Hometown Songs

The sound of the marching echoed in the silent air along the way.

As the march progressed, Borne noticed that the terrain was gradually rising, and the ground beneath his feet became more uneven and rugged.

The silhouette of the Celestoria Mountain Range became clearer, with the distant peaks standing like massive barriers between heaven and earth.

The air here started to cool, with gusts of wind carrying a biting chill.

Every time the wind blew, it felt like sharp blades cutting across their cheeks, sending shivers through their bodies.

Despite the dropping temperature, the scorching sun still hung high in the sky, radiating intense heat.

The ground remained blisteringly hot from the sunlight, yet the cold in the air made everyone feel a piercing chill.

With the alternating hot and cold, Borne felt both sweaty and shivering from the cold wind.

"What strange weather," Dillon muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"The weather here is always like this.

The closer we get to the mountains, the more bizarre the temperature changes," Borne replied.

Dillon also felt discomfort.

His skin burned from the sunlight, yet whenever the cold wind blew, the sweat on his skin made him feel an icy sting.

His nose was filled with two contrasting sensations: the humid heat of the soil and the dry chill in the air.

The troops slowly entered a narrower valley, with towering cliffs on either side, intensifying the sense of oppression.

The shadow of the Celestoria Mountain Range gradually enveloped the path ahead, and as the shadow spread, the temperature around them dropped even further.

"Just hold on a bit longer, we'll reach the designated rest point soon," the officer at the front called out, trying to boost the soldiers' morale.

As Borne and his comrades grew bored from the monotony of the march, a deep, low song began to rise from the front ranks.

At first, the song came sporadically from a few scattered voices, as if a few soldiers were softly humming.

But before long, the song became more unified and synchronized.

It was as if some invisible force gathered all the voices together.

The singing grew louder, gradually echoing throughout the front ranks like a swelling tide, and with the sound of their footsteps, it steadily spread towards the rear.

Borne listened carefully and soon recognized that the song was in the dialect of Aetherhaven.

The front-line soldiers were singing a ballad from their homeland in their native dialect.

"Ah, mother calls from the shore, I swear I will return, to protect her smiling face.

Waves crash upon the harbor of my home, distant sails drift along the horizon.

Ah, I swear I will return, with victory and joy, no matter how fierce the storms."

The voices of the soldiers from Aetherhaven grew louder and louder.

As Borne listened to the fading song from the front, just as he thought the march would return to its previous quietness, the soldiers in the middle ranks began to sing as well.

Most of the middle troops were from Brightwater, and their song was entirely different from the Aetherhaven ballad.

It carried a distinct rhythm and a long, flowing melody, resembling the gentle lapping of waves on the shore, or rivers slowly winding under the sunlight.

"The rivers of Brightwater flow into the sea, our hearts forever marching forward.

The soil beneath our feet, hope shining in our hands.

The people of Brightwater shall never fall!"

Borne and the other soldiers listened quietly as the song filled the air, gradually enveloping the entire army.

Just as Borne was getting lost in the melody, he felt a gentle tap on his back.

He turned to see the decanus looking at him with a serious expression.

"Orders are in. Once the middle ranks finish their song, it'll be our turn. Get ready," the decanus said in a low voice.

Borne nodded, quickly turning to relay the command to the soldiers around him.

They began whispering among themselves, trying to recall the familiar tunes of their own song.

"Looks like we can't fall behind now," Bush muttered with a grin, a hint of excitement on his face.

As soldiers from Stormhaven, they carried a distinct pride.

Harley leaned closer to Borne, speaking in a low voice.

"We're from Stormhaven. Let's not let those guys from the front and middle ranks look down on us. 

They may have grown up in the mountains, but we grew up by the sea. We've got strength in spades."

Heywood chuckled along.

"They may sing with grandeur, but once we start, we'll drown them out for sure."

Borne glanced at his comrades.

Each of them had a look of eagerness on their faces, ready to showcase their strength.

The soldiers from Stormhaven began to recall the melody and lyrics of their song, and as the song from the middle ranks slowly faded, the warriors of Stormhaven swiftly picked up the rhythm.

Their voices were deep and powerful, filled with the force of the sea winds.

The song carried a sense of longing for home, and the pride of being citizens of a port town.

"The waves are wild beasts, the spray our blades, the raging sea devours the souls of cowards.

Beneath the typhoon, we march forward with pride, in the storm, we are the true masters.

Don't count on the skies clearing, don't hope for the waves to still, the mast of destiny never rises for the timid.

The howling that tears through the night is our roar against fate!

Set sail, for the endless waves lie ahead, our ships dance in the fierce winds.

The storm brings death and destruction, but we never fear, we stand tall forever."

The ballad carried Stormhaven's unique wild spirit, exuding a raw, untamed strength.

Stormhaven, constantly facing typhoons and treacherous seas, had forged an unyielding resilience in its people.

Historically, Stormhaven was the last city to submit to the Holy See.

The people of Stormhaven had always possessed a wild nature.

As Borne sang along with the song of his homeland, his voice merged with that of his comrades.

His thoughts drifted back to that night when the typhoon raged.

The wind howled as if it would tear the sky apart, and the rain fell like countless sharp needles, hitting the ground with sharp, rapid sounds, quickly gathering into torrents.

Amid the roar of the storm, the air was filled with the damp, salty smell—a mix of the sea and torrential rain.

Young Borne looked up at the pitch-black sky.

The clouds hung oppressively low, as if they were about to swallow the entire world, with thunder rumbling in the clouds, deafeningly loud.

The rain poured down harder and harder, drenching the land in an instant.

The village houses swayed precariously under the force of the wind and rain, with roof tiles being blown off and scattered everywhere.

Floodwaters roared down from the mountains, like a rampaging beast, surging over roads and fields, quickly spreading to the village entrance.

Young Borne stood under the eaves, watching as the rising water crept from his ankles to his knees.

The icy cold water seeped through his boots and into his skin, making him shiver uncontrollably.

The floodwaters surged in relentlessly, turning the streets into rushing torrents.

The fierce current swept away branches, stones, and even the bodies of livestock.

The villagers ran about in panic—some desperately dragging whatever belongings they could carry, while others hurried toward the dam, trying to mount a last-ditch defense.

It was as if the end of the world had arrived.

The thunderous sound of the water and the howling of the wind blended together, pounding against their eardrums and making them numb.