• The wind was reluctant to give up, pushing through the trees, brushing along the light snow that had fallen neatly on the forest floor whenever it could break through the bare branches. The sky was a pink hue towards the east, the sun not visible to those who were already up and about, the west side of the sky still clinging to its blue night, stars now invisible. Clouds were on the brim of the horizon, thick, heavy light grey clouds, prediction of heavy snow fall whispering through the air. Rabbits dashed through the forest, searching for foods, their pink noses up in the air every now and then, their bodies shaking. Their usual thick fur coat that accompanied winter was slow coming in. Or rather, the winter conditions were rather early seeing as autumn was only five days away and winter was still far off.

    Rumors were spread about the bad omen, villagers leaving quaint little homes to their nearest city, the lack of crops unable to keep families alive if they chose to stay behind. Wolves’ now roamed area’s uncommon to wolves, birds leaving in flocks only days before to warmer areas, deer sightings become less and less frequent.

    The Sun was warning them, people whispered, wide eyes glancing around in case of being over heard by something sinister. It was coming, the new Wave. Their life as they knew it would seize to exist soon in order to make a fresh start for the new Wave, the rebirth of the world. Some panicked, addressing the head of where they lived, hoping for a solution. Some accepted the fact, believing what the Sun found fit was what was best. And then, there were a handful that knew what was really going on, knew what really was going to happen.

    These few people were rare beings, rarer than an elf, which humans scarcely laid eyes on before they met their deaths. These beings were mentioned in only a small bag full of parchment and books. And those documents were tucked away safely at the Sun Temple, a city said to be the home of the messengers to the Sun. The beings had a human shape; they had the humans mind, heart, lungs, every organ and common anatomy that a basic mortal would have. They had genders, personalities. They made mistakes, had outbursts of angers, cried, laughed, give birth, and die just as everyone else. But there was something else, something that sent an eerie shudder through a common house wife, or has a solider breaking out in cold sweat. They were the beginning of the Wave, not matter what shape they were or even who they were, and they’d be part of the ending of the Wave.

    The sun slowly rose, Growlin’s Lake glinting as billions of water prisms began to dance, the water gently lapping at the rocky shore slowly as water poured in from Crotin, a small river that linked to the Unsettled Sea west of the continent of Agrelia. Many small steams linked off of Crotin, purifying itself the further from sea it traveled. Two major rivers also intersected Crotin, the one further south called Blue Rush Waters which ran north west, the one a bit more north named Red Runs running south east. Smaller villages littered the sides of the water supply, some a mile apart from each other, others a day rides away.

    One particular village by the name if Tavaren, which was settled on the northern part of Red Runs, had people bustling about as the sun was more than halfway above the horizon, making scattered patched of white snow glitter, the visible green grass that stubbornly poked through the mush shone like diamonds as dew coated them. Villagers moved about lazily, still wiping sleep from their tired eyes as they squinted into the bright morning, yawns and murmured “mornin’s” breaking the quiet of the wind. Cardinals, sparrows, blue jays, chickadees, and finches added their own occasional chirps, the flutter of wings mingling with the sound of the wind. A woodpecker was heard drilling a hole into the bark of an ancient tree, pausing every now and then to glance around. Shops began to open, aromas of late breakfasts for those who were able to catch more sleep began to waft in between the wooden thatched houses, roosters striding arrogantly on the wagon worn path that led towards the center of Tavaren, chickens shrilling as morning feed was presented to them, stumbling over each other to get first dibs.

    A blonde haired boy, around the age of seventeen summers, was one of the few who woken up before dawn, and was now returning from the stables beside the Village Hall, which was the home of Mayor Writ, his wife Maria, and their son Eric. The light, almost pale blonde locks brushed past half of his ears, the back of the slightly wavy locks ending at the nape of his neck, brushing against the patchy brown cloak he wore around his shoulders. Slightly tanned skin was now flushed along his ears, cheeks, and nose as the wind nipped at him, his shoulders shuddering every once in a while at the unusual weather. His lean chest was covered with a brown leather vest and white washed wool shirt, his long legs covered in dark hide trousers, rabbit’s fur lacing the inner material in order to keep the wearer warm. His scruffy and worn dull boots striding stiffly, the cold snow melting and getting into his boots though tiny holes he had attempted to fix. A very average boy, despite being blonde in a very dark haired village. And despite his eyes, which his friends and neighbors got use to a year after he was found in the forest at age five. They were the most particular color, Andrew, his caretaker, would say. Something very uncommon, something not many people had in the whole continent of Agrelia. His eyes were a light shade of gold, with specks of honey brown around the pupil and along the edge of his iris. Almost like a wolf’s, Andrew’s daughter Lillian would comment before hugging his arm and skipping off.

