Report From The Tending Grounds

Fir

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ1004/019

Title: Report From Stonesworth

Author: Fir

Date: Written approximately in the second month of year 5607 A.o.W.

Extent: One report, four pages long

Notes: Was originally found burnt nearly beyond recognition. A version has been recreated above.

To His Eternal Warmth, my god-king above all:

I’m back at the Tending Grounds. What can I say? I missed Spica too much. I bet she was lonely without me. She wasn’t in the mood to make friends when I left. I doubt she’s any friendlier now.

I wanted to keep my arrival a surprise, so I had Ash summon her discreetly, which… yes. I know. A large ask for someone as loudmouthed as him.

News of my arrival is bound to get out eventually. The longer I can delay it, the better. I’m here for quality time with Spica. I’ll meet the Trainee Embers later, once Spica and I are more used to each other.

Spica came to me late at night, scampering into the room as if she expected me to extinguish her life. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw me. Looking back, maybe I should have allowed Ash to tell her just who had summoned her. I thought the surprise would be fun, but it wasn’t. It only made me feel sad for her. 

At first, she did nothing but stammer. But she didn’t stammer my name. “F-F-Flame Fee-Feeder.” Trust me, my liege. That’s an exact transcription of what she sounded like.

Either way, I welcomed her in. I told her to take a seat and enjoy a meal with me. She perched at the edge of her seat like a frightened little bird. I told her that the distance was no good. I asked the cooks to prepare us a feast. How could she reach anything on the table if she sat so far away?

“I c-could never presume, Flame-Feeder,” she said. I thought about what to tell her in response. Surprisingly enough, she continued to speak before I could. “I apologize for my previous conduct. I didn’t realize who you were. Please for-forgive me for being so ignorant.”

I’m starting to think maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should have let her father tell her who I was. That way, she would have been happy and starstruck. Not… this. Sad and shameful.

Ah. I want that first evening back so badly. That was all I could think about.

I told her to stop speaking such nonsense. I may be the Flame-Feeder, but she is my protege. She should call me Fir. Really, who did she think I even was? 

“Just some high ranking Ember,” she squeaked out.

And isn’t that funny? I certainly laughed at it. That only seemed to embarrass Spica further. I told her not to worry, but my words backfired, and the poor thing worried even more.. She shifted in her seat constantly, refusing to touch our food even as I heaped slices of roast duck and curried vegetables onto my plate, and then heaped the same onto hers.

I told her to share with me what was on her mind. It took some coaxing, but eventually she did.

Why did I pick her? That one was simple. Because You gave her to me.

Why did You pick her as my protege? Also simple. Because You see all, and You know exactly what I needed in a protege. And what I need is nestled deep within her potential. 

Then she asked about the day we left. She was distraught over it. I knew she would be upset. Who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t realize how little solace she took knowing it was part of Your plan. She also asked why I insisted on testing her. Why wasn’t her Spark enough?

That’s the thing. I didn’t test her. I will say, Your Most Faithful Disciple is not Your Most Patient Disciple, though You are well-aware of that fact. I should have gotten her the day after, I admit. But eventually, she’ll have to make difficult decisions. 

The forge is a violent place. We strike molten metal to make new weapons. She must be reforged into something stronger. No experience with me is a bad experience, no matter how it may feel in the moment. She simply has to accept that.

She was silent for a long time after that. I told her to eat to keep her strength up. She picked at her food. She didn’t eat nearly enough to sustain herself, but I wasn’t about to force it down her throat. 

I told her she should banish these sad thoughts. There’s so much in her future to look forward to if she’d only open her eyes. She seemed to take my words to heart, or at least as much as she could.

We were silent for a while. Normally I love it when people don’t talk to me, but I don’t like Spica’s silence. I want her to tell me everything! 

So when she said my name, without a single stutter, I looked at her. There was something in her eyes. I can’t name what it was, but I couldn’t stop looking. It was like… like a piece of what I had first seen in her on that very first day. It was something astoundingly bright.

