Hyperborea

The village was alive with energy that morning, as it always was on a day so bright and warm. Laughter echoed from the fields where children chased one another in carefree games, their shouts mingling with the low murmur of men discussing trade over barrels of salted fish and newly tanned hides. Smoke curled lazily from thatched roofs, carrying the comforting scents of bread baking and stew simmering. Women gathered near wells and doorways, their chatter animated as they shared the latest gossip or worked on repairing garments.

Amidst all this vibrant commotion, two women stood near the village center, speaking quietly but with the ease of old friends.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Dearbhla said, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hand.

"One of the brightest we've had in weeks," Doireann replied, her voice thoughtful. "Almost feels like a blessing, doesn't it?"

"All the more reason to go for a walk. Care to join me?"

Doireann hesitated, glancing toward the fields where her children were playing. "I don't know…"

"Oh, come now. With this sun, they'll be out until dusk, and you'll have nothing to worry abo—"

"Shhh," Doireann cut her off suddenly, lowering her voice. "Look."

Her gaze was fixed on a blonde woman walking gracefully along the main path of the village. Heads turned as the woman passed, though she appeared oblivious to the attention. "It's Nuala… and that dress."

Nuala's dress shimmered in the sunlight, its pale saffron fabric flowing like water with every step. The garment was unlike anything the village had ever seen—soft and elegant, with folds that clung perfectly to her figure. Intricate embroidery in the shape of olive branches adorned the neckline and hem, the silver thread catching the light. Around her waist, a shimmering cord cinched the dress, accentuating her natural grace. It seemed almost too fine for the humble surroundings of their little village.

The two women stared, their conversation forgotten.

"It's beautiful," Dearbhla breathed. "Where did she get something like that?"

"Nuala!" she called out suddenly. "Where did you get this dress? It's stunning!"

Nuala paused as they rushed toward her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She seemed used to such attention, though she bore it with a modesty that only made her more striking.

"Dearbhla, Doireann, please calm down," she said with a soft laugh. "This is a dress my husband brought back from the Roman war frontier."

"Oh, so lucky! All our husbands bring back from war is riches for themselves! They never even think about us! While yours risked his life just to bring back a Roman dress for yo-"

"It's not a traditional Roman dress!"

The sharp voice of a young boy interrupted them. Artair, Nuala's mischievous son, appeared from behind her, his tunic slightly askew and his grin wide with the glee of causing trouble.

"It's a traditional Greek chiton! You probably don't know that because you two are ignorant women who only wear dirty bog dresses! You're nowhere near as beautiful as my mother!"

"Artair!" Nuala's voice snapped like a whip as she spun to face him, grabbing him by his tunic. "What on earth do you think you're doing? I didn't teach you to be so disrespectful! Apologize to Dearbhla and Doireann right now!"

"Mother... please calm down," Artair replied with an exaggeratedly innocent expression. "You're not as beautiful as always when you get this angry!"

"You little rascal!" Nuala growled, raising her hand as if to strike him, but the boy wriggled free, slipping out of his tunic and darting down the path.

"Haha, Mother, you're too slow! You can't catch me!"

"You… at least wear your tunic, or you'll catch a cold!"

"No, I don't want to!" Artair's laughter echoed as he disappeared into the bustling village streets, dodging a group of men deep in conversation and weaving around playing children.

"Sigh... this boy! Will he ever learn education for Brigid's sake?" Nuala muttered, shaking her head.

"Nuala, calm down. He's just a kid," Doireann said soothingly.

"Speaking of which, doesn't he have his Druvalis tomorrow?" Dearbhla asked.

"Yes... he has," Nuala admitted, her tone softening as a shadow of worry crossed her face. "But with the way he's behaving, I fear he won't be blessed by any god."

"You worry too much, Nuala."

"Yeah, your husband was just as much of a scoundrel as little Artair, and look who blessed him—Smertrios, a major god of war!"

"Maybe you're right..." Nuala sighed, though the tension didn't fully leave her expression.

…

That evening, in one of the village's many roundhouses, Artair lay beneath a thick woolen blanket, his nose red and his eyes drooping.

