Dark Age Year 863
Twenty-eighth day of the Tenth month
What is a good and virtuous life?
It was a rather simple question that few ever truly had an answer for. What was virtuous for one was vice for the other, but there lies the grander question: What is a good and virtuous life? For most, it would be a simple and humble life of community and family, a rather predictable and stable life, the ideal for many people. The traditional way life should be lived. You are born, you have a family, you make friends, you find love, you have children, and you work only for the betterment of your community and others, and then you die. There are no bells nor whistles in your life nor at your passing. For you are only a single link in the endless chain of being called the human race. For you only live on the blood of those who come after you, much as those who came before you live within you. This is what a good and virtuous life is for these people.
But for some, for those rare few, perhaps an unknown and unseen path is more to their liking, a path trodden by those rare few who are daring enough, bold enough, and perhaps crazy enough to follow the sways and passions of their own heart without fear nor hesitation wherever it may lead. To break the chains that society places on them, chains that threaten to hamper and blind their spirit. For isn’t that where the true greatness of the human race is found, not by walking the path well-trodden? Not in the unwashed masses following the will and whims of masters known or unknown. But that true greatness, that latent spark and hidden potential within every single human being, is found by being yourself, your genuine self, finding your path, and carving out your destiny by your will alone. To not be happy with the hand life has dealt you, to want more, to have the courage enough to look within yourself and say yes, I do want more, I do desire more, I do hunger for more, and for those rare few, for these people that rise above the primordial soup, and transcend even life itself. This is what a good and virtuous life is.
This was the question that Ozias, the farmer, often mused to himself as he tended to his farm, nurturing his animals and planting seeds for the upcoming harvest. Day after day, he worked tirelessly from dawn till dusk, labouring in the fields until the sun set, its warm rays touching his young, yet weathered skin. He fed his animals, occasionally slaughtering some for meat to sell at the village market. His life was simple yet challenging, further complicated by the loss of his family and what few friends he still had. Whatever war, famine, or pestilence had not taken him, time had claimed instead. Pain and loss were his only friends now, and they were friends he wished he could be rid of.
Living out on the frontier regions of Aria was tough and harsh, even at the best of times. However, it was made even worse by the civil war that plagued the land of Aria, ravaging everything in its path like a blazing inferno. The war had been ongoing for the last two hundred years, give or take a few decades, with no foreseeable end in sight. The threat of conflict, starvation, and disease loomed large in the hearts and minds of everyone, including himself. It was like a sword of Damocles hanging over them, ready to strike at any moment, making survival a daily struggle and suffering their only constant companion. News from the outside world often trickled in slowly, brought by travellers or local tax collectors from warlords. The tales they shared were often grim, recounting entire villages decimated by plague or communities facing crop failures and resorting to desperate measures. Ozias heard unsettling stories of people engaging in acts that were so startling, that such acts would have been done in times of desperation, things that were so shocking he hesitated to repeat them in the presence of polite company for fear of disturbing them.
Despite occasional feelings of bitterness and loneliness that slowly ate away at his heart like a burrowing termite, Ozias remained dedicated to his craft as a farmer, following in the footsteps of his ancestors. There was a level of comfort in that, a reassurance that came from doing what was tried and tested. If it worked, why fix what wasn’t broken? Or maybe, just maybe, he was doing it because he was too scared to try anything else. Anything that was new or unknown was scary, to go off on the untrodden path. he took pride in his work and the village he belonged to, it couldn’t replace the emptiness that drowned his heart. He missed his family and friends.
While he could also take joy in the fact that managing the farm of this size by himself was a significant achievement and distraction, showcasing that his talents were far beyond what his humble background would suggest, the farm spanned ten acres of fertile land, which required a whole family and even several farmhands to run efficiently. Ozias, however, managed it all by himself, as if he were a one-man army. His animals were the biggest and had the most succulent meat, and his crops yielded the most bountiful harvests. Often to the envy of some Neighbors who eyed his land with hunger, even the village elder wasn’t immune to these feelings of jealousy. Sure, they pretended they weren’t, but he could tell, he could see that glimmer in their eyes, or hear it in the faint whispers and mutters under their breath.
Is it truly good enough for me?
This was a question Ozias often pondered. Initially, he dismissed such thoughts as youthful folly, attributing them to his teenage desire for action. He was aware of his own heart more than most his age, he suspected. However, as time passed, these questions lingered in his mind, unresolved. An impasse, like an impenetrable stone wall that wouldn’t bend or break before the siege ram of questions. At the time, he thought he would never get the answers he sought and would be stuck in this limbo until he shed the mortal coil. It wasn’t until he met a certain someone, someone who became very special to him, that things began to change. She wasn’t remarkable at first, but she soon became significant to him. Significant in a way that he at the time couldn’t possibly imagine.
