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Eastern Neilsberg was always so lovely at the end of summer. Late-season wildflowers brought the mountain meadows to life with yellow, pink, and purple hues. The lush trees were at their greenest, and the lakes and rivers at their bluest. The quaint little towns nestled amongst the hills were abuzz with activity, as markets and festivals were always in full swing as people began preparing for the harvest. The trails through the mountains were quieter, however, as the heat tended to keep people away.
Even during wartime, this region of Ostania maintained its beauty. Which was why he liked it.
He had been working in his organization long enough that his true name was no longer relevant. It had faded away with time, slowly disappearing from the moment he started the agency known as Garden decades ago. As the leader of such a unique group of individuals, his code name held the highest honour, one he created when he first began Garden out of the back of a flower shop his family owned: Shopkeeper.
Shopkeeper took his job at Garden very seriously, but he took his appreciation of nature even more so. He always made sure to allow himself time to venture out to different corners of Ostania at different times of the year. He’d visit Frigis in the winter to see the sparkling snow in the mountain forests, Shellbury in the autumn to see the brilliant colours of the trees, and even venture out just in his own town of Berlint in the spring to see the cherry blossoms. It was important for him to see the beauty in this land he called home, if he was heading an organization that existed to protect it by any means necessary.
Any means.
Little did he know that such a habit would end up fundamentally changing his life in a way he never could have predicted.
He was out on one of the lesser used trails through the Neilsberg mountains, his long greying hair tied up in a ponytail and large sunhat atop his head to shield his face. The hike had taken him up one of the taller mountains in the area, offering a fantastic view of the town below that shared its name with the mountain range. But he had also chosen this particular path because it was the best one to see the lovely wild mountain roses that bloomed in this province this time of the year. The bright red and yellow flowers lined parts of this path, reaching for the sun in the tangled mess of branches they were famous for, so unlike their well-manicured domestic counterparts.
He had already seen many, and collected a few rose hips from the bushes as he passed. He hoped this year could be the year he finally was able to get the temperamental plant to grow in his garden. Alas, every year he tried, but something always seemed to go wrong. Be it blight, or infestation, or frost… He even wondered if the altitude affected the seeds. Despite Neilsberg being located in the south, the mountain air was cooler than Berlint. Perhaps a little struggle at the start of life was needed to encourage the budding plants to grow strong?
Shopkeeper was determined to make it work. He had yet to encounter a plant that fully stymied him. He would not give up that easily with this one.
Once he had collected what he came here for, he could simply focus on enjoying the rest of the walk. The trail was one large loop, and it was on the back half of the trail that he came upon something…peculiar.
The Elba River started within these mountains, though a few miles upstream. By the time it got to where this particular trail ran among its shore, the river was already well-established. Crystal-clear glacier water flowed at a swift but not torrential pace through a wooded glen. It was relatively shallow here, with a few rocks jutting out into the water to create all kinds of little pockets for river fish to gather.
And that was where he first saw her.
She was young. She must not have been older than ten years of age. Just a girl, small and lean, her black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail to get it out of her face. She was perched on a rock out in the river, armed with a long stick with a sharpened point, standing perfectly still and poised to strike. Her red eyes were trained on the water, shifting ever so slightly to follow the movements of her prey.
The Shopkeeper frowned. Such a young child…spearfishing? Alone?
Despite the beauty of the region, he knew the War still had been able to reach out with its ugly claws to tarnish even this far into Ostania. Corruption and violence spread worse than any disease, despite Garden’s attempts to stop it. Shopkeeper knew what those wicked vices could take away, often from the world’s most innocent people. A child her age would never be doing such an activity without a parent watching to make sure she didn’t get hurt or fall into the water, and yet this girl was by herself.
Which meant either her parents were incompetent, or gone.
A splash caught his attention, bringing him out of his mind. He watched as she pulled her spear out from the water, and was pleasantly surprised to see that she had actually managed to catch something. And not just any fish: but a large bass.
More than enough to be a good dinner.
Before he even realized it, he had wandered closer to the girl. He had approached enough to hear her voice carry over the sound of the running river. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fish,” she atoned as she gently rubbed a finger over the fish’s head, “But I thank you for your sacrifice. Now Yuri can have some proper protein tonight!”
Despite himself, Shopkeeper felt his eyebrows rise. Not only was this girl a skilled hunter, but she was a respectful one as well. Such a thing was rare, especially for one so young. Even more so when survival was on the line.
“Oh! Hello!”
