Chapter Seventeen: The Forest Breathes and the Empire Dream ⚔️
The woods stretched endlessly, a vast green ocean where sunlight poured through the canopy in golden shafts. The trees here were tall and old, their bark lined with stories, their leaves whispering softly in the morning wind. Ferns blanketed the forest floor like gentle mossy waves, and flowers peeked out from crevices and shaded roots in bursts of yellow and violet. Birds called to one another like flutes in the distance, and the air carried the cool breath of the earth, mixed with the distant hum of insects and life.
Above, the sky opened in perfect blue. Lux, the radiant World Star, shone high and proud—its light not too harsh, but steady, warm, and golden, as if watching over all those who wandered below. In that sky, no cloud dared drift for long. It was a good day to walk. A good day to dream.
And two Travelers walked beneath that sun.
Garrick Ironhart trudged forward with slow, determined steps, sweat dripping from his brow. At 5'4, his half-dwarf, half-human frame was small but clearly being tested under the weight of the massive backpack strapped to his shoulders. Blonde wavy hair stuck out in tufts, and his bright blue eyes narrowed as another rock snagged his boot.
"Riven," Garrick grunted, his red t-shirt clinging to his back. "We've been walking for hours. Where exactly are we going now that we've officially kissed society goodbye?"
Next to him, striding gracefully even through uneven roots, was Riven Blackstone, standing at 5'8, draped in flowing blue, with a wooly blue cap pulled low over a head of messy black hair. His eyes scanned the trees like he was reading the very wind.
Riven smiled—not smugly, but like someone about to reveal the punchline of a long, satisfying joke. "Simple," he said. "We're going to build something. Something real. Something no exam, no office, no hollow city job could ever offer."
Garrick raised an eyebrow, still panting. "You're gonna need to be more specific than 'something,' mate. You dragging me across the continent with a tent, 47 books, and a kettle, remember?"
Riven lifted a hand and raised a finger like a scholar delivering truth. "Potions."
"…Potions?"
"All the potions in existence," Riven declared, eyes gleaming with purpose. "Healing. Fireproof. Strength. Breath-underwater. Love, if we must. Potions no one's heard of yet. We'll collect them, craft them, trade them. And then—"
He stopped walking, turned dramatically toward Garrick. "—we start an empire."
Garrick blinked. Then drooled a little. "An… empire?"
"An empire," Riven repeated. "But not the fancy, gold-throne kind. Ours will be different. We'll call in the people society chewed up and spat out—the unemployed, the homeless, the ones working for scraps. We give them power. Real tools. Real freedom. You don't need a degree to brew something that saves a life."
Garrick wiped his mouth, thinking. "Wait… Are we becoming, like… potion drug dealers or something?"
Riven shaked his head. "Seriously? Drug dealers? Of course not".
He jabbed a finger toward Garrick's chest. "What are we, Garrick?"
The half-dwarf scratched his head, brows furrowed in deep thought. Then his face lit up.
"…Nobles?"
Riven grinned. "Correct. Not rich nobles. Humble nobles. Bringing hope to those who forgot what it looked like. Disrupting the whole broken system."
The trees rustled around them, as if applauding the vision. Lux gleamed above, casting their shadows long and bold ahead of them. Their journey had only begun, but already it pulsed with the thrill of rebellion, the scent of wild herbs, and the first trace of something daring: a purpose.
And in a forest full of breath and life, two boys walked forward—one with a heavy pack, one with a heavy dream—and together, they would try to change the world.
--------
Chapter Three: Petals of Rebellion
"If you want to change the world, make sure it blooms differently than the one before."
The wind picked up—a sudden, sweeping gust that rustled the trees and sent leaves tumbling like coins through the emerald cathedral of the woods. The sunlight from Lux filtered between branches in soft, shifting rays, painting the forest floor in gold and shadow. Birds flitted between boughs, scattering at the breeze, and the entire woodland seemed to breathe around the two young Travelers.
Riven knelt in the dirt, blue cloak pooling behind him like a noble's train, sketching wild symbols into the soil with a twig. Beside him, Garrick crouched low, tongue poking out slightly in concentration, scrawling something onto a scrap of parchment.
"I think I got it," Garrick said proudly, holding up a crude drawing of a potion bottle wearing a crown, with tiny wings on the side and steam forming the word "Rise."
Riven squinted. He said nothing at first.
"…You hate it, don't you?" Garrick asked.
Riven sighed, taking off his blue wooly cap to run a hand through his black hair. "It's not that I hate it. It's just…" He gestured vaguely toward the trees, the sky, the very feel of the place. "It's not Elarion enough."
Garrick frowned, confused. "What does that mean? What's Elarion enough? The landscapes? We got, like, snowy mountains, glowing caves, giant sandworms—"
"No," Riven said, shaking his head.
"The diverse races? Elves, Harpies, catfolk with shields?"
"Still no."
