Dark Age Year 863
Twenty-eighth day of the Tenth month
“What is a good and virtuous life?”
“What?” Ozias said placing his shovel down on the ground as he turned and looked at the old navertin merchant standing in front of him. He wore a puzzled expression on his face as he hadn’t heard the question being asked. “Sorry You’re going to have to repeat that; I didn’t hear you.”
“Oh, I am so sorry, my friend. I was merely asking if you know what a good and virtuous life is. You see, I am in the middle of a debate, and I was hoping you would be able to help me,” the merchant said, giving a wide, toothy grin. He could even see a few of his teeth were gold or silvered. Ozias shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how much help I could be…”
“Varian,” the merchant replied.
“Varian, I am not what you would call a thinking type,” Ozias said while tapping his finger on his forehead. “I am more of a hands-on person, if you know what I mean, so I don’t know how much help I could be. Maybe you want to ask the village elder.” He pointed behind him. “The village is a few miles that way. I’m sure the village elder would be happy to help and able to answer your question.”
“Thank you for your advice, I will pay the village elder a visit. But before I do so. I would still like to hear your thoughts on the subject, if you don’t mind. As a young man you will have a perspective that your village elder may not.”
“Well, I guess.” It took him maybe a few moments to think of a good answer until it popped into his head, well, the answer that felt right for him at lest. “Doing right by your family and community. That is what a good and virtuous life is.”
“Is it?” Varian asked, shooting him an inquisitive look.
“Of course it is. What else is there?” Ozias responded, the answer clear as day to him. There was nothing else in life but friends and family. That has been his reality all his life, and it’s what he has been told throughout his entire life. So it must be true; that is all that there is to life. Who was this man to question that?
“What if you don’t have those things? What if your family and so-called friends are nothing more than mere parasites, who feed on you and drain you dry? What if the community you live in does nothing but demand sacrifice after sacrifice from you, while you get nothing in return?”
“That’s stupid. No one is in such dire straits. Family and friends stick together. If you don’t, you don’t have a village or anything to live for. End of story,” he said, looking at Varian while shooting him a glare.
“I am only saying that there might be more to life than just your family and community, especially if you don’t have those things. Could you, by your definition, live a good and virtuous life without them?” Varian responded back, not even acknowledging the glare.
Ozias stood there for several moments, unable to come up with a response until he finally uttered, “I don’t know. I couldn’t image anyone not having those things.”As he did, he saw Varian give a warm and almost comforting smile.
“As you can see, my friend, it’s quite a hard question to answer, but I thank you for your help. It has been quite enlightening. For your trouble,” Varian reached into one of his bag and pulled out a small pouch. “Take these tomato seeds as thanks. I am sure a farmer like yourself will find these quite useful.”
“Thank you,” Ozias said as he grabbed the pouch from Varian’s hand. “Well, I hope the village elder will be more helpful than I was.”
“Nonsense, my friend, you were quite helpful. But I must be on my way. Safe travels, my friend.”
“Same to you friend,” Ozias replied as he watched Varian head towards the village. As he did, a thought came into his head. What is a good and virtuous life then?
It was a simple question that few ever truly had an answer for: What is virtuous for one may be vice for another. But there lies a grander question: What constitutes a good and virtuous life? For most, it would be a simple and humble life of community and family, a predictable and stable existence, the ideal for many. 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 for the betterment of your community and others, and then you die. There are no bells or whistles in your life or at your passing. You are just a single link in the endless chain of being called the human race. You live on through the blood of those who come after you, just as those who came before you live within you. For most, this is what constitutes a good and virtuous life, but is it really? What if you didn’t have those things, could you live without them, could you still be virtuous? That was a question that Ozias, the humble farmer, was starting to ask himself.
