The wheels bumped and rolled over the worn dusty road littered with rocks, rocking from side to side. The sound of shuffling stones followed their trail. Seron's feet hung off the driver's bench, swinging with each jerk of the cart. His grip on the whip was firm but sweaty as the donkey pulled the wooden carrier to their destination.

The animal pulled the cart into a small neighborhood. Similar-looking one-story cabins stood fifteen or so meters from the main road, with individual paths connecting to it. Each had enough square land around them, adequate for farming land or small gardens.

He tugged the reins to a stop before a familiar cottage, waving at the yellow-haired girl running to him with a smile. Her simple cream dress fluttered with the wind as her flat shoes tapped against the dry dusty grass.

Lylia clambered up beside Seron easily on the bench and grinned. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered restlessly at her beautiful smile. Blond strands were plastered on her face and neck, visible sprinkles of sweat making her heart-shaped face glisten. 

The heat from the sun was an omnipresent factor in their lives as they lived a few kilometers from a desert. Seron's faded shirt was already glued to his back, the sweat cool on his body. His brown, baggy trousers did nothing to keep the heat at bay and he wiggled the toes in his boots in discomfort.

He smirked in kind and asked, "Ready to go?"

"I've been ready since last week," she declared, fingers tapping restlessly on her thighs. "Let's go."

Seron snapped the whip in the air and the donkey set off once more in a steady canter. The lines of wooden houses eventually grew clustered, pooling into a circular lake of buildings. 

Lylia glanced at the cargo in the cart. "Wow," she said, leaning on her hand to see the piles hidden under a tarp. "You have a lot of goods to trade today."

He shrugged, eyes on the path. Now they were surrounded by buildings. The pedestrians wore light garbs in the humidity of the town but he could see the sweat on their foreheads. "Been storing them for this pre-festival trade fair. I'll get good sales from them."

"Yes, well," she twisted back to face the road, "don't forget we're going to stop at the actual festival later on."

"How can I?" His smirk grew, eyes alight. "It's the biggest festival of the year. Everyone in Ilyot will be there." He steered the cart to the left, tipping his head to a shirtless, dark-haired man pulling a handcart loaded with large jars of water. The man smiled in gratitude. "That's why I want to get to the market early enough so I can sell to early customers."

"Good." She folded her arms and closed her eyes contentedly. "Then I'll help."

"Like you had a choice."

Lylia hit his arm and laughed, a sweet tinkling that filled his ears. Even though they had grown up together, he never tired of her laugh. And somehow, it seemed to have matured as she turned sixteen a few weeks before. He was only three months older than her, yet her bloom into puberty made a significant change in how he saw her. 

They forked left and finally reached the already brimming market. They quickly unloaded and stocked their goods. Within minutes, customers had already gathered to get the freshest fruits and vegetables available. It was two hours from dawn at that time, and by noon, nearly all his merchandise had been sold.

Seron's eyes bulged at the money-box. "I've never made so much in a day!" he exclaimed. The excitement was bare on his face. "Uncle will be shocked as well."

Lylia shone him a smile. "Magic of the Fien Festival." She leaned over the counter and glanced at the sun as Seron took a big whiff of the silver coins. "It's past noon," she noted, looking back at him. "We should get going."

Seron, a little high from the metallic scent of money, nodded and started to pack up the remaining goods. They would be food to carry home. He tossed an apple to the unsuspecting girl—which she caught with ease—and claimed his own. 

Lylia bit into it in evident relief, juice trickling down her chin as she sucked the sugary liquid. He did the same, savoring the sweet taste of the apple. With the scorching sun hitting their backs, the cool juice was well needed. 

After gathering everything else, Seron took a handful of coins to use at the festival and packed the rest. They left everything in the stall, as no one would steal it. The donkey remained tied to a post next to the stall, feasting on brown tufts of grass.

They set off at a steady pace, filling the journey with idle chatter. Seron let Lylia do most of the talking. Whenever she told a story, her turquoise eyes lit up with an excited fire and her voice exuded all emotions engaged in the narrative. It was entrancing to watch, and more often than not, Seron found himself lost in her words, drinking her in.

So he nearly jumped out of his bones when they found themselves in the heart of the festival, about a kilometer from his house. The town was circular, and at the center was a large open space about fifty meters in radius towered by buildings of all sizes. The youths had dubbed the bare grassy area the Prairie. 

