A SHORT STORY
By Cathy Bock
Every orc, human, elf, revenant, and dwarf down in Din’Lux liked Kinfire Day a lot. But the revenant sulking in the halls of the Scholars’ Circle absolutely did not.
Talos rarely left the Scholars’ Circle during the month in which the icy winds blew from beyond the peak of Mount Teza. They hated the way the city was coated in a disgusting layer of snow. They hated the way children rode pieces of wood down steep parts of the street. They hated the way cheery voices sang off-key at the top of their lungs.
They hated the warm houses cramped with family and friends. Talos, being a revenant, had no family. And Talos, not being the cheeriest of sorts, had no friends. Talos had spent every Kinfire Day alone–just the way they liked it.
More than anything, however, Talos hated the endless strings of decorations covering every door, fence, window, and street lamp. Bells, tinsel, candles, parchment cut into snowflakes. Respectable establishments made ridiculous. “Bah humbug,” Talos muttered.
As they entered the Stumps, the tall, peaked roof of the Seekers’ Guildhouse came into view. Talos stopped in their tracks.
In previous years, the Seekers had left their establishment bare of any ridiculous Kinfire Day decor. But this year…
“…a glittering abomination,” Talos said under their breath. “A tinsel-draped farce.” The guildhouse was so covered in decorations that it was difficult to even see the original structure underneath.
The front door swung open and Leera, the Seekers’ guildmaster, appeared.
“Happy Kinfire Day, Talos!”
Talos cringed. They had once respected the Seekers’ Guild and its guildmaster. But now, even Leera had fallen victim to the temptation of materialism and artificiality. “Just things,” Talos muttered. “Shiny baubles and presents and treats and roast beast. They don’t mean anything. They add nothing, accomplish nothing!”
At the door to the library, Talos was denied entry. A young, nervous elf peeked through the crack in the door. “We’re closed for a private party,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s by invitation only.” Beyond the girl’s head, Talos could see the Hierophant, the head of the city guard, and other important figures sipping ale and eating tiny foods from silver platters.
“Fine!” Talos yelled and stomped away as Leera swept up the library steps and through the door.
Talos stood near the entrance to the Seekers’ Guild staring up at the eyesore. “Disgusting,” they said. How could the Seekers get caught up in the trappings of something as frivolous as Kinfire Day?
“But…” Talos said, “what if I take Kinfire Day away? What if I showed them that it was a day just the same as all the others, merely made different by wasteful indulgence—things upon things upon things!”
Talos, determined, stepped up the walkway to the guildhouse and began ripping the decorations from every surface, within and without. They pulled tinsel from the banister, tore paper kinfire flames from doorways, and threw wrapped gifts out into the snow. They bagged up every scrap and hauled it off to the docks where they dumped it unceremoniously into the Great Sea.
But as they stood there, watching the waves carry away the refuse, they heard a sound on the breeze. It was soft at first–merely a hum. High and then low. They strained to listen, and as they did, the sound became more distinct, and something swelled within Talos. It was the sound of singing floating from the windows of the Seekers’ Guild.
The Seekers’ Guild? But how? Surely this wasn’t singing Talos was hearing, but crying and gnashing of teeth over the loss of their precious Kinfire Day.
But as Talos reached the open entrance, they could see the Seekers inside holding hands. With no presents or garland or wreaths around them, but only the plain, cold wood of the dining hall, they were singing.
When their carol had finished, one of them—Feyn, Talos believed his name was—put down his guitar and raised a glass to toast. “To my fellow Seekers. You aren’t just friends, you’re family. This holiday is about light in the dark, warmth in the cold. It’s about kindness, hope, and togetherness. I would have none of those things without you all.” They raised their glasses to one another and burst into hugs and laughter.
Feyn suddenly noticed Talos in the doorway. “Talos! Come join us! We’re toasting the midnight hour. Happy Kinfire Day, my friend!”
Talos stared, dumbfounded. How could they be celebrating with every evidence of the holiday scraped from the walls?
A tall, orcish woman—Naz, perhaps her name was—grabbed their arm and pulled them inside. “To Talos!” she shouted while lifting a glass.
“To Talos!” everyone echoed.
Naz smiled at Talos—a smile so genuine and unguarded that Talos felt taken aback. “Happy Kinfire Day, Talos.”
“Happy Kinfire Day,” Talos murmured. They put a hand to their metal chest and felt the kinfire core within them burn hotter than ever before. In a haze, Talos stayed and celebrated with the Seekers.
They all sat down to a celebratory, late-night feast. And Talos themself agreed to carve the roast beast.