But to fully recount this tale, Ozias would have to start with that autumn day many years ago, a seemingly ordinary day that would lead to an unexpected tragedy.
On that fateful autumn day, Ozias ventured into the forest in the late afternoon to gather berries. Though the forest was not known for danger, he carried a small hand axe and a dagger for precaution. Who knows what untold manner of beasts or men of ill intentions stalked the woods, in search of fresh prey. As he made his way through the undergrowth, the forest’s vibrant colours and the sound of crunching leaves beneath his sandals brought him a fleeting sense of peace, a feeling as fleeting as the changing of seasons.
He finally arrived at the grove he was looking for, a place that was all too familiar to him. It was a place filled with fruit-bearing trees and bushes, including vibrant pink berries called Fragaria berries.
“Ah, there they are,” he said to himself, his dark brown eyes lighting up and a wide smile spreading across his boyish features. As he approached the bush to pick the berries, he heard a noise behind him – the snap of a twig.
“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t followed,” he muttered to himself under his breath, turning his head quickly towards the sound while keeping his hand steady on the handle of his axe, his fingers gripping tightly around the shaft.
“Is someone there?” he called out, hoping it was just a villager or a harmless animal that would either reveal itself or scurry away into the depths of the forest as he spoke.
However, what emerged from the trees into the clearing was the last thing he was expecting. He saw and encountered a woman. She was a pretty woman, appearing to be around his age, with metallic brown eyes that shined in the daylight, short curly dark brown hair with bright pink tips that rested past her ears, and a slim, petite body with a light olive skin tone that made her seem almost doll-like. She was dressed in a fancy robe of deep browns and greens, adorned with runes and glass vials woven into the fabric. She also carried a small straight stick holstered at her side. When she looked up at him, she spoke with a charming voice.
“I’m sorry if I startled you. I was just passing through and didn’t expect to bump into anyone out here,” the woman said, looking a tad bit flustered.
“No need to apologise. It’s no problem at all. What brings you out here? Are you a traveller?” Ozias replied, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things and feeling a bit embarrassed that his initial reaction was caused by a woman.
“Yes, I am. I just arrived from down south.”
Maybe she needs a place to stay and it would be nice to have some company for once.
“Ah, I see. Well, if you need a place to stay, the village is a few miles in that direction,” Ozias said, gesturing back the way he came. “Or if I may be so bold,” he added, “my farmstead is just a mile and a half from here. I have a lot of rooms and space if you’re seeking accommodation for the night.”
“My, my, my, that is rather bold of you. It’s quite rare that I run into people in my travels who are so hospitable, especially here in the frontiers, to a complete stranger. Are you sure you don’t have any ulterior motives?” A cheeky and knowing smile crossed her face.
“Nothing like that at all. Unless you count wanting to be in the presence of a beautiful woman like yourself as an ulterior motive,” Ozias said, sheepishly. Although he knew it was foolish to be this kind to a complete stranger, he felt good about this girl. Maybe it was just about her looks. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, or perhaps deep down he was lonely and wanted some company for once, outside of the few people in the village he still got along with. But whatever the reason, he felt good about this woman.
“I accept and thank you for your hospitality.” she said with a warm smile.
Surprised by her swift response, Ozias smiled and said, “Okay, well, just give me a moment to finish harvesting these berries, and then we shall be off,” Ozias said. She nodded quickly and waited patiently while he finished picking the berries. Once he was done, the two of them walked towards his farm, with the sun starting to set on the horizon. Along the way, Ozias asked, “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?”
“Faustina,” she replied.
“What is your name?” Faustina asked in return.
“Ozias,” he said. “Faustina is a wonderful name,” he added with a toothy grin.
“I could say the same for you,” she replied, smiling back.
By the time they reached the farmstead, the sun was starting to set, and the dusk period between day and night was settling in. They walked up to Ozias’ house, and he opened the door, gesturing for her to come inside. “After you, milady,” he said, holding the door open and waiting for her to enter. He followed behind her.
“Why, thank you,” she said, giving him a warm and thankful smile as she walked through the door.
Ozias got the fire going, lit some candles, and went to his kitchen to get refreshments from his icebox and cupboard for himself and his guest. He glanced at Faustina, who was making herself comfortable on his couch, stretching. Her long legs and prominent collarbone added to her charm. Ozias sat across from her, placing a wooden plate on the table. It had cold water, fresh bread, and pink berries he had picked that afternoon.
“I know it isn’t much, but here you go,” Ozias said, sliding the plate closer to Faustina.
