The sun soaked through the window, covering the bed in a warm, golden light. Grahamas sprawled across it and stretched, welcoming the heat. This was the first in many, many nights that he had actually spent in a bed not made of dirt and pebbles, and forgotten how deeply he missed it. Yet it wasn’t the sunshine that roused him, nor that put him in such a wonderful, relaxed mood. It was a very pleasant dream, and a strange feeling of connection with Elryia that was inflicting his happiness. He stretched again, leaning up and whispering to himself, “It’s going to be a good day.” He held for only a moment, then crawled out and got dressed.
He grabbed a loaf of bread and an apple from the counter as he walked by, nodding quickly to the woman behind it. He stepped out into the day, taking a deep breath before turning towards the barn to retrieve his horse. Still cheerful, Grahamas bowed to the stable boy and took his horse, Feiron, away from the door, attaching his bags to the saddle before he mounted. He rode at a slow trot, through the back end of Hensah, preparing for the long journey south.
His first inkling when he read “roots” in Tallvas’ letter was that he wrote of Irnin; but after he thought on it more he remembered his coronation ceremony when he became Champion.
When one was chosen and inaugurated, the ceremony had been held far south of the kingdom in the Loruzian Fields. It was an open valley tucked against the back of Loruze, a once bustling town which was the southern center of trade when Grahamas was young. But like many, like Hensah, it had fallen upon hard times, and was merely a shattered image of what it once was.
The Loruzian Fields were a sacred, beautiful, open valley far from Sharia and Kaldus. It was a flat land filled with beautiful flowers and flowing grass for miles, only interrupted by five trees scattered through the field. It was tradition when a Champion gained his title and was sworn in, the chosen warrior planted a tree in the valley as a tribute to the goddess Lornya. With the planting, the Champion then said a prayer and asked the Goddess to bless him with safety and valor during his service to the kingdom. Grahamas’ coronation had been no different. After he planted his tree, Tallvas had said something to him that he would never forget. “Your roots as Champion have been set Grahamas. Remember your duty and who you are. Even if Highlace falls, even if Irnin is destroyed, you still have a destiny and you still have something to serve. You are always Champion, son.”
Those words were what spurred him on when times seemed too hard to bear, when he seemed overwrought and overwhelmed. He remembered that he still had something to live for, to search for.
Grahamas finished his apple and threw the core aside, tugging off a hunk of bread as his mind wandered; settling on Elryia, the past, the future and the road ahead.
Loruze was at least two days away—if he didn’t push himself and his horse. A part of him wanted to charge there, but he knew better. In the back of his mind he worried how far Tallvas had actually spread his armor, wondering if he would find the rest of it from this trip or if it truly had been scattered about the land. If that were true, that meant he would be away far longer than he had hoped. The journey needed to be made, and in the end it would all be worth it, but he felt like a part of him was somewhere else; with someone else.
He sighed and blinked hard. He had to think of what was important to humanity, not just to his own desire. His emotions were telling him that he wanted to be near her but what the rest of the world needed was hundreds of miles in the other direction. A duty he would fulfill, but felt better in knowing that he had at least left a little piece of his heart with her.