    He remembered clearly how he had been taken to the village’s healer, his eyes being examined, health checked, the man trying to detect any illnesses in the five year olds small and frail body. But Adrian had none besides a small cold and soon, rumors were spread that he was a bad omen, that he was sent by the soul of Salivarious Luciean, a dark, shadowy figure in the many stores told. They kept locked up and whenever they did venture out, made sure to avoid them. They waited and prepared for disaster to arrive, months crawling by as they waited. Andrew had comforted the confused, young Adrian, whose memory of anything before the night Andrew found him had disappeared. Andrew’s wife, April, would stroke his hair and tell him that it didn’t matter, that the village was being foolish, before she offered to make him raspberry tarts. The only people besides the Millen family who ever came near him were Colin Tibs, Charles Choteau, and Danniel O’Dalson. The three were their own little child gang, who snuck out from their mothers skirts and stole pies and pastries. They found him intriguing, they later claimed, which is why they tolerated the scowling they received once they were caught talking to Adrian. It didn’t stop them from returning.

    A year had passed and the villagers of Tavaren finally lost their suspicion, accepting Adrian when they had yet to see disaster. Colin, Charles, Danniel, and him only grew closer over the years, prank pulling and getting into mischief rather often. Of course, there were those in the village who still found Adrian as a bad omen, but the cold resentment had been replaced by warm greetings over time from most of the villagers and that was enough for Adrian.
    Adrian reached the wooden roofed house, not bothering to look over the half brick, half lumber building, stepping over the clucking chickens, nudging a baying sheep away from the door as he entered through the oak door. Immediately, warmth swept over him, experiencing a feeling on his cheeks, nose, and ears at what he called defrosting, imagining that was how he imagine ice felt, if ever ice had feelings when placed in the sun during a normal summer day. The aroma of ham and eggs drifted to him, his mouth watering immediately as Adrian quickly took off his cloak, hanging it on a hook attached to the wall before sitting down and beginning to unlace his boots, pulling them both off until it revealed his socked feet. Placing those besides the other two pairs of boots, he stood up and walked down the short narrow hallway, gold eyes momentarily glancing over his surroundings.

    Andrew Millen’s house was a small, tidy cottage, not much different than many others in Tavaren. There were two rooms, a kitchen, a common room, and a bathing room. Down the long narrow, wooden hallway that connected the front, hard oak door to the more simple one at the back of the house laid a Jule’s Coast run rug, rich with deep reds and royal blues that had been a gift from a friend passing through. The walls on either side were bare, not including the doors and the single medium sized window on the left. Near the front of the house one the left were two pine wood doors, both of which were wide open, the source of the smell of breakfast. Down further, near the end of the hall way on opposite sides were the two bedrooms. On the left, Lillian and Adrian shared the room; on the right was the master bedroom of Andrews. The only light provided was the current bluish light that streamed in from the window facing west, making the hallway hazy looking.

    Entering through the opened double doors, he noticed the window to the left side of the room next to the fireplace was opened, letting in a cool wind that was partially made up for by the raging fire in the fireplace that fought off the morning chills. An armchair sat settled in front of the fire, and behind it, laid a similar rug as to the one in the hallway, though more square and larger. A wooden end table was tucked away in the far corner of the room beside a small shelf holding only a few, ragged books. Three roughly made stools crowded around a small and simple dining table that was plotted directly in front of the double doors, though one edge of the table was pressed against the opposite walls. On the right side was a tiny area for the kitchen, consisting a simple wooden stove with a copper top and two holes. One of the holes was torched with a small flame the burned persistently underneath a tea pot. Two pine counters stood on either side, completely clean spare that one held a few spices and the ham. An unused candle stood in its holder on the window mantel behind the stove, the two panel window itself closed tight against the cold wind. Walking across the room from the kitchen to the table with a plate full of eggs was Andrew Millen.

    Andrew Millen was a rather rugged old man, with short, choppy gray hair that stuck up at the ends, probably due to just waking up, and a full set of a mustache and beard, both tangled and ragedy, though exceptionally clean. He wore a plain wool shirt that held many holes and stains, along with a pair of slacks that were in no better condition. He walked around barefooted, giving Adrian the opinion that man hadn’t even woken up an hour ago, not including the fact that Andrew would never dare to exit the comforts of his home in the horrid conditioned clothes that he wore strictly in the morning when he first wakes up. His rough, tanned face had slightly low cheekbones and dark circles underneath the eyes, along with deep wrinkles around them and his thin, pale lips, all of which came from age. His murky brown eyes had always held a thrilled glint in them, never matching his life worn body that gave off the feeling of strict and cold. He turned those same smiling eyes to his daughter, Lillian, who bustled around the table placing the plates down, making pausing momentarily to allow her father to place down the eggs.

    Lillian Millen, Andrew’s only daughter, had long, deep auburn curly hair that fell over her shoulders thickly reaching down to the middle of her back, neatly combed. Adrian knew the girl woke up before dawn as he did, just to brush out her hair, claiming it only lady like when he questioned it. Light freckles decorated her pale cheeks, giving her a natural redhead complexion that half the girls in the village seemed to have, though hers were light daintly dots that went over the brim of her nose and softly over her high cheek bones. She was dressed in a plain white bodice and a simple slightly color drained maroon skirt that had a few stiches here and there, her feet clothed in thin stockings that she had gotten from the peddler around spring time when they had came down for the Blooming Festival.