The buildings around were splattered with color; sunset-red, flame-orange, golden-yellow, fresh-green, sky-blue... as though a child had painted the walls on a whim. Tents had been set up at the Prairie, where a range of items was displayed. The heavy scent of roasting meat mad Seron's stomach rumble. A pile of tools and weapons caught his eye.

Lylia's eyes nearly burst out of her sockets, a gaping smile bubbling with laughter. She whirled around to take everything in, and each time she sucked in a breath. Seron nearly worried that she would die of hyperoxia.

"It's so beautiful!" she squealed like an ecstatic child, making him wince. He plugged a finger in his ear and wiggled it, trying to clear the aftereffect of her screech.

Seron couldn't disagree, though. Banners flapped in the wind, advertising different activities to be found in the festival; from games to competitions to entertainment. Music drifted with the wind, a band of musicians nodding their heads in tune to their songs. Women in short frilly skirts and bra-like garb danced away, their visible bellies flowing like meandering rivers. 

Seron fought a blush as he glanced away at them. It wasn't every day he saw a woman dressed so freely. Sure, it wasn't uncommon, but the town of Ilyot was home to decency. It was even hard to find prostitutes flashing themselves on the streets like the ones in other towns did.

Lylia, however, mistook his discomfort for bashful elation. She laughed at him. "What's wrong, Seron?" she taunted. "Did you see something you like?"

He whirled, horror splashed on his features. "Are you joking?" His hands fought the urge to strangle her. "Why would you think of that?"

A smirk plastered itself on her lips and she crossed her arms. "You were gawking at those women like they're tonight's supper."

His blood was boiling. "I was not!" he nearly shouted.

She laughed once more. "Don't be shy, Seron," she drawled. "It's part of growing up. Soon you'll start growing hair on—"

"Lylia!"

"What?" She quirked her eyebrows, the grin on her face on the verge of ripping at the corners. "I was going to say on your chin."

Now his cheeks were ready to burst with blood-rush. He noticed how she tried to hold herself together—and failed. Her jeers laced with laughter was a baffling mix for Seron, making an uneasy smile curl his lips.

Lylia grabbed his hand and yanked him forward. "Come on—let's go see the games in this place."

He was dragged through the maze of people, as though she knew exactly where she was going. At this rate, they would get lost. He started pulling his hand back when he saw that she had, in fact, led them right where they were headed for. 

Seron saw people around his age all around, a home-base for youths. There were ring toss games, dart games, apple-bobbing, fishing games—even actual hunting games. Men, and the occasional female, would sign up for the hunts. They would then be given sheets directing them on what to hunt in the small forest nearby. The first to complete his task would win.

The urge to compete itched under his skin, but he would only lose. He had never been on a hunt; he didn't have a father to teach him in the first place. He had been taken in by his uncle at an early age and was set on the path of farming. He couldn't even recall his mother's face.

It didn't bother him as much these days. A woman who left her child wasn't someone to be remembered. He didn't even resent his working in the household farm. It was a job that earned well since people couldn't live off meat all their lives. 

So he turned to see another game; a drinking game. The permitted drinking age in Ilyot was seventeen. However, youngsters took advantage of festivals to the fullest. Many were already competing against each other. Seron spotted a dozen more barrels of ale and grinned, shaking his head. Those participants would awaken to a pounding headache the following morning, accompanied by the yells of their furious mothers.

He looked to his side to find an empty space. Seron spun around and found Lylia at the ring toss tent. He strode to her. It was a booth with a large table set behind a dividing rope, which separated the owner from customers. Dozens of green bottles glimmered on the wooden surface.

She was hurling small metal rings around the necks of bottles with proficiency. His jaw dropped. "You're really good," he admitted, hypnotized by the smooth capture of the bottles' necks.

She grinned, tossing another ring around a bottle. "Don't act so surprised." She flung another. "I'm just good at everything."

He rolled his eyes and set his eyes on a particularly interesting game. As Lylia merrily received her prize, a large stuffed dog, he said, "Good at everything, you say?" He gave her a challenging look. "Why don't we test that?"

Her smirk widened. "Bring it."

Seron tugged her to the giant contraption to their right. The words "Test Your Strength" were emboldened into the wooden machine. It stood at over ten feet tall, as broad as Seron's slight build. A furrowed line traced up its middle, marked with numbers beside it, with a dull metal bell at its end. At the bottom was a small plate with a huge hammer at its side.

He smirked at Lylia's wide eyes. "You can't be serious," she said nervously.

"Oh, I'm very much serious." 

Lylia spun to him, holding the stuffed dog closer. "This is impossible."

