by Ardo on January 23rd, 2012, 8:35 pm
The 2nd day of Winter, 511 AV.
As the ship approached the coast, Ardo's heart tightened. It had been years since he had last seen Denval, and even though the place looked exactly the same as from when he left from that same rocky coast eager to travel the world and discover the foreign secrets of Mizahar, he knew that people would have changed. His old friends would be older, perhaps even married, and his parents would finally see him as a grown man. He had, after all, seen more of the world than they could dream of, and learned from far distant lands that not long ago Denvalis even knew existed. Still, Mizahar was just a shadow of its former self, Ardo knew that much. The glory of the foreign world could not even have been a small part of what the great Suvan Empire once was. Mizahar was not what he had expected at all.
He could see the silhouettes moving, the lights coming from inside the rustic houses, people returning to home after a hard day of work. He had missed that familiar feeling, the familiar view of the city, the familiar noises of voices speaking the Denvali language. Perhaps his trip to the foreign had taught him how much he truly loved home. But would the feeling truly last? Would he find what he was looking for inside of Denval itself? At this point his fate surely had turned him away from the world outside.
The ship got closer and closer to the city, and he could finally feel home again. When it finally stopped and the anchors were released, he pulled his backpack on his arm and took a glance on his own belongings as if to check whether all of them were still there before leaving the ship. The salty scent of Denval was strong in the air, and he loved it. The orange light of Dusk guided his footsteps outside of the ship, and throughout the plank that led the passengers outside, who were coming down from the vessel one by one. On the rocks many children were playing, as well as waiting for foreigners to bring them interesting stories from abroad. Ardo could not recognize any of them, perhaps he had been away for too long.
As soon as he stepped down from the ship, a young villager approached him, offering directions. "Looking for some directions?" he said in Common, "I can tell you where to get some fine lodging, as well as a hot meal in the stomach!"
Ardo smiled gleefully, and answered in good old Denvali: "I need no directions, my friend! This is my home! I was born here!"
The young villager quirked an eyebrow and then approached Ardo, as if to inspect him from head to foot. After a few moments of staring, he had his expression changed to one of surprise. "A...Ardo!?"
"Wait a chime...", Ardo said while approaching the man with his eyes to see if he could recognize him. He was young, probably around fifteen years old, and his hair was dark. He likely had only been a child when Ardo left, he could hardly tell who the youngster was. He extended his lips into a huge smile, showing his teeth, and trying to ignore the fact that he could not remember the boy. "It's been so long! How has it been going here?"
"Denval has been doing great! We are getting more and more visitors everyday, and Denval is growing!" he said with great satisfaction on his face, but his expression quickly turned into a serious one before pronouncing the following words. "Ardo...your father..."
Ardo's face turned white. He had feared this. Could it be? His father wasn't that old, could he have died while Ardo had been gone? As much of a rough and controlling man as Dietrich was, Arno truly missed him, and he wanted to see the man. He knew he was not Dietrich's biological son, but he loved the man like a real father.
The teenager continued, "Your father is...quite ill. You should go see him."
That was a relief, but the youth seemed quite worried about it. It was likely a serious problem. But at least he would get to see his father again. Ardo sighed. "Thank you for letting me know, I should get going now," his voice was interrupted by the lack of a vocative to call the boy with, which made it quite obvious that he could not remember the name.
The boy smiled. "Grifo," he said, "I am Grifo." You probably don't remember me, but I used to watch you when you trained your swordsmanship in the academy. Perhaps we can train together sometime."
Ardo smirked in response. He remembered the kid, and he had changed much indeed. He was quite a small boy, but now he was at about the same height as Ardo. Ardo waved to him while walking away into the deeper streets of Denval. "I will see you then!"