“I’m not going to leave,” she told me. “I can’t change the past. If this is my destiny, then I will accept it. Please… teach me everything you can.”

Oh, my liege, my heart SOARED at those words. It was exactly what I wanted to hear! I darted forward and grabbed her hands. They were so cold in my grip, but I knew that would soon change. This girl is going to blaze so brightly. 

I told her that after the Branding Ceremony, we would go up north to the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal. She was excited to hear that. She’s always wanted to see her birthplace. 

I told her we’d take our time heading up there. We had no reason to rush. I’m unconcerned with seeing all of Scritta’s little show. Especially one made to prove a stupid point to me.

I can’t wait for our future together. May it be long, and may Spica grow into the flame You know she will become.

-Fir

Fir and Spica Convene, Artistic Rendition

Fir

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ1004/020

Title: Jasmine and Nico Meet, Artistic Rendition

Artist: Victoria of @spacejamtwo (Bluesky) (Instagram)

Extent: One illustration

An illustration of the events that occurred in the latter half of the second month of 5607 A. o. W., courtesy of the artist Victoria. Her information is linked in the metadata.

Journal Entry, Dated 28/02

Jasmine

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ1004/021

Title: Journal Entry, Dated 28/02

Author: Jasmine

Date: Written approximately 28/02, Year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One journal entry, six pages long

28/02

The days pass by quickly now that I’ve settled into a groove. It was one of the few things that made all of my nights at the lighthouse tolerable — I could let my mind go blank, and allow muscle memory take me from one task to the next. 

If only the evenings were the same. 

Every evening, it’s a new activity. Nico is bored by routine, and since every day of work is the same, he absolutely refuses to let us settle during our leisure hours. 

My favorite evenings are the ones where he looks around his cottage with a grimace and decides that some cleaning is in order, and I don’t have to spend my time figuring out how to keep a conversation going.Instead, I can fall back into old habits. I know exactly how to best sweep a broom across the floor or how to quickly dust a shelf. I don’t entirely enjoy cleaning, but it’s easy and familiar, and I enjoy easy and familiar.

We hadn’t had a cleaning session in a while, so I found myself yesterday hoping tonight was the night. Barring that, I can’t complain about the evenings where Nico only wants to relax. He believes the best way for me to unwind is through reading, so he’ll often drag me to his bookshelf and insist I pick a new volume to read.

Once, I asked how he owned so many books. Back in Seabreeze Shoal, only Spica’s dad had as many books as Nico— and that was only because he spent most of his life in the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal. Nico laughed, and told me that he got his from the same place. The scholars often pass off poorly scribed copies to the Embers who work the Hall.

I usually stay in the main room with Nico, since he doesn’t insist on talking. He’s usually content to sit by the hearth and leave me to my own devices, and I can tell he prefers having me there, rather than shut away in my room; he always mopes during the following morning whenever I hole up early. 

He’d designated yesterday evening for relaxing again— but not our usual quiet night by the hearth. After we cleaned up dinner, Nico rummaged around in a cabinet and pulled out a glass bottle full of dark liquid. He held it up proudly. 

“I have an idea!” he declared in a sing-song voice.

I’m sheltered, not stupid. It’s not like I’ve never heard of wine. “I’ve never drank before.”

Nico grinned like a wolf. “There’s a first time for everything, right?” He pulled out the stopper and grabbed two glasses from a cupboard I had never seen him open before. They were made of some black metal, tall and smooth with delicate stems leading down to round bases. 

He noticed me eyeing the glasses, and that only made his grin widen. He poured wine into one and handed it to me. It was a deep red, with a smell that was slightly fruity and mostly acidic. I took a sip and my face immediately scrunched up. Bad, but no worse than tea. 

Nico’s quiet laughter filled the room. “Yeah, me too,” Nico said, pouring some for himself. “Objectively? This is good wine. Personally? It’s a, eh… acquired taste.”