He only propped his right hand on his hip. "What, scared?"

"It's not a matter of being sca—"

He tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I never thought I'd see the day that Lylia Hasley would admit her fear."

"I am not."

"Actions speak louder than lies."

He could tell he had pushed her, the way her eyes blazed, but it triggered her pride and she marched forward, her prize forgotten on the ground. Her fists clenched as an expression of determination pasted on her face. Seron cocked his eyebrow. He hadn't thought she would actually do it. He shrugged, wearing a grin. All the more entertainment, he supposed.

A few people joined to see her attempt. Some were whispering that a small girl like her wouldn't even be able to lift it. The words must have reached Lylia because she gritted her teeth and pulled the hammer up. By the shaking of her hands, he could tell it was an effort keeping it just a few inches above the ground. 

He frowned. Lylia didn't have the muscle to lift a hammer that heavy; her arms would be under strain. The thought of her harming herself made his heart start.

"Lylia," he called. "Hey, it's okay; I call off my dare—you can stop."

She ignored him and positioned herself before the plate. He hissed through his teeth. "Lylia stop!"

Her clenched jaw and grinding teeth were enough to tell him that she wouldn't back down from the challenge. So instead, he prayed to the Spirits that she wouldn't get hurt.

With a heavy grunt, Lylia raised the hammer over her head. Her arms shook, and he thought the hammer would fall on her. Giving a small cry, she brought the hammer down on the plate with a bang. A small wooden pick shot upwards. Seron's eyes followed it. Ten, twenty, thirty... And it fell back down. 

The small crowd murmured their approval, as it was a moderate effort. With the highest possible mark being one hundred, only one person had ever made it to eighty.

Lylia panted as the hammer dropped from her grasp, a hairline away from crushing her foot. He ran forward, wrapping his hands around her. "You okay?"

She gave a tired grin. "Beat that."

He shook his head, brown hair tickling his ears as a shaky smile replaced his worry. "Oh no, I'm not doing that."

She shook herself from his hold and stood a few ways back. "It seems," she hollered breathlessly, voice purposefully loud, "I have bigger balls than you, Seron!" 

Ooh!s and laughs erupted all around, friends and strangers all rippling at her jest.

"Come on, Seron!" 

"Don't be a coward!"

"He's too scared to even try."

"Show her your balls!"

The jibes and shouts of encouragement went on. He closed his eyes and turned to walk away, but his legs didn't move. His eyes flew open, checking if his feet had been glued to the ground. Walk! Walk away, he told his legs. Still, they remained grounded. An odd feeling stirred in his chest.

Normally, he couldn't be baited into such stupid situations. He didn't allow other people to affect him but today, at that moment, Seron felt the urge to prove himself. He didn't know why but it was enough to keep him from turning back. So, like the idiot he was, he went for the hammer. Cheers grew louder.

He tested the grip of the hammer, palms sliding over the cloth-wrapped handle. It was heavy but well balanced. His fingers curled firmly around the handle. He felt his muscles tighten at the weight. More acclamations erupted but they were muted by the pounding of his heart.

He thought of the humiliation if he failed; the taunts and jeers that would mark him for weeks. It only added to his anxiety. Sweat gathered in his palms, making his grip loosen slightly.

Seron's stomach churned. He raised the hammer over his head. Better now than later, before he could chicken out. So, with a grunt, he thrust the hammer down.

The sharp clang was followed by the rise of the pick along the contraption, rocketing with force. Ten, twenty thirty, forty...

To his surprise, it kept going at high speed. He blinked only once, and the pick hit the bell with a joyful cling!

There was silence for a moment, everyone frozen in disbelief, then yells and cheers exploded all around. Lylia ran to him and practically jumped on his stunned form. "That was amazing!" she exclaimed, eyes bright with awe. "No one has ever hit the bell before!"

There were pats on his back as his friends and acquaintances congratulated him. He felt a stirring of pride push away the shock and incredulity, and he scratched the back of his neck with a small smile.

Which disappeared with the approach of a messenger. "Lylia Halsey," the boy panted. "Your parents..." He coughed. "Your parents are calling you back home. Said it was urgent."

They shared a glance before she took off. "Lylia!" Muttering under his breath, he ran after her.

Hello, my lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If so, please don't forget to vote, comment and share :)

So I split this chapter in half since it was twice the length of my average chapters. I didn't want to burden you guys with too much info but the next chapter will fill you in on details. Until then, have a great time ♥