Chapter Text
The wind cried a sorrowful song as it buffeted the branches of the trees surrounding the lively Wellspring Glades on an overcast, late summer day. It was the sort of time when the reassuring warmth of the season began to be replaced by that sharp cold of autumn, but still several weeks before the leaves would take on those beautiful orange tones. A few golden rays of midmorning sun barely broke through the deep grey cloud cover, dappling the majestic island of Niwen in a weak light.
Piercing the dimmed skyline, above all the other trees stood the Spirit Willow, a monumental landmark to all who beheld it, and the anchor of stability for the island. It had been growing in this spot for ten years as of last week, with the Light Spirit Ori at its core and the Willowisp Seir as its host. Its leaves glowed faintly, coloured an untimely yellow. This wasn't its autumn colouration, though; its pale pastel tone was all natural, and it was a beautiful accent to the surrounding landscape. The leaves weren't the only pretty sight in its canopy, however; alongside them grew hundreds of glowing, baby blue feathers which tugged weakly against their stems in the wind. Feathers that longed to one day break away and find their homes on the forest floor.
At the base of its ever-widening trunk stood Gumo, a dark blueish gray, feathered sphere with a pair of spidery arms and legs. His eyes glowed a beady orange-yellow, standing out starkly against the dim sky. His freakishly large mouth always seemed to bare a toothy grin, especially if he was doing something he enjoyed, such as taking care of his precious child. Gumo struggled to hold a large bucket of water, pouring it around the base of the Spirit Willow. Niwen was nearing the end of a short drought, meaning that he had to go the extra mile to keep the Willow watered regularly. Despite his best efforts, it still lacked a lot of water and its leaves weren't looking particularly healthy. A tree this big wasn't a one-Gumon job to maintain.
And so, with my own tale being over, I paved the way for a new one to be made.
The feather knew it wasn't ready yet... Not finished growing, yet the drought had weakened its stem, and a forceful gale savagely ripped it from the safety of the Willow, casting it out into the open air. It sparkled desperately as it travelled the current of the wind, attracting the eyes of Gumo. In an instant, he dropped his bucket and began the chase. His lanky limbs were shockingly agile, and despite his unusual stature, he was very acrobatic. That didn't mean that chasing the feather would be an easy task, though. Brutal winds tossed the feather around like it was nothing, carrying it high and far, yet Gumo remained determined and kept up, never letting the feather out of his sight. The chase took him through the murky waters of Kwolok's Hollow, over the tangled roots around the outskirts of the Wellspring Sanctuary, and up against the icy borders of Baur's Reach. Eventually, the wind dragged the feather into the steep valley that surrounded the Wellspring itself, the titanic water wheel that kept the waters of Niwen pure. The feather was almost in reach, but fate wouldn't let Gumo have it this easily today. Surrounded by dirt cliffs, the wind curled up into a fierce vortex that pulled the feather dozens of feet into the air, before catching it on a rough patch of rocky soil and stranding it. He waited for a few minutes, but it wouldn't budge. Gumo knew what this feather would mean to Ori; he couldn't make himself return to them without it in his hands. So, with an indomitable spirit and a sigh of resignation, he began his climb. But only ten feet up, the cliff crumbled under his weight and he toppled to the ground. Undeterred, he tried a second time. Fifteen feet this time, but his second attempt ended the same way. The third time, he hardly even touched the cliff before a large amount of dirt came loose and crashed down onto his legs, knocking him to the floor and scratching him up.
But... Her path was cut all too short. A fleeting glimpse, a hopeful dream of the future for me and for her, crushed before my very eyes.
With a heavy heart and a crushing feeling of failure, Gumo trudged back to the Spirit Willow. The feather was surely lost, and it wouldn't be worth risking his life for it. His journey back was laced with fear and dread of what Ori or Seir would say to him; would they condemn him for not trying harder, or lash out at him? Blame him? As his thoughts ran wild, he sheepishly approached the base of the Willow and placed a hand on its roots, looking up into the canopy and seeing the cradle where Seir sat.
"I'm sorry... I tried my hardest. 'At cliff was too dangerous!" Gumo hoped beyond hope that there was forgiveness for him. His voice was gruff and punchy, but had a warm undertone that helped it to feel almost fatherly.
Do not worry, Gumo. You did well.
"B-But is she not... really important? The firstborn? You told me that, right?" He couldn't take his mind off the fact that he'd left the feather. Something within him was telling him to go back and try again, even if it could kill him.