"Rare flowers? You know, the ones that only bloom under moonlight and whisper weird riddles?"
Riven paused. His eyes widened slightly.
"…Close," he said slowly. "But not the flowers themselves…"
He stood, his long shadow stretching across the moss and root-choked ground, eyes alight with inspiration.
"…The colors."
Garrick blinked. "The…what?"
"The colors of the flowers. That's what makes Elarion captivating," Riven said, voice gaining rhythm like a rising speech. "Red as fire and war. Black as the unknown. Pink with wild romance. White for purity, or maybe madness. Even the yellows—bright, dangerous, hopeful. Like bottled sunlight. Elarion blooms in emotion."
He turned, hands now moving dramatically through the air like he was sculpting the very future. "That's what our symbol needs. Not just a mark… a bloom. Something alive. Something defiant. Something that looks like rebellion."
Garrick scratched his chin. "So… a really dramatic flower?"
"A flower that means freedom," Riven said. "A bloom that anyone can wear. Even the lowest-paid stable boy or the exiled scholar. A symbol they can plant, wear, or even throw into the face of a king."
Garrick grinned wide, already rummaging through his bag for colored inks. "Right. Got it. Flower of Revolution. Petals of the People. Totally not just a weird plant cult."
Riven smirked. "We're humble nobles, remember? Not cult leaders. Not yet, anyway."
And so, under the whispering branches and Lux's golden eye, two outcasts sat with dirt-smudged hands and fierce dreams, plotting a quiet, blooming rebellion—one flower at a time.
----------
Chapter Four: The Forest, the Truck, and the Beginning of Everything
The gravel road ended in dust and quiet, and beyond it lay a path not drawn on any map—only trees, sky, and endless wild possibility.
Oliver stepped out of Liam's old car, the door creaking shut behind him like the closing of one life and the opening of another. His green hoodie jacket caught the light of Lux, the golden World Star above, and his soft brown hair danced slightly in the breeze. The forest greeted him with its endless breath—leafy whispers, sun-dappled soil, and the faint earthy smell of freedom.
He clutched his travel pack tightly, looking back only once. Liam was already gone. No long goodbye, no dramatic farewell. Just a nod. A father's trust.
"…This feels like being a wandering hobo," Oliver muttered under his breath, shifting awkwardly as he took a few cautious steps into the woods. The idea of being a Traveler felt cooler in stories—now it felt itchy, slightly terrifying, and smelled a lot like tree sap. Still, the wind carried a kind of invitation, and so he moved forward.
Then he heard voices.
Oliver froze, instinctively ducking behind a large fern. Two figures were walking just ahead on the forest trail—talking, laughing, arguing. He crouched lower.
"I still think the logo could use more lightning bolts," said a short, stocky teen with a mountain-sized backpack and a red t-shirt—his blond wavy hair sticking out in tufts. Garrick, Oliver guessed.
Next to him was a lean, confident boy in blue robes and a wooly cap, waving a hand dramatically in the air. Riven, clearly.
But what caught Oliver off guard wasn't their talk—it was what Riven pulled out next.
"Behold," Riven said proudly, stepping off the path and pulling back a tarp. "The Main Item. The heart of our empire."
Garrick blinked. Then squinted.
"…That's an ice cream truck."
"A former ice cream truck," Riven corrected, placing a hand reverently on the faded white and pastel blue paint. "Now? It's our mobile HQ. Storage. Supply point. Base of rebellion."
Garrick bit his lip.
And failed. He burst out laughing, bending over and nearly tipping his backpack off.
"You're serious? You're actually serious! You dragged me through the woods for an ice cream truck?!"
Riven raised a single finger with grave importance. "This was my dad's. He ran this thing for years, not just selling ice cream, but giving it away to kids who couldn't afford it. This truck? It's not just wheels and rusty bolts. It's legacy."
Garrick blinked, sobered a little. "Okay… okay that's kinda noble, actually."
Suddenly, a small tug at Riven's boot made him look down.
Standing there was a Catkin girl, with golden fur ears, bright yellow eyes, and a serious stare. She clutched a tiny satchel and blinked once.
"…Goldie?" Riven said in surprise. "How'd you find us out here?"
"She followed me," Garrick said. "I saved her once from those jerks in Northfield. She's got weirdly good tracking instincts. Like a furry bloodhound."
Goldie ignored the comment. "What are you two doing out here? You left society to go camping with a truck?"
Garrick puffed up. "Not camping. Planning a great revolution. For all the unemployed nobodies. For everyone they forgot."
Goldie tilted her head. "That's… insane."
Riven nodded proudly. "Exactly."
Goldie paused. Her tail flicked once. "I like insane. But only if I get the front seat."
Riven grinned. "Deal."
From the bushes, Oliver stared with wide eyes. He had no idea who these people were. But he knew one thing for certain—
They weren't from school.
And they might be exactly what he needed.