• He sat on the back alleys of Cascaden, looking out to the vast sea, the very same sea that held him captive. There was no way out. There was no reason to hope. He was now an outlaw in this lone city, a petty thief that raided bakeries twice a week. There was no point of going back. There was no way of moving on. He was trapped in the island-city without a choice. He had no means of escape. He remembered the orphanage back in the upper shelf of the city. The trite life of the orphanage was something he could never take. There was never enough land for him to be free in, including the mere few acres of land the orphanage was. Indeed, this life was much better suited for him. That was when he met Jech.

    Jech was not old, but not young just the same. Jech was not tall, but not short just the same. Jech wasn’t well build, but not wimpy just the same. Jech didn’t look any professional, but not a slacker just the same. Jech looked like the definite definition of the norm. Jech was dressed in a gatekeeper’s uniform, approaching him from behind. Jech sat beside him. Jech asked him questions he did not want to answer. Jech asked questions he could not answer. After a good moments of pestering, Jech got back up but hesitating on leaving. Looking down to him, Jech offered a hand. He accepted the hand with a bit of suspicion. And so his new life began.
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    Jech had taught him well. Everything Jech knew of archery, he now knew. He himself also had much talent to be a good bowman. For one, he had good eyes and a quick witted head. As he grew quickly, Jech soon handed a long bow to him, the standard size for any competitive archery event. Jech said the bow’s name was Silver. The bow was dull yellow.

    The Annual Frontyllian Festival consisted of many sporting activities and one of the crowd’s favorites was, in fact, archery. Jech only gave him two pieces of advise: “Relax” and “don’t lose.” After that Jech disappeared into the crowd of audience. He called for him, but Jech did not turn at the call of his name. Jech was gone. Jech never came back to bark orders at him one more time. Jech just never came back.

    He knew those would be no problem after all his training. Without a second thought, he drew his bow, his arrow, and fired straight into the middle. The second shot also hit the center. The third shot was also an easy bull’s-eye. Now came the tricky part. Frontyllian rules stated the fourth to the sixth shots were to be made in the presence of a headwind and two tailwinds, casted by an aeromancer from the local perodnad(a perod is a type of law enforcer that specializes in sorcery. A perodnad is a headquarter building for perods). This was his moment, the moment to show off his true talent. Years of training to perfect this finger technique was about to pay off.

    He placed the arrow on to the bowstring and pulled back as far as he could. Taking aim, he let the arrow fly and as he did, he gave an intense spiral spin to the arrow with his thumb and his index. The arrow did not fly. It pierced. Neither headwind nor tailwind mattered to him. The festival had only started, but the match was over. No one else could catch up to his score. No one. That year, and the next few, he entered numerous archery competitions and won them all. His name quickly spread across the continent.
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    He met Glede in the woods. Lost and stubborn to the boot, he had only one option of escaping the west Trolig forest. Glede, not much older than him, was the forester of western Troligs and practiced archery for the sake of survival. She wasn’t the sharpest shot, but she helped herself to food every other day. She carried a short bow, ideal for moving around nimbly and taking aim quickly. In such a forest as Trolig, a distanced shot would usually never hit, especially if the target was a wild deer of a sort.

    He would never make it to Merudiman in time for the winter festival due to him losing his way in the forest. So he decided to stay with Glede for a short while, taking a break from all the competitions. The next one would be in Vulkandria. At the moment, he did not feel like going to that one as well. So he did not. But he told Glede he’ll be leaving for the annual Frontyllian Festival near their harvest time. Glede had hoped him to stay even longer, but it was not her place to prevent him. However, the forest was a very lonely place.

    During his stay, Glede was taught many things; predominantly the basics of wielding a bow. Being self-taught, Glede was off from the stance to the release. He congratulated her luck for helping her survive until now and told it to take a break. He had no short bow available so he used Silver while instructing Glede. Silver, apparently, was the name of Glede’s short bow as well, but hers lived up to its name. He felt an urge to rename his bow, but resisted on his respect for Jech, wherever he was.

    Glede learned a lot in the next few months and was eating six days in a week. She no longer needed guidance from him, so he watched her from afar. Glede’s arrows flew much straighter and much frequent towards the target. The only factor that prevented her from the catch was occasional forest wind that wasn’t broken by the trees that shifted her arrow. If anything as such were to happen, Glede knew he was there to finish the hunt. For some reason, his arrow never yielded.

    Glede was always glad to have him behind her. Trolig was not a very peaceful place and it’s predators never lost a chance to strike an unguarded. Now, with him, Glede had nothing to fear from. But that day, the fear was behind him. She had marked the target and turned to see a forest tiger readying to pounce on him. Without a second thought, Glede shot one, piercing the tiger’s neck cleanly, and doing the same to his as well. She screamed his name as she ran up to him. He stood still smiling lightly and fighting back the pain. “Best shot I’ve seen yet.” He said. A week after, the Templian perodnad got a report that one of Trolig’s foresters had resigned.
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    Each city had it’s own harvest season. Frontyll and Gorgandale’s typical agriculture was at autumn. Templuh’s vegetation ripened near the end of summer. Utherine’s came near spring when shore water had started melting, allowing their fishing boats to move freely again. Zaccharine, famous for breeding rare steeds got their “harvest” near winter when majority of the Zaccharine’s animals gave birth. And the list would go on.

    However, this was the eighth of autumn. Glede had her first five shots and now looked around at the heavy density of people while catching her breath. Being in the forest for the majority of her time, she had never seen such a crowd. Some had come from Marunda just to spectate this event. She looked at Silver. It was dull yellow. She had wonder where all that had come from. She had only heard of his stories only once, but just now, everything had returned so clearly. Also, she had wondered why she had decided to hold the bow once again, when she had sworn not to fire another arrow. Why was she here, taking a stand in the Frontyllian Festival. And of all things, why HIS bow. Why, after a week of determined mourning, she was here. She knew the answers but did not answer herself.

    She had once heard that when one dies, his/her life flashes in front of their eyes. She drew the arrow onto bow, aimed it toward the target, and released towards the headwind. At that moment, the bowstring snapped from atop, lashing the arrow as it was launched forwards, giving it a spiral spin. The arrow did not fly. It pierced. Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to stream down. In amazement, the host of the competition yelled, “It’s a...!”