He looked up to find she had spotted him. She gave him a happy little wave, before skillfully hopping over the wet rocks back to the shore. He watched her closely as she moved: her footwork was impeccable, and her confidence admirable. She never once wavered, even on the loose rocks. She landed gracefully on the gravel shore after one last - and quite large considering her size - jump, and cast him a warm smile. “Are you enjoying your hike, Sir?”
He couldn’t help but smile at her in return. “I am, and thank you, young Lady,” he replied, “Though… May I ask what you are doing out in the river?”
The girl’s smile faltered, very briefly. “Oh… I’m just catching dinner!” she told him, gesturing to the fish on her makeshift spear, “I was very lucky today. Normally the fish aren’t as cooperative, and we often end up eating greens and berries.”
He frowned again. “We?” he wondered, feeling something unpleasant beginning to settle in his heart.
“Oh. My little brother Yuri and I,” she said. Her smile faltered again, this time not quite recovering. “It’s just the two of us. I’m in charge of preparing all our meals, since he’s too little to go out on his own.”
The unpleasant feeling was getting worse. “And what of your parents?” he pressed gently.
Her smile faded away completely at that. “They…left,” she stated hesitantly, “And they didn’t come back. Th…they had gone into Tresden, but…there had been a bombing, and…”
Shopkeeper grimaced. That had felt like a personal failing on Garden’s part. They had been aware of a Western-aligned terrorist group that was plotting a bombing in a major city centre, but they had not been able to act swiftly enough before the group managed its first attack. Of course, it wasn’t just Garden that had failed, but Shopkeeper took more responsibility in his job than other leaders of state and national security services did. He saw Garden as the only reliable source to defend Ostania from the wickedness of war and terror, to cut back the weeds and cure the rot that threatened to harm the rest of the beautiful plants. Just as it is the gardener’s fault if a rose bush falls to infection for not taking the proper precautions, so is it his fault if corruption takes innocent lives in a market square.
And here was the consequence of that failure, staring up at him with wide, ruby eyes.
“I’m…sorry. Truly,” he sighed, lowering to one knee before her, “It must be difficult for you, to take on such a noble task by yourself.”
The girl nodded. “It’s…hard,” she admitted, “We don’t have a lot of money, and Yuri needs to start going to school, soon, so I’m saving what I can for that. I…I don’t always find enough food for us but I make sure he’s fed.”
“And what about you?” He could see, now that she was standing before him, that she wasn’t just lean - she was thin. Her cheekbones were pronounced on her face, her eyes sunken just a little, and her clothes hung just a little too loosely off her body.
She lowered her gaze, shuffling from one foot to the other. “I’m…ok,” she said with a small voice, “As long as Yuri is healthy, I’m happy.” Her face then brightened a little, and she headed over to a nearby bush, pulling out an old wicker basket. “But today I found all sorts of good things to eat! This should get us through the week!”
Shopkeeper was once again surprised by this girl. Contained within the basket was a bounty of foraged foods: berries, mushrooms, greens, and bark. She had clearly made good use of the forest’s gifts, and paired up with that large fish, he could safely believe her when she said they would have food for the next week.
“Well, I am impressed!” he said, unable to suppress a warm chuckle as her smile widened at his praise. “Say,” he proposed, “I imagine we are both heading to the same place. Is it alright if I join you for the walk down the mountain? I can carry that heavy basket of yours.”
The girl regarded him for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she did her visual inspection. Then her face brightened as she handed him the basket. “Ok, and thank you! That is very kind,” she told him, “But this basket isn’t that heavy.”
He reached for it expecting it to not weigh very much, based on how easily she had lifted it. But it was deceptively heavy. A closer look in the basket revealed that at the bottom was a sizeable pile of wild root vegetables and sticks - presumably firewood.
Hmm. She’s stronger than she looks.
Still, he kept to his word and started down the trail with the basket in tow. She walked next to him, the fish still securely stuck to her spear. “Oh! How rude of me: I haven’t introduced myself yet,” she gasped, “My name is Yor.”
“Hello, Yor,” Shopkeeper beamed, “I suppose I should return the favour, however… I don’t really go by my name anymore.”
She cocked her head at that, staring up at him with questioning eyes. “What do you mean? Everybody has a name,” she stated innocently.
He nodded. “They do, but you see, my friends merely call me ‘Shopkeeper’,” he explained, “And they do it so often that I have just decided to go by that.”
“Why do they call you that? Do you own a shop?” It was incredible how despite all she told him about her sad circumstances, her red eyes could still hold such brightness and earnestness.
He chuckled again, his heart feeling lighter than it’s felt in decades. Perhaps ever. “I suppose I do,” he mused.
