Chapter Text
Sunlight was streaming through the leaves, bathing a narrow forest path in green-and-gold warmth. A man was walking down that path, a heavy sack and a fishing rod behind his back. Despite the morning coolness of a late summer, he was dressed lightly, arms bare and shoulders covered in light freckles.
The man’s name was Clover, and he was a fool.
There was no other explanation for why he was embarking on such a journey at all. He didn’t even believe in prophecies, and yet here he was, trying to fulfill one. He also wasn’t normally one to drop the comfort of routine in search of… what? Excitement? Adventure? Fame by completing the King’s quest? No, that wasn’t Clover.
Where did the embarrassing change come from? Was it because one of the village’s elders, Fria, was in desperate need of expensive medicine? Was it because Clover’s friend, Marrow, was hot-headedly bragging he would claim the promised prize while having no idea what to actually do?
Maybe it was, at the very core, the desire to prove himself to his Kingdom, no matter how ridiculous the method.
But it definitely wasn’t because Clover’s heart was longing for something more than what a small fishing village could offer him.
So there he was, on a wild goose chase, looking for something that probably didn't exist, all because some wizard or charlatan promised the king it would bring prosperity to the kingdom. Clover had never even heard stories of a flame-bird until the day he'd heard the announcement, but the King apparently believed the prophecy was real.
Clover wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping for. There were probably countless Atlesian knights searching for the same thing, better equipped and trained than he could ever be. Clover was simply hoping he'd come across the mysterious creature in the forest near his village, rumored to be magical by superstitious folk. It was a weak hope, but well... Clover had always been lucky, so who knows?
So he walked, and walked, and walked, lost in his thoughts and only half-heartedly paying attention to the surroundings. Maybe he should have been more wary of wild animals, but in his defence, he wasn't very used to going far from the village, not to mention deep into the forest. He only managed to shake himself out of his daze after catching the sound of running water somewhere in the distance.
By that point, even through the thick foliage the sun was blazing mercilessly, making him sweat and seek the more shadowed edge of the path. Clover stopped and listened carefully, then picked up the pace, eager to get a cool drink and some rest. The delightful sounds grew closer and closer, until finally Clover was faced with a narrow but energetic stream crossing his path.
Excited as he was, he didn’t immediately notice he wasn’t alone at the riverbank. A fox turned to look at him, assessing the danger, and Clover lazily shooed it away, “I’m not here for your fur coat or anything, just passing by!”
The fox huffed and strutted away, making Clover laugh at its almost pouting expression. He carefully dropped the sack, propped the fishing rod on a tree and sat on a rock by the stream, stretching his legs. He leaned down towards the water to drink some when he heard a soft chirping trill from below.
At a first glance he didn't notice anything amiss, but as he looked more carefully, he realized there was a small bird under a bush nearby. Clover squatted to take another look, curious, and realized, startled, that it was moving clumsily, one wing dragging at an awkward angle lower than the other.
The little bird fluffed up its greyish-blue crest and grew quiet, but shuffled a little closer to Clover, far more trusting than he would have expected it to be. He picked up the little bird, recognizing it as a kingfisher.
“Hey, did that fox rough you up?” he asked gently, trying to sound soothing. “Let me take a look…”
He didn’t really know much about birds beyond chickens. He was a fisherman, after all, and treating an injured bird was vastly out of his realm of responsibilities. But the kingfisher in his palm was so innocent-looking, and definitely not suitable for dinner, so Clover ended up washing the wound and then tearing a strip of fabric from his shirt and tightly but carefully wrapping it around the bird’s body, immobilizing the injured wing.
“I guess you’ll have to come with me, then. You can’t really stay out here like that, can you?” Clover petted the bird’s head with one finger and the kingfisher chirped, nuzzling into his palm. Clover smiled and carefully set his new friend in his pocket, chuckling as it wiggled, making itself more comfortable in its new nest.
He wondered if the flame-bird would be as easy to catch as the kingfisher. Probably not.
“That was pretty sweet of you,” an amused voice interrupted his musings.
Clover whipped around, nearly losing his balance from the unexpected company. He blinked, and shook his head, trying to get rid of the image in front of him, but it persisted – a woman was casually sitting on a branch, playing with the string of Clover’s fishing rod. She was wrapped in a white cloak, its hood partially concealing her features, but Clover could still see the sparkling silver eyes look momentarily at the tiny creature in his hands before coming back up to study his face with an eerie intensity.
“You– where– hello?” Clover tried. The strange woman laughed, dangling her bare feet in the air merrily.
“Hello,” she echoed and laughed harder. “You should see your face, oh this is priceless. So, what is a guy like you doing in a place like this beyond saving poor birds?”
Clover swallowed, trying to figure out how much he should say. The kingfisher in his hands weakly chirped, fluffing up defensively, and Clover decided to play it safe.
“I’m just… passing by. I’m a fisherman,” he nodded at the rod for added persuasiveness. “And… you are?”
The woman pouted, “Aww, so vague. Don’t you want to chat? This forest is dreadfully boring most of the time.”
“Ah… do you… live here?” Clover asked carefully and wondered if he could manage to grab his sack without passing too close to the stranger.
“I do!” she said excitedly, “I mean, where else? This is where all magical creatures live!”
It took some effort for Clover not to stare too rudely. “Magical… creatures? Like, say… flame-birds?”
“Hmmm…” she let go of Clover’s rod. “Maybe not flame-birds, those sound like a fire hazard. But I’m sure you could find someone who knows where to find one! So… you have a soft spot for birds, do you?”
“No, it’s not that…” Clover’s head was going dizzy from the unexpected turn the conversation was taking. “I’m just looking for a flame-bird. And this little guy was just there. Uh.”
The cloaked woman laughed once more, throwing her head back. Clover expected to see her face clearly after that, but somehow, it was still engulfed in shadow. “I see, I see. Okay then. Let me give you advice, since you like birds so much. Soon after this river, you’ll see the crossroads, just turn right there. Some friends of mine live there, I know they get lonely.”
Clover nodded dumbly. “Are they… like you?” he asked carefully, feeling awfully awkward and out-of-place.
“What? No, they’re not mermaids, but they are magic!” The woman jumped from the tree and floated towards the river. She threw the fishing rod towards Clover and added, “Make sure to remember the words, or you won’t get in: little hut, crow-legged hut, turn your back to the forest and face me! Good luck, mysterious guy!”
And with that, the woman smiled one last time, fell onto her back and disappeared underwater. Clover waited for her to resurface for several long minutes, but nothing happened, and eventually he had to accept that he’d been left alone with some vaguely helpful advice.
He had no choice but to fill up his waterskin and continue his journey, the small form of the kingfisher a reassuring wiggly weight in his pocket.
Just as the mermaid promised, Clover soon came across the crossroads. There was a large stone slate where all the paths crossed, some words carved in it, half-hidden by moss and difficult to decipher.
Turn left, and lose your steed. Turn right, and lose your life. Go forward, and stay alive but lose yourself.
It was tempting to choose the left path, since he didn’t even have a horse to lose. But he thought of his new bird companion, and wondered if it would be safe from whatever awaited him on that path.
Clover took a deep breath, the mermaid’s advice still fresh in his memory. After all, what did he have to lose?
He turned right.