I took another sip. Made another face. I thought about dumping the glass, and instead brought it up for another nasty sip. Cinna once told me that good wine was hard to come by, and Nico had traveled the world enough to likely know the good from the bad.

“What are we supposed to do? Drink and make faces all night?” I asked.

“We can chat, too. Trade stories. Share our woes. Anything we want.”

What did I have to chat about? I couldn’t say. I’ve never been much of a talker. Even as a child, I was quiet; Blossom was anything but.

But I didn’t chat with Blossom much, either. All I ever did was snap at her to do her schoolwork, or to stop singing, or to leave the lighthouse alone. If she were here, maybe she’d sing a song for Nico. And maybe to someone like him, her songs wouldn’t be so strange. 

“Well? Something on your mind? Anything you’d like to share?” Nico asked, sipping his wine. 

My thoughts lingered on Blossom. I may be no good at talking or sharing, but she was. Warmth above and below, she’d be delighted to be here. She’d see me drinking and tell me to do it more often; whatever it took to lighten me up.

“I think my sister would have liked you,” I said.

Nico leaned forward. “Yeah? Why d’ya think that?”

“She would have liked your jokes. She’d probably teach you all of her strange songs. I swear, she never stopped singing.”

Nico watched me with warm sympathy. I took a sip of my drink just so I could hide my face behind the glass.

“She sang, hmm? That’s unusual. Very few people do anymore. Did you like her singing?”

I shrugged. “Not really? I usually found it annoying. But now, whenever I think of her, I hear one of her songs. I never realized how well I knew them.”

“When I was very young, years and years ago, I heard so much music. The other villagers loved to sing and make music, but not me. I never had the talent.”

His village really must have been secluded from the rest of the world. I had never met a merchant or an Undying Ember who considered music anything other than an odd quirk. Nothing but strange, useless sounds for strange, useless people. 

I had seen instruments sold before by particularly careless merchants, but they were better used as decoration atop a stand or mounted on the wall. The craftsmanship behind their creation was far more worth admiring than the sounds they created.

Blossom disagreed. She always wanted to play one, but instruments were expensive novelties, and her singing was bothersome enough on its own. 

But if Nico’s village made music, then maybe he could relate better to Blossom and her singing. Maybe their songs were similar.

“She never finished any of her songs. She’d come up with fragments of sentences, but never all of the words. If I sang one for you… would you be able to complete it?”

Nico took a sip, and I couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were a dull orange, like a dying coal the morning after a long burn. “Probably not. Like I said, I never really liked music. But if you do, then why don’t you finish the song yourself?”

I considered that. I didn’t know if I liked music then, and I still don’t now, but thinking of Blossom’s songs made her feel less gone.

“Okay,” I said. Then, after a moment, another thought struck me. It must have been the wine that made me say it out loud. “Can I… sing one for you? You don’t have to know the words. Just… let me know if you know it at all.”

Nico nodded at me. I took a deep breath. I thought of Blossom, of her lonesome and hopeful voice echoing off the walls of our home. Of the lighthouse. Of every room she was in.

I imagined her singing, and I sang along.

I didn’t know all the words, not bothering to trail off into the parts of the song where all Blossom did was hum. I stole a glance at Nico, who was watching me with a strange expression. He looked… almost sad. 

“Sorry. I’m not very good.”

Nico shook his head. He blinked, and I realized his eyes looked watery. “No, no. Your voice is lovely, Jasmine. It’s just… I haven’t heard that song in so long. It made me think of home.”

I almost told him that he was home, but I stopped myself. This place wasn’t his home. It was a graveyard. He didn’t need to be buried here too. 

That thought, I decided not to say aloud. Instead, I went to take another sip of my wine, only to realize that the glass was empty. I didn’t realize I was drunk until I set the glass down with a painful clang on the table.

My body felt off. My limbs were heavier, my mind calmer. 

