The Frost Upon the Water - Chapter 1 | A Tale of Coruscations

*Hi! This is a long-term project of mine which is a fantasy novel series inspired by The Lord of the Rings, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Grandia II, Encantadia, etc. I'd procrastinated writing this for maybe nine years but I finally decided to start it last year~ I've been (very) slowly writing and worldbuilding for the past year and, after some edits and one last casual read-through earlier today, I decided that it may be time to share my Chapter 1 here. I would very much appreciate your feedback!

I plan to get this published someday (in the far future) so I will most likely only ever share this Chapter 1 publicly. If you find this interesting enough (Thank you!) and want to keep track of this project, feel free to stalk me here on YWS. I stop by here sometimes and sometimes I post writing thoughts and stuff. Also, feel free to stalk this Google Docs link. - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1e-HNcQ_U3roMM... . This is where I write and is where my future chapters will be for this first draft, unless I make a new link or write somewhere else. Note that, like I said, I write very slowly so don't expect progress soon, haha. (I'm currently reading Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson and am considering rereading LOTR, on top of other preoccupations.)

If you want to read this Chapter 1 with my font of choice and some more formatting, refer to the Google Docs link above as well. (*Note that I do make edits still to this chapter in the Docs file.) I formatted this YWS entry also but didn't thoroughly check it so let me know if there are errors. Lastly, I came up with 'Cerulien' as the character's name before I came up with 'Caerulean' as a username so, while the character draws some inspirations from me, I don't want to treat this as a self-insert. Anyway, (wooh, I'm nervous! xD) without further ado, here's the first draft of Chapter 1 (of Book 1) as of May 26+, 2021.

*Map made with Inkarnate's free version (back in August 2020):

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BOOK I: THE FROST UPON the WATER

A Tale of Coruscations

“How many pages have you lost?”

“Innumerable.”

Chapter 1 - Awaken

He walked across the wooden hall, faded titles like eyes all around him. Dust blanketed the lonely floor, and the heads of the boards that sheltered the sleeping eyes, unwoken memory. Dust he kept off of his nose, for it was not a day of annoyance. For one, it was a day of rain, and of the puddles of mud he could not yet hear splattering while he lingered. It was also a day of trial, that which he had dreaded the entire hour. There was no time for dust, and as the greyed sun soon met his face at the waking of the door, the wooden hall was a thing of the past and what day it was was made clear.

       If I lose, I get guard duty… He’d say it isn’t too bad, except-

       "Cerulien!" his name was called by a voice he'd known, greeting him like the morning sun if only it wasn’t dark.

       Water tickled the strands of his hair as they fell on his lowered head. His eyes met no one's but the coldness that dropped from the black that almost hid his brows. Dim still was his vision. Dim also was the sky.

       "Awake yet?" continued the voice, tempered but clear in the springing drizzle. Others started chuckling, but the former cast a glance and they were silent. All that could be heard in that pause were the raindrops, falling like a gentle applause on the thatched roofs of the halls and houses around them, but cold were they like they should be in the first moons of the year if it were not windless. At least there in the village of Vapohos.

       "The weather has no weight on these," mumbled their master, his frown in his sigh and in the water that slid down his sleeves. Across from him stood Cerulien, who would in truth like to not be there freezing his bones in the rain. To his left were the other students, gathered in a half circle and whispering amongst themselves. To his right was Daelor, standing tall but patient in wait.

       "Daelor. Cerulien. Begin."

       With a skip of his heart, Cerulien saw Daelor bolting towards him. He lifted his feet and his arms in defense, but Daelor's heel was a second away from his face. He moved to his right, avoiding both the foot and the sprinkle of mudwater that would have hit him, had he been closer.

       "I see you've woken up!" Daelor said.

       "I was not aslee-"

       The same heel was on its way to Cerulien's head and the other to his waist after a spin from his opponent. With his palm, Cerulien blocked the first but the second one hit. To the ground he fell before he could form a thought or open his eyes or feel the pain. Breath escaped his lips, his garments and skin now quite muddied, and the already faint will that stood his spine became a little fainter.

       Daelor stopped there before him, his shoulders lowered and his feet stayed by an apology withheld and a belief. Cerulien would do better than this. He’d trained a lot and would sometimes spend days by himself or with their master to prepare. And they’d often spar together; what difference they had in height or weight was already becoming a thing of no concern.