"Achoo!"

"Sigh... Artair, I told you that you'd catch a cold! Why don't you ever listen to me?" Nuala said, her tone stern but her hands gentle as she dabbed a wet cloth on his forehead.

"I'll... achoo... listen from now on, Mom..." Artair muttered weakly.

"You've said that a lot of times already..." Nuala smiled despite herself, tucking the blanket around him more securely.

"Want me to read you the Hyperborea tale?"

"Yes!"

"See, you're still just a little kid!" she teased, earning a pout from her son.

"I'm not a kid..." he protested weakly.

"Alright, alright. Let me begin..." She picked up the book from the nearby table, opened it, and began to read.

"Once upon a time..."

"There was a young man named Fionn."

"He was the king of the Hyperboreans, a civilization that thrived in the distant north of the world, where peace and harmony reigned beneath skies of eternal frost."

"One day, during one of his habitual walks beyond the walls of his grand, crystalline castle, Fionn heard a peculiar sound—a sharp squealing that pierced the stillness of the white forest surrounding his domain."

"Startled and alert, he gripped the hilt of his regal sword and followed the noise, his boots crunching softly over snow-dusted leaves. As he pushed through the pale foliage, the source of the sound revealed itself—a girl, cornered by a thur."

"The creature was monstrous, towering over both the girl and Fionn himself. Its thick, gnarled skin was the color of ash, mottled with scars and patches of coarse, dark hair. A pair of jagged tusks jutted from its wide, snarling mouth, and its eyes glowed faintly, like embers in a dying fire. Long, sinewy arms ended in clawed hands that could snap trees like twigs, and its breath came out in ragged, steaming huffs, filling the air with a stench of decay."

"The thur growled, advancing on the girl with a lumbering gait, its massive frame causing the ground to tremble faintly beneath its weight. Every instinct in Fionn's body screamed at him to flee, but he stood firm."

"Drawing his sword in one fluid motion, the king lunged forward. With a single, decisive strike, he felled the monster, its roar silenced as it collapsed into the snow."

"-Are you all right?- Fionn asked, his voice steady but gentle as he turned toward the girl."

"But she didn't respond. She didn't even look at him."

"Fionn frowned, puzzled by her silence. Perhaps she was too shaken by the attack to speak, he thought. Yet, something else caught his attention—something even more peculiar."

"Her skin. It wasn't the pale, snowy white of the Hyperboreans. It was... pink. A soft, warm hue unlike anything he had ever seen."

"-Ehm... I know this might sound a little inappropriate, but... where are you from? You don't look like anyone from here,- Fionn ventured cautiously, hoping for a reply. But still, she said nothing."

"-Wait!- He suddenly realized, his eyes widening. -Could it be that you don't understand me?-"

"If she didn't respond because she didn't know his language, then she couldn't be from Hyperborea—or even anywhere nearby. But where else could she be from? Beyond Hyperborea, there was only the vast, unending sea... wasn't there?"

"-Could it be that she's from one of the other Nine Worl—- Fionn's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the girl rose to her feet."

"She stepped closer to him, her movements deliberate but strange, her expression unreadable. She—Oh!"

~Ronf~

~Ronf~

~Ronf~

"Looks like Artair is already asleep..."

The mother lowered the book gently, a warm smile on her lips as she gazed at her son's peaceful face.

"He must have played a lot today. I usually read him more of the story before he falls asleep..."

Leaning over, she placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Good night, my little Artair."

With a quiet sigh, she tucked the blanket around him more snugly, then rose from the bedside. Extinguishing the torch that lit his room, she left, closing the door behind her with care.

In the dim stillness of the house, she paused, looking out through the small window at the darkened village. Her thoughts turned inward as she whispered to herself:

"I hope, at least, that you'll be able to live a life free from war..."

...to be continued.

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Hi, I'm the author, how was the first chapter of my first novel? Hope you liked it (It's my first time writing).

Please give me your feedback, I want to improve as much as possible (Also, english is not my first language, so please be lenient with me!).