Megan Danica Kaltyr collapsed into her rickety armchair. It had been one of her most stressful days since opening up her smithy. The damned festival always makes things so busy around here. She honestly didn't much care to make more money than was necessary. Smithing brought her a certain primal joy that exceeded other luxuries. Money, renown, none of it really mattered if she could only channel this feeling through her craft.
And damn that festival, too. Solemnity was right around the corner, which meant more foot traffic, which meant more business, which meant more work. Smithing was fun, but work wasn't. The transactions, the orders, the receipts, the petty nobles, the demanding Seekers, they could all go to the Abyss for all she cared. Business was a necessary evil, but she would always look forward to a time when she could escape it all. Meg stared blankly into the hearth fire while her imagination entertained this fantasy.
Then, suddenly, she stood up. She didn't know what compelled her, but she walked over to her desk. Receipts, orders, ledgers, and bank notes all covered its surface. I really need to get it together. But sticking out from underneath the mess was a folder she had placed there some days earlier. She grabbed it, sending other documents further askew. "I wonder..." she thought aloud, slowly flipping it open to the first page. She didn't know what she was expecting, but she was surprised for some reason to find what appeared to be a journal entry written on some very, very old paper.
She set the folder down on top of the mess. She couldn't read it if she wanted to, since it was written in such an archaic word form. And besides, Meg thought. I've got better things to do. She strode to the kitchen and made herself a meager dinner of roasted meat and vegetables. Hers was a simple life here in this small apartment behind her smithy; she didn't really have any friends, hobbies, or other interests. She ate to eat, slept to rest, and woke up every morning looking forward to the same routine every day.
But as she sat there looking at her strictly-nutritional dinner, fork hovering in her mouth, she couldn't get that accursed folder off her mind.
She put down her fork and returned to her desk. The folder seemed to glow, inviting her to open it up and read the incomprehensible words it contained. As if the contents within held something that Meg wanted — needed, even. She sat once more, this time at the desk, and gently took the folder, beheld it momentarily, then gently set it aside on a nearby stool. Gods, this desk is always a mess. To her own surprise, Meg actually began sorting the papers: ledgers here, orders there, receipts over here — Wait, how old is that receipt?! — until she had all of the papers neatly stacked in their respective piles. She almost considered sorting them chronologically, but she wasn't feeling that plucky. Baby steps, baby steps...
With the papers organized and the desk clean, she blew off some debris and dust, attempted to wipe a stain off, gave up, then once again replaced the folder on the desk. "Why am I even doing this..?" she grumbled to herself. "I can't read this, anyway..." And yet, Meg couldn't stop herself from opening it. She stared meaningfully at the first page for a moment. This is the one that those Seekers needed. I wonder if they made it... She set it aside and looked at the next. Page after page, journal entry after journal entry, she flipped and flipped, as tenderly as she could. And when she got to the end...
Meg gasped and sprung up, dropping the folder and its contents and knocking down her small chair. Then, she slumped to her knees, clenching her sides, and let out a sob. She sat crumpled like this for just a few seconds, but the shock she felt seemed to warp time and space. When she felt recomposed, she slowly rose to a kneel and stared down at her own face, which looked gracefully back up at her. The hair was different, sure, but Danica was her splitting image, from her forehead to her neckbone. She now realized why her sister was so eager when Meg had asked about Danica.
Vhea! she thought. Her sister! Why didn't she think of that sooner!
Meg scooped up the papers — Gentle, gentle! — put them back into the folder, and departed without so much as another thought.
"Oh, Meg!" Vheanyr Stillmoss, nee Kaltyr, greeted her sister. "It's rather late, don't you think? What about work-"
"I need you to read me this!" Meg thrust the folder out toward Vhea, who, recognizing it, raised an eyebrow quizzically at her. She took it and stepped aside, allowing Meg to shoulder past her and into the hall of her humble abode.
"Why the change of heart, hmm? Did something in there move you, perhaps?" she teased knowingly, letting a small grin loose.
"You could say that. I just..." Meg took an aggressive step toward her, but she stopped, her demeanor more relaxed, and said, "She's... she looks just like me, Vhe. And- I don't know, I felt this, like, kinship so suddenly. It just... it overwhelmed me," she trailed off. And now, Vheanyr looked genuinely surprised. Her sister rarely let her swagger relax. "And I get why Mom and Dad named me what they did." Meg raised a hand to cover her eyes.