He then started to remember the tales of heroes and legends that he had heard as a young boy. Stories of daring, bold individuals who were perhaps crazy enough to follow their hearts without fear or hesitation, no matter where it might lead them. They broke free from the imagined or real chains that threatened to hinder and blind their spirits. Wasn’t true greatness of the human race found in those who stepped off the well-trodden path? Isn’t that why heroes are immortalised and worshipped, because they do and achieve things that seem more than human? Were people like this born that way, or is there a latent spark within every person that can ignite that fire of greatness if they are brave enough to light it? To stand alone and be willing to find and carve out their own destiny through strength and will alone? To not settle for the hand life has dealt you, to desire more, to have the courage to look within yourself and say, “Yes, I want more, I hunger for more, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to shine ever so bright, even though I will fade out like a candle in the wind.” Is it better to burn out than to fade away, and is this the essence of a good and virtuous life?
These where the question that Ozias, the farmer, soon found himself asking more and more after that encounter with Varian as he tended to his farm, caring for his animals and sowing seeds for the upcoming harvest. Day after day, he toiled tirelessly from dawn till dusk, working in the fields until the sun dipped below the horizon, its warm rays caressing 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 the few friends he had left. Whatever war, famine, or pestilence had not taken him, time had claimed instead. Pain and loss were his only companions now, and they were companions he longed to be free of.
Life on the frontier regions of Aria was tough and harsh, even at the best of times. However, it was made worse by the civil war that plagued the land, 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 Ozias. It was like a sword of Damocles hanging over them, ready to strike at any moment, making survival a daily struggle and suffering your 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 grim, recounting entire villages decimated by plague or communities facing crop failures and resorting to desperate measures. Ozias often heard unsettling stories of people engaging in acts so startling. That he hesitated to even think about them or repeat them in 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, but it couldn’t replace the emptiness that threatened to drown his heart in a lake of sorrow. He missed his family and friends.
While he could take joy in the fact that managing a 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 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. 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?
Ozias often pondered this question. 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 is when things began to change. She wasn’t anything remarkable at first, but she soon became significant to him. Significant in a way that he at the time couldn’t possibly imagine. But isn’t this how these stories start with a fateful, if not chance encounter? One that didn’t seem important or significant at the time, but with hindsight and retrospect became one of the most pivotal moments in his life.
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 had been searching for, a place that was all too familiar to him. It was 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: a girl. She was pretty, appearing to be around his age, maybe a few years younger, with metallic brown eyes that shined in the daylight. Her short curly dark brown hair had bright pink tips that rested past her ears, and she had a slim, petite body with a light olive skin tone that made her seem almost doll-like. Her face was slightly peppered with small freckles. She was dressed in a fancy robe of deep browns and greens, adorned with runes and glass vials woven into the fabric, with a necklace around her neck that bore a symbol he didn’t know. She also carried a small straight stick holstered at her side, along with a small dagger. 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 girl 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 girl.
“Yes, I am. I just arrived from down south. I was travelling with a friend of mine, but we got lost and separated.”
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, while you look for your friend 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 plenty of rooms and space if you’re looking for accommodation for the night.”
“My, my, my, that is rather bold of you. It’s quite rare that I encounter such hospitable people in my travels, 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. As long as that all your offering.” she said with a warm smile.
Surprised by her swift response, Ozias smiled and said, “Okay, well, just give me a moment to finish picking these berries, and then we shall be off.” 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?” 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 also 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 tyrannical sorcerer kings that once ruled Aria, known as the Lords of Septum, that he once heard about as a child didn’t help and reinforced the negative perception of magic that he and many people had. 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 there is. You’re such a farm boy.”
“Well, what do you expect, from this farm boy.” 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. Such as Turn lead into gold, brew potions and elixirs that can give you the strength of a demigod.” Faustina explained
“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 coin.”
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. Also…” she added, “I don’t want to be crucified or burned alive for coin printing.” Ozias didn’t know what this coin printing was, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t want to get her into any more trouble. but these potions could to helpful to him.
“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. She put her finger up to her lips and rested her chin on her hand for a passing second before replying, “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 their initial exchange and a change of subjects, they continued talking 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 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 reached as he slowly bled out on his front porch, the dagger buried deep in his heart. His life began to flash before his eyes as his lifeblood seeped onto the ground, returning to the soil from which he came. Looking up, he saw her with tears streaming down her face, one hand clutching her stomach while the other attempted to force-feed a red liquid down his throat, to no avail. His vision blurred, his breath grew faint. Yet, he had found the answer to his question, even though it cost him everything he had and everything he had yet to gain.