“Oh no, it’s fine, thank you very much,” she said, taking a piece of bread and pouring herself water. She drank quickly, droplets running down her chin and neck, stopping at her collarbone. The flickering light from the candles and fireplace highlighted the droplets, giving her olive-colored skin a soft glow. Ozias tried not to stare, finding himself almost entranced by her beauty.
After a brief silence, Ozias spoke up, “So, what brings you out this way, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Faustina set her glass down, wiping off the stray drips on her face before responding, “I’m escaping the war. It’s hard to focus on studying when your city is under attack by invading armies.”
“Oh, so you’re from Ammos?” Ozias inquired.
“Yes, I am. Have you ever been there, Ozias?” Faustina turned her attention to him.
“Unfortunately, no, I haven’t visited, but I’ve heard about it from travellers. It seems like a pleasant place to live,” Ozias remarked.
“Yeah, it used to be,” Faustina’s expression shifted into a slight frown as she spoke. Ozias decided it might be best to change the subject to avoid upsetting Faustina further.
“What were you studying?” Ozias asked, curious about Faustina’s academic pursuits.
“I was studying magic. I’m a mage, although I guess I’m what people in our circles call an alchemist.”
Ozias felt his eye twitch and his body tense up when he realised he was in the presence of a mage. It should have been obvious to him from her attire and appearance that she was a mage. Mages were known to have unnaturally coloured eyes and hair, as well as strange markings that set them apart. The path of a mage was often viewed as a means to acquire abilities that were unnatural, and tales of evil sorcerer kings in Aria didn’t help and reinforced the negative perception of magic. Despite this, Ozias didn’t believe Faustina fit the stereotype of an evil mage. Perhaps she was one of the good ones, if such a thing existed. Faustina noticed Ozias and looked at him with a hint of concern.
“Is that a problem for you?” she asked, looking up at him, her metallic brown eyes meeting his dark brown eyes as if she were trying to peer into the depths of his soul.
Is it a problem for me?
If he was being truly honest with himself, not really. Sure, he had heard a lot of things about mages, most of them not good. But maybe, just maybe, some of these stories were just a little bit exaggerated. Surely, not all of them are evil or up to no good, and so far, this mage has been nothing but nice and polite to him.
“No, not at all. I was just a bit surprised. I have never met a mage before,” he replied, though his gut instinct warned him not to trust her and to kill her if possible. Mages were dangerous, and having one in his home felt like inviting a hungry wolf inside. Despite these unsettling feelings, he decided against acting on them.
“Okay, that’s good,” Faustina continued. “Not many people, especially out here on the frontier, would be that accepting of people like myself, at least when compared to some in the cities.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re welcome here,” Ozias said, giving a warm smile to try and ease the growing yet awkward tension before continuing. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is an alchemist?”
She gave a small chuckle before responding, “You’re telling me you don’t know what an alchemist is? It’s one of the most common specialisations for mages. You’re such a farm boy.”
“Well, what do you expect,” he said sheepishly.
“But to answer your question, and to keep it simple, an alchemist is a mage that can transform things into something else, something better. Turn lead into gold, brew potions and elixirs that can give you the strength of a demigod.”
“Really?” Ozias said, his eyes lighting up, reaching into his pocket to get a few copper coins out. “Could you turn this into silver or gold coins? I could use the extra money.”
She gave him another smile. “Sorry, I am not that type of alchemist, I’m afraid. Alchemy is quite a broad school of study, and I am only good at making potions.”
“Wow, that sounds useful. Would you be willing to sell or at least trade with me for some of these potions in the future if you’re ever in the area?” he asked. putting her finger up to her lips and resting her chin on her hand for a passing second. “Sure, I would be happy to if I am ever nearby.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that,” Ozias said with a wide smile.
After this exchange and a change of subjects, they both continued to talk well into the night before retiring. The next morning, they exchanged pleasantries and went their separate ways. Ozias tended to his farm while Faustina sought a place to study and master her arcane craft. The events following that initial encounter between Ozias the farmer and Faustina the alchemist remain a mystery to all but the two of them. However, the outcome is known. It is highly unlikely that they could have foreseen the eventual downfall of the fleeting happiness they shared that day. Yet, if there was a silver lining to it all, it would be this: Ozias ultimately found the answer to his question of what is a good and virtuous life. His conclusion, whether agreeable or not, was to prioritise true love above all else, even above his obligations to family, community, and self.
This was the conclusion he came to as he slowly bled out on his front porch, with the dagger buried deep into his heart. His life started to flash before his eyes as his lifeblood seeped onto the ground and returned back to the soil from whence he came. As he looked up, he saw her with tears dripping from her face, one hand clutching her stomach while the other tried to force-feed a red liquid down his throat to no avail. His vision grew blurry, and his breath grew faint. But he had found the answer to his question, even though it cost him everything he had and what he had yet to gain.