Vheanyr touched her arm and smiled warmly. "The bonds of our family run deep and true through us all. There are many lessons to discover from their lives, each one a treasure in itself to us in the present." She put her arm around Meg's and walked her into the home's cozy study, pretending not to see her wipe her eyes. She didn't want to douse this fire so quickly after it kindled. The hearth was lit, and she had a book open on the mahogany desk already. "I was actually just reading about some distant relatives of ours — the Crosteres — and their journey toward Ziden in the early years of the Confluence. They struggled a lot to get there, but it was the first place in the east where people actually banded together to fight off the monsters."
"Huh, no kidding."
"Perhaps, if this enthusiasm sticks, we can read and talk about it together!"
"Don't get your hopes too high, Vhe," Meg poked. "I just want to learn more about Danica is all. We'll see about the Croissants-"
"Crosteres," Vheanyr corrected patiently, ever the older, wiser sibling.
"Yeah, yeah, the Crosteres," Meg mocked. "The point is- Oh, gods curse it all! I forgot to put my hearth fire out!" Meg suddenly exclaimed.
"Oh! Well, here." Vheanyr rushed purposefully to a section of the bookcase behind the desk and retrieved a less-ancient folder before handing it to a panicking Meg. "This is the translation of all those journal entries, written by Mom and Dad, actually!" Meg stared at the folder, then scowled at her sister and opened her mouth to protest. "Before you ask why I didn't give you these in the first place," she cut off, "For one thing, I didn't think you'd be so interested, and for another, they never actually translated the instructions for the shrine!" Meg closed her mouth, but still looked confused. Vheanyr continued, "If, for whatever reason, someone bad found our records, they'd potentially have a family heirloom of ours to steal, wouldn't they? But when you came in here talking about some Seekers that needed this information, I knew it was important. You hate those Seeker-types, so if you think they're trustworthy, then I trust your judgment."
Meg blinked, then barked an earnest laugh. "That's fair! Okay, okay, I get it," she allowed. They exchanged sisterly smiles, then Vheanyr looked at the hearth and back at her sister.
"Well?" she urged. "Your house? The fire?"
"Right!" Meg barreled out the study, and she heard the front door swing open. "Thanks again, Vhe!" her fading voice called through the entrance. Vheanyr shook her head, but she couldn't help grinning at her younger sister's totally expected, completely typical behavior.
Her boots would fly off if they weren't tied to her feet. She laughed quietly to herself as she shut and locked the front door, nostalgia flooding her mind with many memories of her sister's brazen attitude. A hearth couldn't hold a flame to her hot head. But they were all good memories, especially in hindsight. Their family would have been so dull without little Megan running amok.
"Let's hope she finds a little more of herself in ol' Danica."
The fourth evening of the third month in the seventy-eighth year after the world changed.
We just finished the shrine today. Its completion brought us great joy, but also a tinge of sadness. Our Danica was not coming back to us. It is strange how we refuse to face mortality until it is staring back at us. She led a noble life, and was to us as much a savior as her own gods were to her. I will never forget that fateful encounter all those years ago, when I was but a helpless babe clinging to our mother's shoulder. The story remains one of our favorites to tell in trying times, for the example set that day inspired all of us to be better.
My sister may have known how important she was to all of us, but if she did, she did not show it. Danica embodied concepts like selflessness, compassion, cooperation, and forward-thinking. She built us a community in which we could peacefully live and provided us the means to become one in spirit. For that, the Danicans will always remember her. Through this shrine and its subsequent elevation, we maintain hope that perhaps one day, her spirit may pass to another, and that countless will be blessed thusly.
Tomorrow, the Danicans make for a city on the shores called 'Wayside.' It boasts an ensemble of heroes — Seekers, they call themselves — who wish to band together and drive back the dangers of the world. In other words, they wish to do what Danica herself did all those years ago. For Danica's faith, our people have prospered, and no evil has plagued our beautiful home. But these Seekers need help, and we all knew that Danica would have made for the coast as soon as she caught word of it. We will bring them our steel as well as our spirits. With the hope for a better future in our hearts, we sail at sunrise.
We come with light in our hearts; a light that darkness will never take.
