Sunflower Picking

Maids drew open the heavy curtains, allowing the soft morning sunlight to spill into the upper chambers. They stood at attention along the walls as they watched their master savour his morning drink.

Tony sat cross-legged in an ornate chair, a porcelain cup in his hand. He sipped, stifling a weary yawn as his fingers brushed away the remnants of sleep from his eyes. His weathered face carried the marks of age, yet his attire spoke of his noble station—a finely tailored coat adorned with the emblem of a white rose upon his chest. The day had just begun, yet there was so much to do before the war.

The kingdom now known as the Nine Realms was not always so fragmented; its original name lies in the mists of forgotten history. Once, it was a unified land, standing proud amidst a world teetering on the edge of chaos. But within this isolated kingdom, catastrophe struck. The reigning monarch, a figure of immense power and influence, succumbed to an unexpected illness, leaving behind an empire and five ambitious heirs.

By tradition, the eldest would inherit the throne, yet tradition held little sway over the hearts of his siblings. Each saw themselves as the rightful ruler, armed with alliances and wealth that fanned the flames of their endeavour. What followed was not merely a power struggle but a descent into a bloody civil war—a war that consumed nearly a decade and transformed the kingdom from a burgeoning leader on the global stage into a shadow of its former self. The toll of their conflict rippled far beyond their borders. The dream of becoming the world's leading nation became illusory as resources and loyalty splintered. In the end, neither victory nor compromise emerged, but a fragile treaty born from exhaustion. The land was divided into five realms, each heir carving out their dominion with the ink of treaties and the blood of war.

Yet stability was fleeting. The third and fourth realms, riddled with weak leadership and internal strife, soon crumbled under the weight of their own incompetence. Nobles, disillusioned and hungry for power, abandoned their fealty to carve out realms of their own. What began as quiet dissent erupted into a new wave of territorial grabs and rebellions, giving rise to the sixth, seventh, eighth, and eventually the ninth realms.

Each realm bore its own identity and culture—a kaleidoscope of customs that faintly echoed the once-united kingdom. Yet even as they thrived in their independence, the fissures of their shared history remained.

For Tony, these fractured realms were an affront to the kingdom's former glory. His heart burned with a single vision—a return to the golden age, where one ruler governed the Nine Realms. It was not just a desire but an obsession, a dangerous gamble in a land that had long forgotten what it meant to kneel to one crown.

"Lord Tony, the guests have arrived," a maid reported, bowing low.

Tony waved dismissively and rose to his feet, steadying himself with a griffin-headed cane. "Alright, let's get this over with," he whispered.

#

Tony stepped into the neighbouring chamber, finding his companions already immersed in conversation. The sight struck a chord deep in him.

There were two men seated there. Close to the window was Sparrow, a tall figure with a top hat and monocle, who carried the sharp, polished air of a dignitary from the sixth realm. Then there's Hack, his face framed by a thick white beard, his hulking form that of a seasoned warrior from the ninth. Both wore dark attire that mirrored Tony's outfit.

"Salutations, my friends", Tony said, having a seat.

"Oh, Tony, what a radiant day it is," Sparrow said, turning away. "The world hums with light, and the morning critters serenade us with a symphony of their existence." His gaze lingered on the window. "Tell me, do you hear it? The language of the wind, the poetry of the sun—it's all there if one only listens."

"Yes, it is a beautiful morning," Tony said with a smile.

Hack extended a hearty hand toward Tony. "Tony, we were just reminiscing about the good old days. You really were something back then."

"Were? My dear comrade, I haven't changed a bit!" Tony countered with a sly grin. "If anything, I'd say I've grown stronger—and undeniably more handsome, wouldn't you agree?" He turned to a maid standing nearby.

"Yes, my lord," the maid, Mary, answered.

Tony smirked, turning back to the room. "See? Undisputed." His tone shifted slightly. "Mary, where is Hudson? This tardiness is unlike him."

"He's on his way—"

The sudden creak of the doors drew all eyes as a butler strode in, his polished movements accompanied by the faint clink of glasses resting on a silver tray. Three goblets of deep crimson wine shimmered under the soft light. His short dark hair was neatly trimmed, and his posture poised. Despite his boyish face, there was an air of maturity in the way he carried himself. As he passed, his sharp blue eyes flicked briefly toward Mary, offering her a subtle, almost conspiratorial smile before he turned his attention forward.