       But Cerulien never truly remembered more than his defeats. And as he rose, the odds he thought he had begun to seem all the slimmer. Daelor of Many Victories was his foe. Daelor the Sun-crowned, dexterous and hardened. Daelor the Hunter’s Son, full of promise...

       Daelor - the name he knew long before he’d ever stepped out of his family’s home, the veneer of a child rather different from his and his kin yet he never seemed to mind, the voice of whom he’d witnessed breaking until it changed, like his did.

       Cerulien stood with a certain fortitude like trees in a storm - roots firm in the mud, yet with an ease like leaves blowing in the wind, driftwood in the river. His foe struck with a sideward palm and a fist, but he deflected both like mirrors against light. His foe then spun with a nimble kick, but Cerulien parried that - a mere drop of sweat and rain to his chin - then stepped forward with a palm to his enemy’s face.

       Daelor moved back and avoided the strike, a smile forming on his face as the duel became less in his favor. The two fighters took and measured their breaths. Both now had plans in their heads: one with a little more surety and a smirk, the other with a little more calculation. They closed their gaps, took their steps to the side - Cerulien with a quick, careful turn, and Daelor with a keen chop. The former pulled the other by the hand to lead him to a fall; the latter let it be and lifted himself up instead, his legs whirling in the air as he moved to the other side and broke free from the hold.

       He was ready to move again as he landed on his feet but-

       Crack! Bang!

       White flashed from the sky, half-flooding all their senses. It was met with screams and stolen breaths.

       “Lightning? W- Was that lightning?” said the voices around them. “But where-? What? I thought it hit us!”

       Cerulien could feel the booming in his heart, but a new discomfort stirred within him for another reason he could not quite recognize. His mouth was agape like the rest of the faces blurred in this now crescendoing downpour, and the splatters he could not hear before mingled with the chorus that submerged his ears. They all knew it was raining but a lightning this close? It was barely even a storm but... This was a lot more than Cerulien had dread for, back in the wooden hall of dust, but even that lesser dread from minutes past was already forgotten.

       He stood there, waiting for something yet wanting to move. Most of the others had already gone. He looked at their master, hoping for answers, but questions were what he also had.

       Master Talin…? he almost asserted as the man began running towards where it seemed the lightning struck. Another student soon followed after, but he could not quite recognize them in the deluge that blurred his sight.

       Daelor glanced at Cerulien and then their master, a hint of concern in his eyes. The duel with his friend was all that he had anticipated that day, not a possible disaster, nor a sudden pull of the ear.

       “Ow, Ma! What are y-” he said as the sting peaked and receded. His mother had arrived, one hand ready for another pinch, the other clenching a leaf umbrella, shielding them somewhat from the rain.

       “What are you still doing here, hm? Didn’t you see the- ”

       “Yes, Ma, I saw!” he said as he stopped his mother’s second pincer. I mean, I didn’t ‘see’ it but…

       “Wha- You’re talking back to your mother now, ha?” she said.

       “Ma, no, I was just” - his mother raised her eyebrows - “a- answering your question!”

       “My child!” called a quieter voice. It was Cerulien’s mother, running towards him with her own leaf umbrella in hand. “Are you all right?”

       “Yes, Mother,” Cerulien said, feeling a little embarrassed in his tattered state, mud-stained and soaked from the unceasing rain. He had hoped to get through the duel unscathed, but it seemed to him now that that was a foolish thought. At least now it was ‘canceled’ because of the incident, and so his guard duty was yet to be actually his.

       Daelor looked rather red and blue in his guilt. His mother eyed him with a scowl but let it go.

       “Oh, you found your rainleaf, Zuriel!” she said as the four of them began walking home.

       “Yes, Bhiyen,” Cerulien's mother replied with a faint smile in her tone.

       Cerulien looked at her but her eyes were gazing at the sky, like they were seeking something.

       “This weather is terrible,” she mumbled. “You might catch an illness.”

       “It wasn’t this bad earlier… I’m all right.”

       The clouds disagreed, but his words would have been the same. It was just a lightning strike, or at least that was what he felt after their mothers came and brought them home. Safe he was in his fresh, warm garments. Safe he was in the cover of his blanket. But in the shadows of his thought, he could not help but think. That blinding, deafening flash… The look on their master’s face... He and his fellow students were mostly old enough for small matters of village safety, yet their master did not call anyone to come with him. He would have. But he let them run away.

       Daelor thought of the same, but while Cerulien was more inclined to veil the storm in his mind, Daelor had a different plan.