— — —
They walked down the mountain together, pausing every so often if Yor spotted some mushrooms or berries she could add to her basket. That was how Shopkeeper had learned about her appreciation of plants, and her knowledge of foraging. Though she often didn’t know the exact names, she did know which berries or mushrooms were safe to eat. And she was eager to learn their names when he gave them to her.
“I was a little worried about these ones at first, since their shape is a little strange. But they’re actually very good!” Yor proudly displayed a stocky, brown mushroom she had found along the trail at the base of a large pine tree.
Shopkeeper smiled, enjoying her commentary. It’s not often he can have such a long discussion about plants, let alone with a child. But it was refreshing, to say the least. “Those ones are indeed rather tasty, and they can be dried for longer storage as well. Do you know the name of that particular kind of mushroom, by chance?” he asked.
Yor frowned in concentration as she regarded the mushroom in her hand. “I think my father told me about this one…” she muttered. After a moment she shook her head in defeat.
“Porcini mushrooms,” Shopkeeper told her.
“That’s it!” Yor cried with a wide grin.
He laughed softly at her energy. She certainly had spirit, and it warmed his heart to know that after everything she had been through it could still radiate off of her like warmth from the sun.
“Oh, I always love these ones!” He watched as she rushed ahead, squatting down to better observe another cluster of fungi. However he noticed that this time she didn’t pick them.
“Hmm,” he mused as he grew closer and finally spotted what she was looking at, “Amanita muscaria. These ones are definitely toxic to eat.”
Yor grinned as she regarded the bright red and white mushrooms. “Oh, I know that,” she stated simply, “I just like looking at them.”
Shopkeeper raised one eyebrow. “You do? Even if they’re dangerous, and don’t serve a purpose for humans?” he wondered.
“But they do have a purpose,” Yor replied, “Why else would they be here?” She got up and dusted off her knees. “Mama told me that mushrooms turn dead things into soil, which can then be used by new plants. Maybe people can’t eat these ones, but that’s also why they’re such a pretty red colour: it helps warn people not to try to eat them. They’re just doing their job after all…”
Shopkeeper could only stare at this young child with wide eyes. “Huh,” he breathed, feeling a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. It was rare that he was ever this impressed by anyone. And yet this girl had impressed him since he first spotted her on that river rock. She had the raw strength and agility, but more importantly, she had the right mentality. She had thanked the fish that would be dinner that evening. Most people would think that silly and childish, or maybe not even think much of it at all. But it proved to him that she valued life, and that she understood the sacrifice of taking one.
But he had to confirm that with one more test.
So he asked her the one question he asked every prospective agent, the one question that would make or break any application.
“Tell me, Yor,” he began, framing such a weighty query with idle curiosity, as if he was merely carrying on the conversation and not asking something that could change her whole future, “Do you think rose bushes should have thorns?”
Yor frowned in confusion, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him with those brilliant red eyes. “Should roses have thorns?” she repeated, taking a moment to mull over the question.
After a period of silence, she replied with a simple: “Yes.”
“Oh?” he pressed, “And why is that?”
“Well… Thorns protect the rose bush,” she told him earnestly, “It might be nice if they didn’t have thorns, but the flowers are so beautiful that people may just pick them without thinking how it may harm the plant. Thorns might hurt, but… They’re important. They’re just doing their job, like those mushrooms!”
He stared at her again - this little scrap of a girl - and smiled warmly. “That is a wonderful insight you have,” he told her gently, “Especially for someone so young.”
She grinned, practically basking in his praise. “Thank you, Sir,” she breathed.
They continued down the path, once more engaging in idle small talk, until the houses of Yor’s village appeared on the horizon. The sun had sunk lower, casting its golden rays across the meadows and swaying elm trees. Shopkeeper handed Yor her basket, and she bowed her head in thanks.
“Thank you again, Mr. Shopkeeper, Sir,” she told him, still bearing that wonderful smile that was warming his heart like a hearth in winter, “It was very nice to meet you!”
She turned to leave, and Shopkeeper drew a deep breath. Now or never. “Say, Yor…” he began tentatively. She stopped, turning back to look at him with those wide red eyes that seemed so youthful and full of wisdom at the same time. “I… have a proposition for you.”
— — —
“Your garden is still just as beautiful as last time, Shopkeeper!”
He chuckled fondly. “Come now, Yor! You were only here just last week!” he commented lightly. He had been pruning one of the more prized features of his garden: a large and quite healthy wild rose bush - one he had finally managed to grow from the seeds he collected in the Neilsberg mountains all those years ago. He turned around, facing his best agent with a warm grin. “How was the cruise?”