"You're late" Tony said, glaring at the young butler.

Hudson halted mid-step, his expression unflinching. "Ah, my sincerest apologies, my lord," he said, his tone smooth, almost melodic. "I found myself faced with a dilemma this morning: selecting the wine most worthy of gracing your palate. Such matters cannot be rushed when serving someone of your esteemed stature."

Hack let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "Tony, you've got yourself a butler with a silver tongue. Say, Hudson, why don't you ditch this place and come work for me? I could use someone with your... finesse."

Hudson gave a slight bow, keeping a sincere smile on his lips. "A generous offer, Master Hack, but I fear my loyalties are bound solely to my lord's will. Were he to command it, I'd consider the notion—though it would pain me deeply to leave such a noble household."

Tony's gaze darkened as he raised his glass, his glare unmistakably directed at Hack while he sipped. Hack smirked but said no more, leaving the room to simmer in the tension.

The chamber doors flew open, slamming against the walls as five armed men strode in. Tony lifted his hand, dismissing his staff with a lazy wave. Hudson gave a sharp bow before departing, but not without exchanging a tense glance with one of the men—Lester. A jagged scar ran from beneath Lester's eye to his lip, and a dark blade slung across his back.

Silence filled the room, as the aged men eyed the miscreants. A sudden flutter of wings broke the stillness as a bird swooped through the open window, perching on Sparrow's hat and chirping.

Tony leaned back in his chair, releasing a weary sigh. "Shall we get to it, then?"

The discussion began—the skirmish at the seventh realm's border, dwindling supplies causing a ruckus. And how they barely managed to slip through the authorities' grasp after the successful attack. Sparrow hummed a quiet tune to himself, absently swirling his glass, his gaze distant.

"Yes, yes, you survived. Bravo," Hack grumbled, arms folded across his broad chest. "Now, tell me, where is it?"

Lester gestured, prompting one of his men to step forward. He approached him, holding a little box, with dark circles under his eyes. He opened it with care, revealing a black stone etched with intricate golden carvings.

"Magnificent," Sparrow whispered, appearing beside the box so suddenly it seemed he'd teleported. Adjusting his monocle, he leaned in for a closer look. "An exquisite specimen, truly."

Hack rolled his eyes. "It's a rock. A powerful one, sure, but a rock. Let's not romanticise it."

Tony, however, studied the stone in silence before shifting his gaze to the weary man. "And who might this be? I don't recall him being part of your crew before."

Lester nodded, turning to the exhausted young man next to him. "Matthew. He joined recently. A skilled fighter—quiet and reliable. His adventuring party didn't make it through their last mission, so now he works for me."

Matthew bowed. "It's an honour to be in your presence."

"An adventurer, you say?" Tony said, picking up his glass. "This isn't some guild quest. How can you be sure he won't compromise our plans?"

"I already said he's a close friend of mine, are you doubting my companions?" Lester asked, stepping closer. He picked up Tony's glass and took a slow sip before smirking. "Call it what you will, but I promise you this: by the end of the week…" He let the glass fall, the crimson liquid spilling across the floor. "Pyrovile will be nothing but ash."

Tony's expression didn't waver, though Hack let out a booming laugh, slapping his knee.

"You've got yourself a lunatic, Tony!" Hack barked, his piercing gaze lingering on the warrior. "I like him."

The bird's cheerful chirping grew louder as it hopped along Sparrow's finger. Sparrow stroked its feathers absentmindedly, his voice was soft. "A stone capable of triggering a forced eruption. The Nine Realms will tremble. Their little peace town covered in smoke and ash. First step to our dream, isn't that right, Tony?"

"Indeed."

Hudson's heart leapt into his throat the moment the door creaked open. He stumbled forward, landing on the polished floor. He remained frozen in place as everyone glared down at him. The room fell silent, save for the persistent chirping of the bird. He didn't wait for an invitation to explain before he scrambled to his feet and bolted through the huge doors.

Lester snarled and motioned for his men to follow. They rushed out in pursuit, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, Hudson…"

Hack shot up from his seat, his booming voice echoing in the chamber. "Are we just going to let this slide? He knows everything!"

