1-A Thousand Years….
My reflection stared back from the rain-streaked window: purple eyes, unchanged in two thousand years. A spider was meticulously weaving its web in the corner, its work as patient as my own vigil. Even now, the pearly white fangs of my draconic heritage haven’t dulled a day as a yawn passed my maw.
Footsteps rounded the corner as I casually raised the hood of my cloak. A simple act that rendered a seven-foot-tall, half-dragon being into just another shadow.
"...isn’t he practically immortal? This is probably another rainy day for him." a young voice—Timbal's—grumbled.
"It's the Millennium of the Estate!" His sister Sharlene shot back; her voice sharp as she hurried past. "A 'rainy day'? Timbal, the last king we served sold us off for a single misdeed! Fethrblaka offers a legacy. I will not make the mistake of disrespecting that power twice. Now hurry up."
Their quarrel faded down the hall. A light sigh escaped me. Another rainy day. The boy was right, in a way… My eyes drifted back to the window. The spider… It finished its web, a perfect, fragile thing against the storm. The three hundred and ninety-seventh to choose that exact spot. To it, the thunder that rumbled in the distance, a sound so like the one in my own chest, was merely background noise. To the Hearthbound, however...
Entry 1 - On the Master of the House - Year 042
He is not a king on a throne. He is the quiet gravity that holds us all in place. I have seen him spend an entire day watching a spider weave its web, his focus as absolute as if he were studying the birth of a star. Those who arrive expecting a roaring tyrant will be deeply confused. His power isn't in his voice; it is in his presence, in the unnerving calm that settles over you when he looks your way. You find yourself wanting to speak the truth, not from fear, but because a lie feels like a clumsy, heavy thing in the air around him.
— Callain, First Caretaker of the Western Hall
...they were the ones who truly gave it meaning. I finally rose from my chair, the soft glow of merriment from the passing Hearthbound drawing my attention. Two in particular, Syl and Dro'Gul, chatted between two hallways nearby. I watched them, contemplating what a 'master' should do… What would a good ‘master’ do… My mind still wandered, but my gaze remained fixed on the duo now.
Syl’s clothing were pressed and cleaned today, a new high for her mood. Her plumage radiated a joy she’s slowly culminated over the last four years. Today, she danced, and the air around her held a joy one cannot simply describe. I can see her chatting with Dro’Gul in his own traditional garb, his darker green skin beautifully spanning the honed muscles he’s gradually built from his resource allocations for other denizens. He smiles, he blushes, even if Syl cannot tell his subtle signs. Companionship, friendship, comradery…. Its those feelings, gifted by these Hearthbound, that give value to days like this…
Slowly, I move on. My path one of whims, not of destinations... I find myself walking a path to nowhere, yet to everywhere, only to stumble back towards the Main Hall where the ‘Day of the First Hearth’ both commences, and concludes.
Even as I stand before the First Tile, in front of the First Hearth I built in this Estate… I’m reminded of my first failure. The tile lays cracked, unpatched for a millennium. Yet, to those who first step forth here, who look down, see the broken… They see something else. For those who finally leave, they remember it in another light. It is only tended to, yet never mended. Cleaned, cared for, and regarded highly…
My mind wanders, my feet a mind of their own draw me down another of the changing hallways. A crowd walks with ease as my mind focuses back to the here and now. Crayton, Jezel, Felcyn, Zelra, and Hrok; they appear to be locked in a heated debate about the splendour of today. Only Zelra looked up from their debate as they walked, her gray eyes locked perfectly to mine… She smiled lightly, the black stripes and whiskers on her face moving enough to acknowledge me as the rest remained completely unaware. A faint smile crawled across my face as I touched the side of my cloak, no words exchanged just… An understanding.
