Colours by Firelight

“Shall we sing another?” Bard asked, smiling.

“Yeay!” Fawks clapped merrily.

Elias was less eager. The weight of the last song still pressed on him, like a shadow of ill-omen he couldn’t quite shake.

“Not before we eat!” Cecile reappeared, a pot dangling from one hand. She hung it over the fire on the pot hanger, then handed two mantles to Elias and Fawks. They thanked her and wrapped themselves tightly, grateful for the warmth.

Tavian fetched water quickly, and with Cecile began chopping vegetables.

“Since when have you been here?” Elias asked, watching Bard closely.

“For quite a long while,” Bard replied. He loosened a leather satchel slung over his shoulder, pulled out a sheet of waxy parchment, and unwrapped a large cut of meat. With practiced hands he sliced it into thick pieces, passed them to the others, and together they chopped them smaller and dropped them into the pot with the vegetables. The broth hissed and spat as the juices bled into it, carrying the scent of warmth and promise. Then, turning back, he asked in return,
“How about you?”

“I’ve only just arrived, I’d say,” Elias answered.

“I’m also new!” Fawks chimed in.

Tavian’s eyes went wide. “I don’t believe it!” he gasped.

“With those chartreuse eyes,” Bard said, shaking his head slowly, “you don’t seem like newcomers to me at all.”

“What do you mean?”

Cecile glanced up from the pot. “He means that all who first arrive have pale eyes.”
“You see,” she continued, “in this world, the eyes reflect one’s level of imagination – one’s ability to bring dreams to life!”

“Take Tavian, for example,” the Bard added. “When we first met him, he was pale as… well, not just his eyes, his whole self was pale!”

Tavian spoke up. “I never knew I had any gift for music! I always liked it, sure, but I’d never tried it. When I first came here, I knew nothing about this kind of imagination, or how to use it. So I wandered aimlessly – until I heard the Bard playing.” He held up his carved flute. “He’s the one who gave me this… and from the moment I began to play, everything changed.”

Fawks listened intently to Tavian’s tale. Elias turned his gaze on the Bard, who sat staring into the fire – their only real defense against the bitter cold. Snow drifted gently from the sky, but with the wind howling, it seemed certain the ground would soon be covered white.

To show them what he meant about change, Tavian lifted the flute and played a short, playful tune. His green eyes seemed to catch the firelight, flaring brighter as the melody rose. At once, the flames danced again, and a metallic ding rang from the pot above them.

It was beautiful.

“What does chartreuse eyes mean?” Fawks asked.

Bard stirred the fire with a stick, letting sparks scatter before he spoke.
“Eyes tell the story,” he began. “We all start pale – like ash, like paper yet unwritten. That’s the mark of those who’ve only just arrived.”

Cecile nodded. “Every new soul I’ve seen had pale eyes.”

Bard smiled faintly. “But once imagination stirs, colour comes. First a yellowish hue – faint, but alive. From there, the eyes bloom into a hundred shades. Each one says how deep your imagination can reach. I shall give you only the basics now – since every color has countless nuances.
So, true yellow follows, sharp and restless! Then chartreuse…” he leaned toward Elias. “Right now, I see your eyes are a touch more greenish-chartreuse, steadier. And Fawks – pure chartreuse. Strong, true. Rare.”

Fawks blinked, unsure how to take it.

Bard paused suddenly. “Is the food ready yet?”

Cecile lifted the lid of the pot, sniffed, and shook her head. “Not yet.”

Just then, through the gate appeared a tall, dark-haired, chartreuse-eyed man, wrapped in layers like a turban against the cold and snow. He greeted them warmly and stood by the fire for a moment before being introduced to Elias and Fawks as Wells.

“How are you already chartreuse-eyed and still don’t know these things?” Cecile asked in surprise.

“Well, I’ve only been here –inside the Common Ground– no more than three days,” Elias answered.

They all turned to him, their expressions caught between disbelief and awe.

“Three days?!” Tavian whispered, shooting a sideways glance at the Bard.

For a moment, no one spoke. They only looked at one another. Elias squirmed under the silence – it felt painfully awkward. Fawks, however, only leaned in curiously. “What?” he gasped.

“It’s not something that happens easily – if it’s true,” Cecile said, her head bent over the pot.

“But –” Fawks started, only to feel Elias’s hand brush his thigh, a gentle signal to hold back.

The Bard, pretending not to notice, pressed on. “After chartreuse comes green, steady and grounded. Beyond green lies blue, and the sea-colors that bridge them – cyan, turquoise… like Cecile’s beautiful eyes.”

Cecile let out a small laugh-snort. It wasn’t surprise so much as recognition – the kind of laugh born from hearing something you’ve heard a dozen times before, only delivered in his usual dramatic way.

Unbothered, the Bard carried on. “Then, after blue, deeper still: indigo, violet, red….”

Elias’s mind jumped at once to Red – what might be happening in that corner of this world? Perhaps Fawks thought the same, for he turned with a friendly smile and met Elias’s gaze.

And after red…” He paused, letting the firelight catch his face. “White. But not dull white. A brilliant, snow-white burning with starlight. Haven’t seen it, but the stories say it blinds the dark itself.” He paused again. “Still not ready?”

By now the aroma of food had them all aching with hunger.

“Wait for it,” Cecile replied. Tavian chuckled.

Wells stepped away, following one of the narrow trails nearly lost beneath the snow. “I’ll be back.”

Bard’s eyes glinted. “But know this. As colour rises, so too does its shadow. Beneath pale are the grays, the dim shades – those overtake the whole eye, not just the iris. And deeper still… black. They’re devouring what others create…” His tone darkened. “But if ever you see eyes marble-dark, shining like pearls – run. Don’t reason, don’t fight. Just run.”

For a breath, the fire sank low, and his face seemed harsher in the dim. Cecile frowned. “You’ll give him nightmares,” she muttered, nodding toward Fawks.

But Fawks was unshaken. After all he had seen, he seemed immune to fear – even though he knew full well death was real in this place.

Suddenly, a deep roar thundered from afar echoing through the snowy jungle. The wind carried it straight to their ears, louder than seemed possible.

All heads turned.

“That’s odd,” Cecile remarked.

“I’ll check,” Tavian said.

“Be careful,” she answered.

“I’ll go with you,” Wells added, reappearing beside him.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Bard called after them, as they left, then turned back to Elias and Fawks. “Beasts shouldn’t be awake on a night this cold.”

The camp fell to silence again, each ear straining for the next sound. Nothing.