       “Big brother,” said his little sister when he arrived home, her voice slightly trembling. “What happened outside? Brother, you’re really wet!”

       “I- Everything’s fine,” Daelor said, though he himself did not completely believe it.

       Why would we not be fine? he thought, but his mind both wanted and refused to come up with possibilities.

       “Do not worry, Kanna,” said their mother when she finally came in their door, slipping her feet out of her sandals. “It was just some really loud thunder. Ay! Daelor, you go wipe your feet first on the doormat! And change clothes!”

       When a few hours had passed and the air was warmer and quieter, he took the opportunity to meet with Cerulien again, whose house was just two stone throws away from his. An oft noiseless street it was, unless it was a day of trade - usually of lumber - or if gatherings were being had, and they normally would happen near there at the southern edge of the village.

       But it was neither - at least not yet - and still, disquietude choked the wind with such a hold that one could hear the sylphs gasping for breath, if the myths of old were real. Cerulien found himself fond of those - of myths and of books, dust-gatherers though they often were which rather annoyed him. Earlier he thought of reading a book about lightnings or storms, or just weather, but he did or could not find one in their house and gave up. Perhaps he’d find one in the trusty old library...

       “Where are we even going?” he asked, noticing that the rain had ended though the earth was still wet. “What are we even doing?”

       “Ah, I’d almost thought I’d lost you in your…” said Daelor, “... what’s the word again?”

       “‘Reveries’?” said Cerulien.

       “Yea, revelries.”

       “It’s re-”

       “That was a jest.” Daelor smirked and resumed walking, or at least he would have. His answer came to him, and now he could hear the sylphs howling, and the shades were about him, and it was getting late.

       “You saw Master before he ran earlier, didn’t you?” said Daelor, without looking back.

       “Well, yes.”

       “Yea, we’re going to where he is,” Daelor said as he began walking again.

       Cerulien wanted to ask why. He did ask why, but it was a mere whisper in his head that had remained unsaid. He followed Daelor, his footsteps like thoughts he did not realize he was making. They passed a familiar sign in the shape of an anvil hanging from a post, followed by a string of low wooden houses. This leads toward the middle of the village where-

       “He might need our help,” said Daelor, like he knew what his friend wanted to know or perhaps he was going to tell nonetheless.

       “... Master did not ask for help.”

       “That’s not what what you saw told you.”

       It was true. And as his footsteps slowed on the drizzled ground, what light remained in the darkening sky seemed dimmer. When he looked ahead and saw his friend, it was brighter again - steady and resolute he was in the gloom, but even that brightness too was dimmed.

       Two streets and a bridge they’d passed from Cerulien’s home, with hardly any faces to see as they walked. A neighbor or two would be sweeping fallen leaves or petals of purple off their little porches, or focusing on woodwork in their sheds. Some torches and lanterns were already lit, and perhaps too soon. His mother was looking to set up a lantern too when they left, after she had permitted them to leave, though with great unease. It was, he thought, as if the people rather knew of this ‘dimness’ he hoped would soon pass.

       “We’re here.”

       Daelor’s voice awoke his wandering mind. He realized that they had passed the last stretch of huts and houses, and that they were now where they were in an earlier hopefully-forgotten hour. His eyes recognized the door before them; a hundred times they’d walked in through it before, full and fresh from the morning, and a hundred more out of it, hungry and drenched in sweat. Perhaps hundreds more.

       “The training hall?” Cerulien asked, as they heard a man leave on horseback nearby. “I thought he went to where the lightning struck?”

       “Yea, but I heard that Master had already assembled some people here,” said Daelor, glancing at the direction of the sound.

       “Ah.”

       “Yea, my Pa included.” Daelor moved to open the door.

       “Wait,” Cerulien interrupted, “if they are all here, what can we do to help?”

       “Whatever we can,” Daelor said, then moved to the door again. Uncertainty was in his voice, but his decision was already made. “I can’t just sit by, you know?”

       “Should we not…” Cerulien said, with Daelor’s hand already on the knob, “knock first?”

       Daelor stopped one last time and gave him an exhausted look, and then a smirk.

       “... Well, knock then.”

       Hesitation. Now that Cerulien had thought about it, he was the last person to disturb an important meeting of ‘important’ people. His hand rose but was then left hanging in the warmthless air. It was only going to get colder as the dark sun began to set behind familiar thatched roofs.

