Valent had been reduced to nothing more than ashes on the fateful 1st day of what would be January. Tristan and his mother had no more business to stay in such a town. Turning rock after rock proved useless, leaving them with no further information on the faerie or their supposed controller. Strangely enough not even stragglers were found within the village – it simply remained a wasteland.

Nightfall came and forced the two Dynites to take shelter off to the side of the main dirt path which lead back to their town. The wizard decided to part on his own to look for answers and despite their effort to help he went his own way. Tristan rested his back against a giant oak tree while Amiya found herself passed out and curled up in his lap. He however could not fall asleep so easily. Most of the remaining night the silver moon and he stared at each other in a trance as if each had cast their own spell on the other. Thoughts rushed through his mind like a continuous waterfall for hours. In his heart He had a bad feeling that the terror which plagued Valent had made its way to Dyne. The only assurance which allowed him to finally sleep was that his mother was safe. The next day would surely bring many answers. It had to.


The now familiar smoke scent had not left them no matter how far they walked the next day. The first step into Dyne was made almost hesitantly as Tristan braced himself for the worst. His clenched eyes slowly widened and much to his surprise all was normal. “Mother” he said while taking her hands, “I shouldn’t have doubted the power of our people’s heart. The only thing more beautiful to me than you is this town where I was raised. Hopefully one day the sun will shine brightly and bring good fortune on everyone. Families have worked so hard to form what is modern Dyne for generations.”

“Now is not the time to reminisce, Tristan. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this! Don’t you think other people said the same thing about Valent? Those poor people… Where on Tybonia do you think they are?” Amiya began to ramble but was quickly cut off.

“Don’t you worry, everything is going to be ok. I have so many things on my mind right now, mother – bigger things. I have to better myself mentally and physically if I want to continue this journe…” Tistan’s voice trailed off at the sight of his mother’s trembling eyes. He knew all too well what she was feeling. He knew of a man who always told her the same sort of stories and who set off on adventures, leaving her alone with only memories and hope. “Mother… I’m not “him”. I won’t abandon you. Now why don’t you go home and cook something up for later. I have something important to attend to.

As the day pressed on Tristan was greeted wholeheartedly by people young and old. After a quick meal he visited the book shack (too small to be a library!) to begin his quest for answers. “You’re back, finally! Tristan, there were quite a few oddballs looking for you in your absence. And one of them you will surely be surprised with! He can be found at the inn. I.. I’m not supposed to say anything so let’s keep this short.” The book keeper began excitedly, glancing over his shoulder every now and then. “This guy… he gives me a bad feeling. He has an instrument that I have never seen before. He played it softly last night, not knowing that I was still in the shack. Look, all I’m saying is to be careful.” As quickly as the book keeper greeted Tristan, did he retreat back to work and began shuffling through dusty old parchments.

“Useless… everything here only tells about folklore and children’s tales. I can’t even find information about magic, let alone musical instruments.” Sighed Tristan, with crossed arms behind his head and chair backward. “Now I remember why nobody ever goes here. I guess that will have to be all for today… “

After leaving the shack, Tristan gave a long yawn. The past few days finally caught up with him and it was time to head back home. Instinctively he began to walk in the opposite direction across town down a cobblestone path to where his blacksmith shop was, and only realized where he was going when the old wooden shop loomed above him. “Oh great, you know you work too much when… ah well, I guess there rarely was a night when I didn’t check up on the old place. Maybe I should pick up the hammer and work on Mr. Trowly’s bastard sword.” He then let out a chuckle, with the older man’s image crossing his mind. “Don’t know how he wealds such a big sword, let alone use it.”

Just as he took hold of the doorknob and pushed the creaky door open did a loud metal crash echo from inside. Tristan jumped back, startled and immediately clenched the hilt of his sword. “Who’s there? Show yourself if you value your life!” Tristan shouted, eyes scouting the perimeter wildly. A quick response was made, and deep inside Tristan actually wished for the worse to test his skill. A large white cat darted from one corner of the room to the other and meowed lazily, instantly relieving Tristan of his ‘ready stance’. “Kitty, you know how lucky you are!? I could have killed you!” he laughed and made way into the main room. Everything was where he left it, including all of the unfinished items he had stacked up. This quickly gave a change of heart as he decided to leave (the work for another day). Upon backing out and closing the door, again was he startled; this time by a large figure which stood no more than 6 feet in front of him.

“Look, now is not a good time. You are going to have to come back.” He began, changing tone more inquisitively once the figure was focused. “What type of armor is that?” he thought to himself, “Nobody from around here wears that…” and that is when his glance fell upon an item strapped to the man’s waist.

“You! Fall back at once!” demanded the blacksmith as he drew his sword; it glistened a bright red and instantly the atmosphere around the two grew hot. With no hesitation he pressed forward, aiming the point of his weapon to the chest of the man who stood before him. “You like to control things, do you? I’ve heard a lot about that ‘thing’ strapped to your waist there. It’s the instrument that brings death! Explain yourself quickly. I am not in a forgiving mood…”