I haven't given up just yet. I shall speak with Opher; he possibly has the tools to reach her. You may choose to accompany him if you wish.
—
The lanky primate stood facing away from the tree, working a searing hot piece of metal over a large, smooth rock. His sturdy timber smithy and palisade worked wonders for keeping the biting wind away from his craft. His current project was shaping up to be a fairly large saber, though it was early into the process and it wasn't yet clear.
My friend. May I take a moment of your time?
Despite having heard Ori's booming voice countless times already, it still made Opher leap out of his skin. Electrified, he turned to face the source of the voice after putting his work down safely.
“...Sure… What for?” Opher asked uneasily. He didn't want to leave his craft for too long; the metal could get too cold and he'd have to reheat it, or a Moki could seriously hurt themself with it.
Our first Spirit could be with us today, but alas her feather is caught on a dangerous cliff.
“Oh! Tremendous news! But out of everyone, you turn to me? I'm honoured, but why?” Opher scratched his head and ate whatever got under his nails.
I feel your resourcefulness and agility could prove crucial to freeing her.
“Ah, I see. Where is the feather? I'll go have a look.”
Gumo will take you there. He should be with you any moment now.
—
“Mm, all the way up there? No wonder you couldn't get it. Hopefully it's close enough for this ol’ thing.” Opher removed a huge longbow from his back, alongside an equally huge barbed arrow and a coil of thick cord.
“Looks fancy. What's it do?” muttered Gumo, trying to get a closer look but intruding Opher’s personal space in the process. He was quite the artisan himself, but Opher's inventions often left him with a lot of questions.
“It's a grappling hook. I shoot the arrow up there, then I can climb the cord. I get up there, grab the feather and drop it down, then out pops a little baby Spirit. Easy as that.” He placed his hands on his hips, looking pleased with himself as if he'd already done it. Maybe he was just hiding his nerves.
Gumo furrowed his brow at the contraption, wondering how it would stay in the terrain it stuck to. It was just an arrow, and the barb wouldn't do much when the dirt would inevitably give out. Opher didn't notice his concern.
Stepping back for a good shot, Opher raised his bow, pulled the string back with all his might, and fired the arrow at the cliffside. It flew true despite its lack of fletching and the added weight of the cord, and impaled itself a little way above the feather. The cord barely reached the ground, with only one or two feet to spare. With a brave but shaky sigh, Opher grabbed the cord with both hands, placed a foot on the wall and started walking himself up the cliff. The dirt wall frequently crumbled beneath his feet and many times along the way, he almost fell. But he pushed on for Ori, for the little Spirit who was trapped on that cliff. And by some miracle, he made it to the top. He let go of the cord with one hand to grab the feather, but as he shifted his weight, it snapped. Opher fell at least fifty feet to the ground, landing heavily on his arm with a crunch.
Gumo skittered over in a panic as Opher writhed and yelled in pain, holding his arm just below the elbow. Gently coaxing Opher's hand away, he found the forearm bent at a funny angle and his elbow was already beginning to swell. In addition to the shattered elbow, Opher seemed to have a new joint in that forearm; both bones were fully snapped in half.
“Blech! Not nice... Um, I don't know how to help...” Gumo dared not touch the ruined arm for fear of hurting Opher even more, but he had to get him off the ground somehow if he was going to get him to a doctor or something.
I’m so sorry, Opher... I didn't foresee this happening. Gumo, try to get him to a Spirit Well. I'll make sure to heal that arm as soon as I can.
The plucky Gumon began to search around for anything he could use for Opher, and his eyes drifted to a wide, sturdy sheet of bark cladding that must have fallen off the Wellspring some time ago. Carrying it under his arm, he returned to Opher's side and carefully tucked his broken arm on top of his belly. He hopped over to the other side of Opher and shifted him onto the bark sheet, before heaving it up and onto the top of his head. Balancing it precariously, Gumo rushed as fast as he dared to the Sanctuary.
“Ori, you going to keep trying?” Gumo strained under the weight of Opher's body. He looked up at the Spirit Willow, feeling as if he already knew the answer. Ori was never one to give up.
Perhaps I can find someone else - no. That would be selfish; I've already caused too much harm trying to retrieve her. If we still had Tokk...
Ori's voice started out as almost desperate, before it faded to a monotone, desolate mutter and ended in a defeated sigh. It wasn't worth the risk anymore; they'd already hurt someone for this.
I failed you. I failed her. I'm sorry.