       He nudged his hand closer to the door and knocked.

       “That was... quiet,” Daelor remarked.

       “Wha-? You knock then.” scoffed Cerulien in his whisper.

       Daelor shrugged with his hand in disagreement, his eyebrows raised. Flustered, Cerulien once again hammered his fist on the door… and it was loud. The two found themselves looking at each other in slight panic.

       “I told you to knock but I didn’t tell you to - I don’t know - make a grand entrance!” exclaimed Daelor, though not as loudly as he wanted.

       “What? You’re blaming me now?” said Cerulien.

       “Wel- yea!”

       The door opened and they fell to a hush, as torchlight poured out and stung their eyes.

       “Daelor! Cerulien! You’re here!” said the girl that met them. Her smile could not be seen in her shadow but it was heard all the same.

       “Emeya!” Daelor greeted as his eyes adjusted, a dozen questions in his brows but they were kept indecisively unasked. It was not someone they had expected to see at all.

       The girl looked into the orange-lit hall behind her, her breath paused and her smile gone. There was only silence for a passing moment, half-filled it was with concern. Cold still was the air though not as much as before, but dark now was the hour, the sun barely clinging to the back of the world.

       “What are you doing here?” Daelor let his first question free as he sensed her hesitation. Cerulien had the same question in mind, and then he remembered.

       “Wait, was it not y-”

       “... Yes, Cerulien. I followed Master earlier to see what happened,” she said as she faced them again. “It… it is fine.”

       She paused, glanced back into the hall once more, and continued. “The lightning didn’t destroy anything but the ground. But what we saw… was quite strange.

       There was someone standing in the distance.”

       “What?” Daelor began. “Who was it...? Is it someone we know?”

       “I don’t think so,” said Emeya, as Daelor and Cerulien looked at each other in confusion. “And we could not recognize them in the pouring rain. But what are you two doing here? I know that your father’s inside, Daelor, but I don’t think that Master or anyone is... inclined to let us be involved.”

       “But,” Daelor muttered. I’m not here to argue that…

       Cerulien and Emeya could both sense that there was no changing his mind, though not even he dared to move in that second. None of them did - then the door inside opened.

       “Daelor, I thought your mother taught you how to knock quietly,” said a tired voice, though warmer it was than the torches that surrounded them.

        Pa! Daelor called in his head, his eyes wide, though his tongue was rather stilled. “But that was Cerulien, not me!”

       Cerulien did not react to that. It was not often that he’d see his friend’s father - always so busy with leading or overseeing the hunts, the border watch, the lumber mills, or whatever else there was to do. At least that was what Cerulien had heard, mostly from Daelor and Daelor’s mother. Like a hero of legends he would seem, with hair of sun-gold not seen elsewhere in this land.

       Tallest he stood among them, even among those of his kin that lived there. In an age forgotten, they came from the windy north - people of Yhifaen, known beyond their mountains for their skill in ranged weaponry and their lightness of feet. Inches he stood above Daelor who himself stood nearly a foot above Cerulien. His shadow was like a looming cloud as he walked towards them past the torches, but stopped when Emeya stood aside from the doorway, revealing the night that had already come.

       “Children, get inside,” he said, like a parent would to their children, and one of them was indeed there. It was not a night of risks, despite how little there seemed on the surface.

       But without name, voice, or face was their enemy. All that they knew was that there was a lightning strike too unusually close and strong, and that there was a stranger that stood in the distant dark, like they were watching.

       Thirteen there were in the room, including Master Talin and Daelor’s father among other villagers - all garbed like they were ready to head out, with some even having pieces of hide and leather armor on. Most were seated around a long table as a council, with an orb of water sat on the middle upon a pedestal which Cerulien took notice of. Most of it was already frozen but a quarter of it at the top.

       He’d not often been inside the training hall this late, and the room that was always wide to make space for martial training now seemed small in the blackness of dusk. Weapons hung on racks lining the wall near the door, casting shadows as candles flickered around them. A spear or two rested against a wall beside their keepers, within their reach.

       “Who was it, Dalantrius?” said a man’s voice as they entered.

       “More of your students, Talin,” he answered, diverting it to the master who was seated at the middle with his back to the front door. “My son Daelor and his friend Cerulien.”

       Talin turned his head halfway towards them over his shoulder. He’d quite expected them to an extent.

       “That makes sixteen of us in here,” he said as he turned his gaze back to the others at the meeting.