Meg wiped a tear from her eye as she set the last entry down. It was almost time for her to open shop, and she couldn't sleep at all last night. Seeing the words of her many-times-great-grandmother in her own tongue filled her with a joy she hadn't known, and learning of Danica's various adventures and stories reminded her of, well, herself. Only Danica was much, much nicer than Meg would ever be. But the stories got her thinking about those Seekers she sent to the shrine. She didn't think they would just steal the... What did they call it again? A 'Valorstone'? Whatever it was, it sure as hell didn't belong to them, but that Elemra seemed to imply that they would only need to borrow it until they were done with it. But what, exactly, were they going to do with it?
And then it hit her, like an anvil. Those morons are fighting a demon?! Why else would they need a relic so powerful and obviously holy? The Elemra was a priestess, for the gods' sakes. And here Meg sat, crying over stories all night, considering closing shop for the day. What was she doing with her life? These heroes from back in the day never really finished their work. Sure, many of the Seekers nowadays were total asses, but that didn't mean all of them were. Hell, some of the ones from the beginning probably sucked, too. And these guys, this "Astral Company," seemed just fine to her. Why couldn't she be like that?
Meg stood up, stumbled a bit from a headrush, and made for her shop door. Brenwick was already there, getting the front desk in order. "Oh, hey Brenwick," she greeted, and he jumped at Meg's sudden appearance. Right, they all probably hate me, the way I treat them. Everyone, really. "You know, I appreciate you being here this early, but why don't you take the day off? I'm not really feeling it today, and I don't see a reason to keep you or anyone around while you could be out enjoying the pre-festival... stuff."
The Goblin must have thought she was joking. He let out a short, nervous laugh and said, "Good to see you in good spirits, sir!" But when Meg didn't laugh, his face relaxed and he said, incredulously, "R-really? You... You don't need anything from me today?"
"Nah, I couldn't sleep last night, and we only have a few orders being picked up today. You're excused."
"Ar-are you sur-?"
"YES!" Meg shouted, harsher than she meant to. She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Yes, Bren, please go enjoy a day off. And if you see Trenma while you're out, let her know, too, if you could."
Brenwick hesitantly walked toward the door, apparently still expecting this all to be an elaborate joke. "O-okay! I'll... I'll be sure to!" he stammered, and when he managed to reach the door without another word from Meg, opened it up and said "Good... Goodbye, sir! And... Thank you! So, so much!" on his way out.
"Pfft. He doesn't have to sound so happy about it..." she muttered, then chuckled. I really need to get it together. Meg spent the next hour gathering up the orders and finishing some minor detail work on a few of them. When she was done, she set them all in appointment order on the front counter, and then she started a project of her own. One by one, the orders were picked up by their recipients, each leaving her the remaining balance as well as some tips, in a few instances. But she didn't take any new orders, and tried to keep the shop "closed" when she wasn't expecting anyone. All the while, she kept working on her projects. It was the first time she had ever made anything for herself since... well, she couldn't even remember.
The next day, Brenwick and Trenma arrived for their shifts, and this time, Meg had them stay. However, she told Trenma that she was confident in her abilities as an apprentice and let her take charge for the day. Trenma was ecstatic. Meanwhile, with Meg off the floor, Brenwick was much more relaxed himself. She started to wonder how she stayed in business or kept either of them on board. Regardless, she kept at her own pieces, and even after the store closed for the day, she kept working. This pattern continued for the next few days, with Trenma gaining more and more confidence and Brenwick finding his stride as well.
Finally, at the week's end, she was done. An ornate suit of armor built just for her, and a sword made in the very likeness of Danica's own claymore. Though, of course, Meg couldn't enchant the thing herself, but she did prepare it for such enhancements when she was ready for them. She donned the complete armor for the first time, and then lifted her sword, only to realize that she had no formal training whatsoever. She had a few practice swings, and even she could tell that the balancing was good. No matter, I'll just have to find a tutor.
The next morning, she sought out Brenwick and Trenma to let them know she'd be giving them joint ownership of the smithy. They were shocked, but Meg insisted she'd be around if they needed anything. She wasn't giving them her home, after all. The Elemra hugged Meg, who just stood their dumbly, and thanked her profusely for the apprenticeship. Meg could only half-smile and offer a "You're welcome." Brenwick seemed eager to help run the store without Meg around, but after babbling excitedly for a moment, he paused, stared at Meg, and cautiously moved to hug her as well. This time, she stooped down and hugged him back.
"Thank you," the Goblin said, much more confidently this time.
"You're very welcome, Bren," she replied tenderly.
And with all her affairs in order, Megan Danica Kaltyr set off to due her namesake proud.