"Relax, Hack." Sparrow's whispered as he scratched the bird's chin. "He won't get far."

Tony rose from his chair, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Still, to be cautious, we'll leave the town earlier as planned. But first, I think I'll have breakfast." He poured himself another glass of wine, savouring a sip before walking toward the dining hall, followed by his friends.

#

The tavern in the bustling streets of Gildenspire roared with life. Servers weaved through the packed room, balancing trays of foaming ale and steaming dishes, their movements deft despite the chaos. Wooden walls bore the marks of time, and the flickering glow of lanterns mounted on the beams. In one corner, a group of bards strummed cheerful tunes for a small, attentive audience, while raucous laughter and the slap of cards hitting tabletops filled the air around the men engrossed in their games.

At a corner table, Emilia sat with her nose buried in a book, her eyes flicking toward her brother, Pasta, who was surrounded by empty bowls. One by one, he polished off each dish, smacking his plate onto the table with a satisfied groan before starting on the next. He leaned back, patting his now-rounded belly, and glanced at the swordsman seated across from him, who sipped his soup in measured silence.

"Hey, Mr. Swordsman, got a sec?" Pasta asked, tapping his stomach.

The swordsman's sharp gaze cut through him, his bowl still poised near his face. "What have I told you about calling me that?"

Pasta shrugged, reaching for another bowl. "Well, you don't have a name, so what else am I supposed to call you? 'Mr. Swordsman' fits perfectly. Anyway, about my question—when are we going to start taking quests?"

The swordsman set his bowl down with a deliberate clink. "Listen, boy," he said, voice low and firm, "I'm here to escort you siblings to the second realm, not to join your adventures."

Pasta smiled mischievously. "But doesn't escorting us mean you'll join us for adventures?"

The Swordsman glared at him, demanding silence as he enjoyed his meal.

Emilia turned a page, her focus unwavering on her beginner's guide to adventuring. Unlike Pasta and the swordsman, who had long since discarded theirs, she clung to her copy like a lifeline.

"How can we call ourselves adventurers if we're not out there, you know, adventuring?" Pasta said, turning to Emilia. "Come on, wouldn't it be great to fight a dragon or something? Right, Emilia? Come on I need your assistance here"

Emilia didn't look up, her attention glued to the book.

"Again, my mission," the swordsman whispered, "is to get you to the Second Realm. Nothing more, nothing less." He took another sip from his bowl, only to pause in disgust, plucking a stray hair from the broth before grimacing and taking another sip.

Finally, Emilia closed her book with a soft thud and exhaled. "He's right, Pasta. We need to get to the Second as soon as possible. But..." She flipped open her guidebook and pointed to a highlighted passage. "According to this, all registered adventurers must complete at least one quest in the realm they registered in before leaving."

Pasta's eyes lit up as he slammed the table. "Yes! This is what I'm talking about! Adventure, here we come!" His thunderous enthusiasm turned several heads, earning a few chuckles and rolled eyes from nearby patrons.

The swordsman leaned back in his chair, a shadow of amusement flickering across his face. "Bloodborne's strict about guild rules," he whispered. "Normally, I'd say to hell with them, but... this is the old man's town after all." He glanced at his empty bowl, considering the situation before rising to his feet with a resigned smile. "Fine. Let's go on a quest."

Emilia's heart skipped a beat. She quickly hid her excitement behind her guidebook, hoping neither of them would notice the small grin tugging at her lips. She'd been searching all day for something—anything—to convince Mr. Swordsman. He'd been adamant about avoiding quests, but Emilia refused to give up.

Gathering her bag and supplies, she joined her brother and their reluctant guide as they stepped out of the tavern.

At seventeen, she was tired of spending her days bored at home and yearned for some excitement. A thrill coursed through her as the realisation sank in—this was it, her first real adventure. The possibilities danced in her mind: a daring quest, a handsome prince, maybe even an enchanting elf. Or both. She let herself dream as they returned to the adventurer's guild.

#

Emilia slammed her fist on the counter, her voice rising in disbelief. "Sun blossom picking?! That's the quest?!"

The taskmaster gave her a firm nod as she continued her paperwork.

Pasta let his sword clatter to the floor, his mouth agape. "Hunting dragons, chasing down criminals—those are quests! This is… why?!"

Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, Mr. Swordsman let out a low sigh. "So, we're basically going sunflower picking," he said, his tone flat.

Emilia quickly flipped open her guidebook, scanning the pages. "No, not exactly," she said. "It says here that sun blossoms are different. They absorb a fragment of the sun's radiance and produce golden drops, key ingredients in local medicine."

"So, sunflowers," Mr. Swordsman deadpanned, his expression as stoic as ever. "If it looks like a sunflower and smells like one, it's a sunflower."

"But it's not," Emilia shot back, her brows knitting in frustration.

"I beg to differ." He cast his gaze downward, his annoyance barely concealed. Ever since he was assigned the E rank as a fresh adventurer, the day had gone downhill. Sharing a rank with these two inexperienced kids was bad enough; now he was being roped into flower-picking duty. It was almost too much.

Emilia let out a heavy sigh, tucking her guidebook away. She held onto the faint hope that their next quest would at least involve something a bit more thrilling.

But Pasta had other ideas. He shoved past his sister and slammed his hands on the counter. "This is outrageous! Give us a real quest, or face my wrath!" he yelled, pointing his blade at the taskmaster.

The room grew silent as every adventurer turned to watch the scene unfold, their expressions ranging from amused to alarmed. The taskmaster took a cautious step back, her face pale.

Before the situation could spiral further, Emilia rolled her eyes, stepped forward, and thwacked the back of Pasta's head with the flat of her sword. He crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.

"Apologies for my idiot brother," Emilia said curtly, snatching the map to the sun blossom location from the taskmaster's trembling hands. She glanced over her shoulder at Mr Swordsman, who pushed himself off the wall with a resigned shrug.

Dragging Pasta's limp form by his collar, Emilia marched toward the exit, Mr. Swordsman following behind. "Let's get this over with," he said under his breath, determined to make the best of their mundane mission.

#

The crew ventured out of town, following the map that marked the location of the sun blossoms near the outskirts of Pyrovile.

"It'll take a day or two to get to the town," Emilia said, her eyes scanning the guidebook she carried. "There's a volcano nearby too. Maybe we can check it out after we're done." She glanced up and noticed her companions were in their own worlds. Pasta lagged behind, mumbling to himself, while Mr Swordsman walked ahead, confidently leading the way with his usual stoic expression. Shrugging, she returned to her book, which had become her most trusted companion.

Mr. Swordsman suddenly halted, raising a clenched fist to signal the others. Without a word, he pointed to a clearing in the forest where four oversized mushrooms stood. They had tiny eyes, no mouths, and bright red cheeks.

Emilia flipped through her guidebook. "Mushkins," she identified quickly. "They're cold-resistant, love to eat, and… uh, they're feeble but attack on sight. Great! We'll avoid them to prevent any unnecessary—"

"That won't work," Mr Swordsman said, exhaling deeply as his muscles loosened.

"What do you mean, it won't work?" Emilia asked as she closed her guidebook and slipped it into her bag.

"Bloodborne mentioned your swordsmanship is remarkable. If we're travelling together, I need to understand your strengths and weaknesses" 

Emilia's frown deepened, though it wasn't because of his reasoning. What puzzled her more was how Pasta, seemingly miles away, could already be charging into the fray.

"Let's go!" He shouted, dashing ahead. His sword gleamed as he swung it at the nearest Mushkin, which dodged with surprising agility. Undeterred, he smirked and prepared to strike again, only to be launched backwards as another Mushkin used its cap like a springboard to counter him.

"Playing dirty, huh?" Pasta whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. He glanced over at Emilia, who remained motionless. "Hey, Sis! You joining, or do I have to take them all down myself?"

"No need," Emilia said, unsheathing her sword. In a blur, she darted toward one of the Mushkins, catching it off guard. Her blade sliced cleanly through its stalk, and orange goo spilt onto the ground. She grimaced. "Now I just feel guilty."

"Nice work, Sis! My turn," Pasta said with a laugh. The remaining Mushkins leapt at him, spewing more of their goo.

Pasta evaded the attack, but his movements lacked grace and precision. "You call that poison?" With a powerful jump, he met the Mushkins midair, his blade cutting into them. The wounds were shallow, but as they collapsed, their eyes widened, and their bodies lost their once bright colour. The creatures shook their bodies on the floor before finally meeting their end.