       “Are we to let them know everything?” said a man’s voice to his left. They found themselves looking at one another, save for Daelor, Cerulien, and Emeya who knew not what to do. This was yet to be their world, but for it to be was why they came there, despite the present apprehension.

       “Are we to let them join in the defense?” asked a guard.

       “They are still children,” said a woman, to which a few of the others agreed.

       “No measure is too little for a danger too close,” Talin muttered and sighed. “I could sway Emeya but now that Cerulien and” - he raises an eyebrow at the other - “Daelor are here. We’d waste more time trying to push them away.”

       Daelor felt at ease hearing that and Emeya was rather glad too. But Cerulien was neither, and his thoughts revolved around the few things they had just heard. What defense? … Are we under attack?

       “The moon is already here,” continued their master. “May it mark that these children are at least a night older... They will not wait for us.”

       “But what if it is not as you say, Talin?” said another man from the far left as Dalantrius led the three students inside to sit with them. “What if it was indeed a mere traveler that just happened upon the incident, or a bandit sorcerer seeking to pose a threat? It is, as you know, a day of trade tomorrow.”

       “Have bandits become this strong?” whispered one.

       “That is quite unheard of,” said another.

       Dalantrius leaned forward to speak. “If it were simple travelers or bandits, we would have known of them, but - like what we’ve reported - there’s been no sign of either these past few days. And they would not give us a warning like this if they wanted to attempt a raid tomorrow. More importantly...” He cast a glance at the students to his right before continuing, then turned forward with an expression as stern as Talin’s. “No bandit in this land would know the power to conceal themselves from us, with this much skill.”

       “If it were to be anyone, it must be no other than the Dark-kin.”

       “The Dark-kin?” Daelor mumbled, looking at his father and then at his friends. It was a question the three of them all thought. Daelor and Cerulien, especially. They looked at the others with confusion on their faces, but they were all still and silent. Even Emeya seemed withdrawn.

       “Not now, Daelor,” said his father quietly and then turned to the others again. “And now it seems they indeed have someone skilled in light conjuration.”

       None of them wanted to believe it, but this - despite disbelief - had the highest odds of being true of all the things that they’d thought and spoken of. It could not have been a light sorcerer - who would have had to travel all the way from the far west whence they came, where they liked to stay behind their walls. It could not have been a bandit or a wanderer, not with their ever-unyielding vigilance that no stormcloud could unpredictably get past.

       But perhaps they’d not been vigilant enough. Perhaps this time they were a droplet too occupied with the trade the day after, that their secret wards - not even their eldest students knew of - had momentarily failed. Or were they even secret anymore?

       “All of you know that which we must protect,” began Talin, looking every single councillor in the eye. “If any secrets were kept, it will be known tonight. We do not know what our enemy knows. We do not know all the powers they wield. But we know that this was bound to happen, as it has before to Mistom and Yul in the south.”

       An older man to his left peered at the orb of water on the table and turned to him.

       “It is time,” he turned and whispered.

       Talin straightened up, and in that second he hoped in his mind that time would remain on their side, that their enemy having taken the first turn was not to their disadvantage.

       “We are to leave in groups of four like what we discussed,” he said. “Dalantrius and his group are to join the five at the outposts. Akar and his company are to join the nine at the walls. Seneyi and her company are to join with the three messengers. It is important that we keep receiving news from one another, however long it takes.”

       He looked Seneyi in the eye and she gave a firm nod.

       “And I,” he resumed, “now with my three pupils, are to go to the chamber.”

       Then he took one final sigh and lifted his head.

       “ Maeyarin Muon palutaya han ive deyo .”

       “ Maeyarin Muon ,” the others answered.

       But still too little was told to them in that room, Daelor thought. No time allowed for it. Their footsteps were soon thudding on the wooden floor and then on moist soil as they left the hall, unfelt however by the growing unease that moved their limbs, like the warmth of the torches through their gloves. Any comfort from the heat would not last.

       The first four to leave were Dalantrius and three other hunters, with their bows and blades sheathed but ready to draw. Akar and his watchers followed with their javelins and spears. And then, lastly, the messengers with Seneyi who, like the hunters, carried bows and blades but also wore cloaks of blackened blue to help shield them better from spying eyes in the night.

       “Daelor, Cerulien, Emeya,” said Talin as he turned to them. “We are to go to the armory. Take your weapons of choice there and then meet me back here, in the inner chamber.”