“It was…rather exciting,” she replied with a nervous laugh, “There were more rival assassins on that boat than I thought. But Olga and her son are safe. That is all that matters.”
Shopkeeper nodded. “Yes, I read Mr. McMahon’s mission report,” he informed her, “He mentioned that you seemed a little distracted at first, but when the greatest challenge arose, the Thorn Princess stood her ground.”
Yor’s cheeks heated up slightly, turning a similar shade of pink as the lupins nearby. “O…oh, yes, I…” she stammered, tucking some stray hair behind her ear, “I…I was nervous about my family spotting me. I came close at least once and it… Well, it did, maybe…distract me.”
Shopkeeper merely nodded again. “Clearly it did not distract you enough to end your service here at Garden early,” he noted, a faint hint of humour appearing in his tone. When she met his gaze, her body visibly relaxing, he added, “I would not worry so much about McMahon. He’s a stickler for the rules, after all.”
Yor let out the breath she had been holding. “Th…thank you, Sir,” she stammered.
“Never minding that, how did it go?” he wondered, his smile turning into a concerned frown, “I understand you were injured.”
Yor waved it off with a smile, unintentionally flashing a brief glimpse of a deep cut across her palm. “Oh, it was nothing! I’m fine,” she assured him.
He leaned his long shears against the shrub he was pruning and walked up to her. Without a word he reached for her injured hand, his frown deepening when he saw the dark red line. It was healing - another thing he had come to learn about her was that she healed faster than most of his other agents - but such a wound was worrying regardless. “Were you not wearing your gloves in that fight?” he questioned. She usually wore fingerless gloves made of a cut-resistant material. Perhaps they had caught her while she was in disguise as a civilian…
“No, I was,” she told him, as if she was simply stating a fact about forest mushrooms and not revealing a potentially traumatizing moment, “There was one assassin with a katana… I had to break his sword with my hand to get it out of my face.”
Despite his rising concern for her, he smiled. He remembered why he always had faith in her, why she was his best: her strength - both physical and emotional - was truly immeasurable.
Garden agents were not naive about what their job entailed. Even someone as innocent-seeming as Yor knew that every job could be their last. They were all silent soldiers in this cold war, each one incredibly valuable for maintaining peace in both Ostania and, by proxy, Westalis. But ultimately they were still soldiers, and soldiers are expendable.
Shopkeeper was aware of this fact more than anyone, but that still did not mean his stomach didn’t twist just a little at the thought of Yor going out on a mission and not coming back. He was thankful that he found her all those years ago, and relieved that he had been able to help her and her brother in some way after his inaction cost them their parents. But that didn’t stop the nagging guilt that festered in his heart.
He trusted her. He trusted her more than he trusted anybody. He had complete faith in her abilities not just because he trained her himself, but because of who she was. And he looked down at that nasty scar and felt his heart clench. For anyone to get close enough to Thorn Princess to hold a katana to her face…
“I am thankful you were not gravely wounded, my dear,” he told her earnestly, giving her hand a gentle pat before letting it go.
Yor glanced down at the scar on her hand, her head tilting a little to one side as she regarded it. “I…I wasn’t ready to give up,” she said quietly, mostly to herself, “I still had a job to do after all.”
Shopkeeper knew the dangers of being overly prideful. Far too often it led to mistakes that cost lives. However even the most humble gardeners sometimes are allowed to feel a little pride, especially on witnessing what was once a scrappy little thorny vine become a grand and beautiful hedge of roses.
“Let us move past this upsetting topic,” he stated as he reached for his shears once more, “Tell me: how did your family enjoy their vacation? McMahon mentioned you had a free day with them.”
And that was how the remainder of their meeting went. Yor was more than happy to share her experiences on the resort island with her family. She enthusiastically described every detail, and shared the experiences she had never gotten to try before, as well as what her family thought of them. She spoke of her husband, and how thoughtful and caring he was, even carrying her safely back to the ship after her exhaustion caught up with her late in the day. She lovingly told him about her daughter, and how funny and excited she was to go on all those grand adventures.
It was so clear they meant the world to her, even if this all started as a mutually beneficial agreement for both parents.
Shopkeeper went back to tending to his garden, wordlessly listening as she regaled her most recent adventures. He skillfully snipped off a yellowing leaf from the rose bush, then paused to admire one of the last lingering ruby red flowers that was left from the autumn bloom. There was still much work to do, and once this meeting ended they would go back to being employer and employee - a general and a soldier trapped in their own bloody war in the shadows. But just for this moment, he could enjoy her company the way he had all those years ago.
A gardener and his prized mountain rose.