Seasons

Seasons change, but people never do. That’s one lesson Phariah has learned in her life with undeniable certainty. As the chilling cold of the Drachmeerian winter winds seeps through the stone of her prison cell, it feels even more poignant than ever. Near the very top of her personal cage, there is the faintest allowance of the outside world. A single shaft of natural light and, if she’s lucky, a favorable breeze. But she can’t see a thing from her current position on the floor.

With slight hesitation, she glances out beyond the bars into the hall to ensure her solitude. No guards in sight, and the rest of the prisoners on her hallway are subdued for the moment. She hops to her feet and bounces nimbly off the walls to lock her legs into the corner and pin her against the ceiling. Her muscles easily hold her weight even in such a tricky position, and she cranes her neck to peek out the window. A brief glance into a world of pristine white confirms her suspicion… the seasons have changed once more. 

She savors the treasured glance of the rolling hills with hungry eyes, she’s never felt more out of touch with nature then being sealed within a box of cinderblock. But… it would be unwise to allow her captors to know the extent of her physical prowess… so she nimbly allows herself to fall back onto the floor with a roll. 

In her mind’s eye, she can still see the idyllic scene of frigid white even as her vision is surrounded by stone once more. Much of Drachmeer shares that indistinguishable landscape of rolling hills. She has seen every color imaginable grace those plains… 

Bright pinks and lilacs speckled across the horizon. A collage of wildflowers laying siege to the frosted grasslands as spring reclaims the earth many years ago… she is younger, a child. The flowers delight her senses, sight, scent and sound, and she remembers using her magic to help them grow taller and more beautiful than ever before. Tall enough to dwarf the form of a tiny human as she giggles and rests in their shadows...

But children in Drachmeer rarely have time for wonder. Spring is a symbol of new beginnings, and this one was no different. 

That was the day her aunt and uncle officially indoctrinated her into their family’s ninja order. Her tenth birthday, and as a present, she received the invaluable gift of training. The little girl didn’t know it at the time, but she would face a life of untold hardships. The lessons she learned in those intense training sessions would save her life countless times. Through years of practice, her body would transform from a liability to her greatest weapon. She would never be truly unarmed unless her assailant removed the arms from her body. To this day, she takes great care to rehearse the vulnerabilities of the human body, and the easiest ways to vanquish a foe. 

As time passed and she became a weapon, so did the flowers she grew. Their shapes more monstrous with every passing fight to reflect her need of them. And yet still the beauty of nature is never lost on her. No plant has ever betrayed her, they seek nothing but sunlight and water…. They want for nothing but survival. A sentiment she can relate to.

Her training grew more intense with each passing day. With time, elegant verdant lengths of grasses emerged to dominate the flowers that welcomed her to the order. A sea of flowing life stretching as far as the eye can see, tall enough to reach her knees and swaying with every breeze of the wind. With summer came pelting rays of sun that she and her abilities flourished beneath. Growing taller, more nimble, these years are kind to her. She excels in the order, as cousin to the next lord of her family, she would never be noble. But she would bring her name glory in other ways. 

Against backgrounds of the brightest green conceivable, she learned the concepts of pride and honor. How to be proud of your accomplishments and upbringings and familial ties. The value of a legacy, and the need to bolster it with her own life. By the age of fourteen, Phariah believed she was headed down a path of duty she could gladly devote her life to. 

But then, with no conceivable warning, the green of summer was overtaken by flares of crimson and gold and orange. Her memories of that day come in flashes, but the moments she does recall are seared into her mind with perfect clarity.

Flames. So much fire that any speck of life was consumed in its wake. She had only gone for a walk to commune with her magic, and in that brief time her world has been turned upside down. She is frozen in place as she watches the vista of her family home get engulfed by the encroaching destruction, eyes wavering as the shadows of the blaze stretch across her horrified face.

How...? Why...? She wondered.

There is no honor in this. On this day, Phariah learned that some things are far more important.

Her feet race against the beaten path of dirt as the normally lackadaisical grasses blaze around her. Sparks fly and singe her bare arms as she raises her hood to protect her face, determined to reach her family by any means necessary. Through the flickering tongues of flame she catches a glimpse of the beings responsible…

They seem more demon than man in that moment. Long shadows cast far behind them and sickening glares directed towards the most upsetting thing she’s ever seen in her life. A leader with his son at his side, the latter only slightly older than her. The same red of the flames around them accents their hair and outfits as well as they stalk through their path of razed destruction. She ran as fast as she could… but the monsters reach her home before her.

They burst through the door of the villa, bringing flame and ash and the fog of vile magic pouring into her home. From a window she watches from outside with wide eyes as the scene unfolds.

Her duty commands her to defend her lord and lady from any attack. And yet she remains rigidly in place. Even in spite of the blazing inferno, the sickly fog that emanates from the pair leaves her chilled to the bone at even the slightest touch.

The father orders their deaths. And the son complies without a second of hesitation. Phariah does nothing but watch as the heads of her family have their souls rended. Then each of her cousins, snuffed out without remorse. A fate worse than death, but the eventual result is the same. What was a powerful and respectable family mere moments ago, is now nothing but a collection of corpses. She will never forget the smirk on that vile man’s face, or glee in his eye as he wiped her name from existence. In the blink of an eye, she became the only surviving member of her clan.

Phariah will never forgive herself for hesitating to do her duty. On that day, when her home was left a crumbling waste and her body covered in volatile red burn marks, she learned to never allow an opportunity to slip past her again. And she swore she would never hesitate like that again.

In the wake of the devastation, much of her nation was overtaken by gray. No life could grow in a land blighted by pure evil. The dirt was stricken bare… the sun never shone through the lifeless clouds, but no rain would fall to quench the wastes. The land remained devastated.

At that time, she learned the names of the monsters who destroyed her world… Fenhardt. The ones who brought all the families of Drachmeer to heel. The ones who subjugated the weak and obliterated those who refused in pursuit of power. And the ones she would destroy by any means necessary. It was the only purpose she had left to pursue… to complete the duty she failed so terribly all those years ago...

But alas, seasons change. Time goes on, and another would curb the reign of Fenhardt rule long before she was ready to take her chance. With their evil vanquished, green would retake the gray once more. The plains recovered from their trauma, and slowly… so did most of the people.

But Phariah had nothing to return to but a pile of charred rubble. And she knew the truth. The one who claimed to usher in their new age of peace was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, another son bearing the name of her sworn enemy. She wasn’t the only one who believed as much, she gathered other wayward warriors with training similar to her own… and she prepared for the day she would get her vengeance. Surely fate will give her at least one more chance. One chance to make up for her mistake so long ago...

But the day never came. She was thwarted twice in her attempts to punish the family who destroyed her life. One by one, her followers wilted in their resolve until finally even the one she called sister left her for the enemy. It was then that she learned that the world is an unjust place, governed by power and not virtue. There will be no justice but what she takes herself.

And now, here she is, slowly wasting away in her despair. Many seasons in her tracks, this first snowfall marks the third winter she will spend sealed away in this horrible place. The royal dungeons of Drachmeer, after all this time, she is pinned once more beneath Fenhardt heel just as she was on that fateful day… the same enemy that ruined her life now holds it captive without remorse.

Not a surprising realization, for as she well knows, seasons may change, but people never do.