child as you are of your birth parents. I sustain your lands and have helped keep the Grove of Suril hidden for as long as I can remember."

Pansilvan's eyes widened. "Earth Father…Kasvamaat" he whispered. The violets shook as if to confirm his suspicion. "I…You haven't spoken to our people in thousands of years. Why speak now? Why speak to me?!"

"A darkness is building my child. I cannot interfere from my place in the stars, but my children can help turn the tides. You are more than what your people have labeled a Piner. You are more than just capable of weaponizing the earth around you. You must have felt it long ago. Those moments upon that cliff before you jumped into the pools. When you reached out and urged the earth to move for you, it was never a command like most. It was a request, and the earth obliged."

 

"How…how can that possibly be any different?"

 

"My child…it is all the difference in the world. Earth that listens and responds upon its own accord is much more than that which obeys. You have the power to raise forests from the ground in the blink of an eye, grow fields of ripened crops overnight, and alter the very terrain you can see around you. None of this comes without practice and the trust of the earth you look to shift… you are needed, my child. You…are a Prime."

"Why me? Why would I get this heightened power?" So much of Pan wanted nothing to do with this. Primes were merely myths. He just wanted to rest, to heal. He was already powerful - and had done unspeakable things with it. 

"It is in your blood, child. Valmandus calls upon those he deems worthy in times of great need. It is time to accept your power. Protect me as I have protected you and your people."

Pan blinked. He pulled his hands away from the roots embedded in the wood floor of his bedroom and looked at them. They flashed red with dripping blood. As he looked up, he saw his carriage overturned, smelled the charred wood as it burned in heaps across the ground, and heard the final whimpers of his convoy as they lay dying along the road. 

After a moment, he saw it. The unnatural smoke that had ambushed them. It had appeared alongside his carriage as they'd traveled North from the Neurus Lands. It spun around the bodies of the fallen, coming to a halt feet away, hovering over Raif, a young merchant's son. Suddenly, the smoke came together, fusing into something more solid - a young man wearing a black cloak. He hung over the dead boy's body, where the smoke had once been. 

The man placed his hands and knees on the ground around the child and rolled away from him, coming into a crouching position. He scanned the area, looking for survivors, but found none. Pleased with his kills, he ran off. When Pansilvan looked to his sides, he saw he was deep in tangled underbrush, which had sprouted to conceal him. The vision dissipated as the giant violets came back into focus.

"You have pain, child. This will hinder your focus," the Earth Father said. "You must heal your mind before you can be ready to fight for me."

"That man…he could turn into smoke." Pansilvan grew dizzy at the memory.

"Ah, so you saw a follower of Tuum. This is why your pain is so. I am surprised you lived through the encounter." The voice brushed through the violets, and a few stems bent to the side before returning to upright.

 

"I…I think I reached out to the earth…and it hid me."

 

"Your natural ability…a purely symbiotic relationship with the earth. You have the power to uncover, child."

 

"Is he who I need to fight?"

 

"I believe he may be one of many you will need to fight. However, your journey will not be in a straight line. This is not an offensive request but a defensive one. I need you to locate someone and protect them with all your might. Find them, protect them, and ensure the followers of Tuum cannot reach them. I fear that that man was there looking for you. He must have assumed he had killed you in the massacre. Tuum’s followers can be granted horrible abilities bestowed upon them by Tuum’s ten children—the Princes of Chaos. They were created in direct response to my and my siblings’ births. They are trapped with their father. Imprisoned."

Pansilvan’s mind swirled. He was…a Prime? He knew there were three main ascension levels to a Blessing: Alus, the base inherited form, Parane, a practiced more advanced form, and Exalted, a fully honed Blessing with enhanced and sometimes unique properties. The Prime state was a myth, a legend. The Reverents told their constituents they could achieve a Prime state through prayer, intense belief in the Paradigm, and adherence to laws. In truth no one had reached Prime. He certainly didn’t feel like a Prime, lying in a sweat soaked bed.

Pansilvan thought about his duty to the Dalmachins and their plans to sell him off. His battle-scarred mind was in pieces, but this calling was awakening him. He had allowed his trajectory to be dictated by the words of those with more authority than he. Who had more power than the Earth Father? This was destiny.

"Who do you want me to find?" Pansilvan said, moving to stand. Despite the lack of food over the past few days, he felt a sudden burst of energy. Something shifted within him, and he knew this was his true calling. No longer a babysitter to rich children or a counseling Emissary who gets caught up in other countries' wars. This was bigger; this was what he was meant for. 

"Vallorand Davnar," the voice boomed. All at once, the giant violets receded, sliding back through the floor and into the ground beneath Jalg's resolute castle. The name was foreign to him, but he would never question his God. Pansilvan breathed deeply, knowing further questions would likely never be answered. 

This is my calling.

As Pan moved to pack his things, the door to his room opened, and Eleph, the house Terve, walked in. The young man, not older than seventeen, slid into the room in white robes trimmed in golden yellow.

"I…I heard a commotion, so I waited in the hall," he said. "You sent for me?"

Suddenly, the surge of energy he had felt when speaking with his maker was replaced with the fever he'd begun the day with. There would be no way he could travel in his current state. He returned the few items he'd picked up, turned his bed back over, and sat back down. 

"Ah…yes. I've been feeling quite awful. Fever and no appetite. Would you be so kind as to help take my temperature down to something more manageable?" Eleph smiled and nodded as he eyed the damaged room. "Wonderful. Careful of the holes in the floor… wouldn't want to need to find a second Terve to heal the first." Pan laid back in bed, mind swirling with the only two words that mattered to him. 

 

Vallorand Davnar.