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My path continued onward, but it was clear where I was travelling now. Wafts of delicacies drew my attention as I followed it towards the main kitchen. Despite never needing to eat, nor drink, the happiness it brought was something I’ve never outgrown…
The main kitchen was a live with wonder and awe, as it always is this time of year. Hundreds of dishes from across time and space were being cooked in a symphony of joy and cheer. Dro’gul made his way past me, excusing himself yet never seeing who I am as he went to attend his own slow cooked meal. Selene knew I was here well before I ever graced the kitchens entrance, yet never glanced in my direction. She was teaching her recipe, a staple and favourite for hundreds of years amongst The Hearthbound, to a young kobold who was sharing his own recipe of Roc Eggs with her. She knelt down to be beside him on equal level as he explained how they decided the best eggs of the bunch from his homeland, how even one was a cherished feast among his kind… He wept, of sorrow, yet strength grew within him as Selene’s hand slowly rubbed his back. Her voice was lighter than the rain, yet more comforting than a cold breeze after a long day of fieldwork… Her eyes finally glanced upward, meeting mine, a simple nod that held hundreds of years behind them. A bit clouded, yet sharper than ever. I dare not interrupt the moment with my own presence, as this situation is already handled by hands more skilled than mine…
Through the various pots, pans, and magical instruments I glided around the various Hearthbound and exited out the back, and into the crisp air. The hum of plant-life, despite being hidden by the cloak, guided me deeper away from the busy bodies I’ve grown to know so fondly. As I walked, the rain slowly grew heavier…
The garden is overjoyed by the rain today, it appears even the plants will be celebrating The First Hearth with us. Of purples and reds, greens and blacks, a plethora of beauty and utility all mixed as one. My wandering has taken me to one of the outlying structures on The Estate where an old friend resides. Four hundred and sixty-three years old, and a Hearthbounder for three hundred and twenty-three of them…
“Moss-Singer of the Star-Crushers graces us again.” A massive, ancient, hunched furred beast whispered on the wind, their back to us. A bear-folk of sorts, in tuned with the nature around him. Leif’s fur had slowly begun holding the same glowing moss from that day, a reminder to their quieting mind. Their voice is low and tired from their age, yet held the weight of the wisest among us all. Every day we meet, I feel the weight of my mind ease, their presence grounding and… Kind.
“Yet I am of the blessed to have met you, Moss-Singer.” Leif rumbled as they shifted slightly, turning slowly as they knelt in front of several plants. The moss on their arm glows slightly, their eyes colorless. They do not see, yet the still hold the memories of the years past.
“I wished to bid you another Hearth’s Day, Leif.” I spoke quietly, the rumbling in my chest quiet as I removed my hood. More plant life around us awoke, sparks of joy and happiness from my presence alone. The endearment and love so many have put into these plants, only to have them respond to me in such a light…
“Affection given altruistically is the hardest to accept.” Leif’s voice carried the weight of all the life in the area, the fondness, the joy. “Yet, know your mere existence has saved countless, Moss-Singer.”
“It is those very lives who have saved mine, friend.” I spoke as I knelt beside them, a massive scaled paw resting upon their shoulder now. Their fur was damp, yet they radiated warmth. As many times before, and many times to come, I reached up upon my head to run my fingers through my feathers… A singular feather plucked; a large prismatic feather laid upon their hand.
“A marker for another plant.” Leif spoke quietly, their smile unconditional as they turned once more toward the plant they were attending. Their whispers guided the plant to wrap around the feather as they planted it near its base, the effects immediate. Strength, beauty, and a legacy that wont be forgotten. I have sat before, all day, all night, and felt comfort from Leif’s being, learning their way, their state of being. Yet, today was not one I could sadly do so.
“Two souls approach, those whom care. May the day warm you as you have me, Moss-Singer.” Leif rumbled as they slowly stood up, turning to face behind me. The flower, like many others in its row, held a feather of mine. Many losing their shine, but grown strong because of it… I slowly stand up, letting my hood rest upon my head once more as the plants continue to sing their joy…
The walk back to the Estate proper was cold, but not of sorrow. The rain’s intensity slowly grew, yet the warmth within grew… An oddity… Every year, that such a warmth can feel the hollowest. Where the merriment of others fills a void, yet create its own in the process. They celebrate, they cherish, the love and share amongst themselves. I merely provided the chance to do so… Yet, they hold me in such a high regard in a cage of gilded peace… I may be the one who purchased, who freed, who saved and gave the opportunity at this life… Yet I feel not worthy of a single praise… Even in this one-thousandth year of the Hearth, I feel the weight of all I could not do…
Entry 13 - A Good Memory - Year 677
One night, I could not sleep and went walking by the river. I saw him there, sitting among the glowing mosses. He was humming, a low, resonant sound that made the air thrum. As he hummed, the mosses brightened and dimmed in time with the sound, pulsing with gentle, blue-green light. He wasn't commanding them. He was in conversation. It's my favorite memory of this place: a being who could command stars, choosing instead to sing with the moss.
— Leif, Gardener