"Weren't there four?" Emilia asked, scanning the area.

Above her, the final Mushkin descended.

"Damn, I let my guard down!" she whispered, glaring at the creature. As it unleashed a stream of poisonous goo, she charged straight through it, her blade flashing in a clean arc to decapitate the Mushkin in one swift strike. She landed with grace and sheathed her blade, only to freeze as she groaned, almost sounding like she was in tears. "Ugh, I'm covered in goo!" she squeaked.

"You two are something else," Mr Swordsman said, his voice low as he approached Emilia.

"Thanks," She said, holding in the urge to puke. "Pasta, are you okay?" Emilia asked, glancing at her brother, who was now drenched in sweat and muttering something unintelligible as he repeatedly stabbed a Mushkin's corpse.

"I'm more than okay, Sis," he said with a crazed grin. "Tremble before the almighty Pasta! Hahaha!"

Mr Swordsman stared at Emilia, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you sure you're fine? Isn't that goo poisonous?"

"It's weak," she said still grimacing over the sticky goo. "Besides, my brother and I are both immune to poison."

"Yeah, what kind of poison swordsman would I be if I weren't immune?" Pasta said with a laugh, finally sheathing his sword.

Mr Swordsman raised a brow. "Then why dodge the poison earlier?"

Pasta smirked, making an exaggerated flourish with his hands. "For dramatic effect."

"I see…" Mr Swordsman's gaze lingered briefly on Pasta's weapon—the Naga Blade, infamous for its deadly poison. Though curious how someone like Pasta obtained such a weapon, he decided it wasn't worth prying.

"Can we please move on?" Emilia said, her voice tinged with exasperation. "The day's almost over, and I really want to clean this mushroom goo off me. It's so icky I think I'm gonna hurl"

They hurried toward the river as the sun dipped lower, its warm hues painting the sky. Fortunately, the sun blossoms grew nearby, but their time was running out. These rare flowers only bloomed under sunlight, and if picked while closed, they would never open again, rendering the golden drop within useless.

Emilia broke away from the group, heading to the river to wash off the sticky remnants of her earlier battle. Meanwhile, Pasta and Mr. Swordsman ventured deeper into the forest to gather the blossoms before the sun vanished completely.

Mr Swordsman plucked one of the flowers, examining its golden petals that formed a radiant circle. "It resembles a sunflower, but the differences are unmistakable."

Pasta joined him, tossing flowers into the small basket Emilia had insisted on bringing.

Mr Swordsman sighed, his motions efficient yet devoid of enthusiasm. "This is an adventurer's quest? A low-ranked one at that. No wonder it's so mundane and completely devoid of excitement."

Pasta chuckled, twirling one of the blossoms between his fingers. "Hey, at least we got to fight those Mushkins. That added some fun to it."

"Still mundane," Mr Swordsman whispered.

They were interrupted by a piercing shriek from the river.

"Emilia!" Pasta exclaimed as they toward the source of the sound.

As they neared the riverbank, a massive piece of driftwood flew out of nowhere. Mr Swordsman dodged it with ease, but it smacked Pasta square in the face, sending him sprawling.

"Sorry! I panicked!" Emilia blurted out, rushing to Pasta's side. She tried to help him up, but he lay on the ground, dazed and murmuring incoherently about stars dancing above his head.

Mr Swordsman sighed and turned to Emilia. "We heard you scream. What happened?"

"Well—"

Pasta sprang to his feet. Blood trickled from his forehead, but he shook his head as if nothing had happened.

Emilia and Mr Swordsman exchanged sceptical glances before she continued. "You need to see this for yourself."

They crossed the river, the sound of rushing water fading as they approached a dense thicket of bushes. Nestled within the shadows lay a figure, barely recognisable beneath the blood staining his tattered suit. His limbs were twisted unnaturally, bones clearly fractured, and his ragged breaths rasped painfully through the air.

Mr Swordsman knelt beside him, carefully wiping away the grime to reveal the faint outline of his face. A weak cough escaped the boy's lips as the swordsman began to lift him.

They stepped out of the bushes into the light as the boy whispered under his breath. "Lord Tony"