But the void within me remained. The one that Blossom’s death had torn wide open. In the silence, all I could think of were the things I had given my life to, and everything I had left behind. All the hopes that I had abandoned.

I wouldn’t have lived a happy life there. But I don’t think my chances are any better out here.

“I wish they had killed me instead,” I said.

It would have been so much easier.

In a moment, there was a scorching hand around mine. I looked down and found it attached to Nico. I wondered when he had stood up. When he had gotten so close. 

He was so bright, so warm. The world could go dark and I’d still see him, blazingly bright. Faint traces of magic fell off him, though I couldn’t be sure if that magic was the reason behind the tightness in my throat and the burning in my eyes. 

“I don’t,” he said softly, with a squeeze of my hand. “She’s not gone forever. Not her, and not the love she had for you. Even if her body changes, her soul will be the same. You’ll meet again, I know it.”

For a moment, I thought I was going to cry. I didn’t cry when Blossom died, so why would I cry now? I blamed the wine for screwing with my emotions. I pulled my hand away from Nico’s grip and stared at my empty glass. Willing it full.

“I need another drink,” I said, snatching up the open bottle on the table. I poured myself another glass and took a large swig. At this point, the taste had grown on me. It wasn’t bad.

“Hey, be careful, Jasmine. I don’t need you going overboard on my watch,” he said. I wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not. I don’t think he knew, either.

“It won’t be a problem. Let me have this.” I half-wanted to slump back in my seat, but even the wine wasn’t enough to break decades-old habit. Blossom once said that I sat in every chair like it was uncomfortable. I responded by telling her she needed to have better posture.

“I was always so mean to her,” I said. “Snapping at her to do some chore or to mind herself better. Or leave me alone.”

“I’m sure she knew you only did it out of love,” Nico said.

“What good is love when it comes out like that?” I asked. I took another sip of wine, and it only made me sadder. “Can we talk about something else? Something lighter, and not about me?”

Nico was willing to give me that much. “Lighter, hmm…. oh!” Nico clapped his hands together. “Jasmine. Let me tell you about my first love.”

“That childhood sweetheart?”

“Yep!”

“He’s dead. How is that lighter?”

“Well he wasn’t always dead,” Nico said, as if that wasn’t incredibly obvious. “It’s a cute story, if you ask me. More than enough to lighten the mood.” 

I had enough wine by that point that I can’t remember exactly what Nico said, but I remember the gist of his story. The boy’s name was Ambrox. His very first friend in the village was the same girl that Nico had befriended before — apparently, they came as a matched set, and befriending one meant being friends with the other. Their families weren’t related by blood, but you wouldn’t have known that from the way they treated one another.

Ambrox followed Nico around like an afternoon shadow, arms always outstretched. Ambrox was two years younger than Nico, but much bigger and broader than Nico ever was. He was quiet, and good with his hands. He liked carving little wooden trinkets, of wolves and cows and cabins, and twisting scrap metal into jewelry. He gave many of these to Nico as gifts. The only one he still has is the earring.

Nico was only a kid then, but he loved Ambrox as much as he could understand love. If they had been a little older, he’s certain it would have grown into something deeper. Ambrox felt similarly. When Nico had gotten his Spark and was about to leave, Ambrox came to him with a gift: the same earring he wears now. Nico accepted it, and promised to come back. 

He spent his years as an Ember thinking of Ambrox. They still talked for a few years after, while Nico was at the Tending Grounds. Ambrox wrote him letters more often than his own parents did, though Ambrox was never a strong writer. Nico was about sixteen when his letters stopped receiving replies. Nico stopped writing to Ambrox, thinking he had gotten bored of him. Maybe he had found someone else in the years they spent apart. He stopped wearing Ambrox’s earring, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.

Then Nico came back, and discovered the truth. 

After that, the rest of the night faded in the haze. But when I woke up this morning, I had the strangest thought.

I wanted to see what Nico had to tell me today.