Shadows Of Roses

As they neared the elder's hall, the murmur of voices and the rhythmic creak of wooden beams swaying in the wind filled the air, weaving a cadence that seemed to echo the very heartbeat of the village. The scent of aged oak, mingled with the faint tang of lingering incense, hung heavy, invoking an air of solemnity and ancient tradition. Shadows of the past seemed to linger in the cool breeze, whispering secrets to those who dared to listen.

A sharp voice suddenly pierced the calm, slicing through the ambiance like a blade.

"Old bones, you're finally here!"

The words reverberated off the weathered walls of the hall. Seated atop the first few steps leading to the entrance was an elderly woman. Her silver hair, streaked with traces of darker hues, was carefully pinned back with ornate combs, their intricate designs catching and reflecting the sparse light like treasures of a bygone era. Her face was a tapestry of deep lines, each wrinkle a testament to seasons endured.

Her gnarled hands rested firmly on her knees, their veins like ancient rivers winding beneath her papery skin. Behind her, the heavy wooden doors of the hall loomed, their intricate carvings depicting tales of glory and hardship that stretched back to the village's founding. She shifted slightly, her expression both amused and exasperated. "You took your sweet time getting here, huh, you old bones."

Adolphus scoffed, his tone laden with mock annoyance. "As if you have anything to say about age, you old hag."

The corners of the elderly woman's mouth twitched, before her sharp gaze shifted to Marianne. "You, dear, come help an old woman up, will you?"

Marianne responded with a gentle smile, her movements graceful and deliberate as she stepped forward to assist. Her hands found the elder's, their warmth bridging the gap between generations. The elder's grip was firm, surprising in its strength, as though the years had whittled her down but left her will unbroken.

Adolphus, meanwhile, threw his hands into the air, his expression a dramatic mix of exasperation and resignation. "See? You can't even do anything yourself, you useless old hag."

Before the words could settle, a sudden whack interrupted him. Something hard collided with his head, leaving him momentarily stunned. His hand flew to the aching spot as he looked up in disbelief. There stood the old woman, one shoe conspicuously missing from her foot.

"Better watch what you say, you pile of old bones," she quipped, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Adolphus groaned, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "Why, you—"

Before he could finish his retort, a strong arm draped itself casually over his shoulder, the weight familiar and almost comforting.

"Now, now," a deep voice interjected, warm with humor. "Let's not fight again. At our age, we might actually break something this time."

Without turning, Adolphus rolled his eyes, his body tensing as he shrugged the arm off. "Do not speak of what you do not know, Luka. And besides, we should get moving before we get scolded like children again at this age."

Luka's laughter boomed, rich and unrestrained, a sound that seemed to push back the shadows around them. As the group moved toward the entrance, the heavy doors of the hall creaked open, revealing the dim, flickering light within. The scent of incense grew stronger, mingling with the earthy aroma of aged wood. The faint hum of voices inside became a steady undertone, like the pulse of the village itself.

"I see you three have finally arrived, and here I thought one of you would be missing."

Ahead of them sat an elderly man whose beard stretched long enough to rival his arms. Some joked that all the hair meant for his head had taken residence on his chin. His eyes, sharp despite the drop of age, held a glint of humour even as his tone carried an undercurrent of reproach.

Adolphus rolled his eyes as the group dispersed to their seats, each occupying their designated spot among the elders of Celandara. Despite their titles and the respect, they commanded, many whispered that when they gathered, they were more like quarrelsome children than wise councillors.

Luka leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips as Amara and Adolphus exchanged glares sharp enough to pierce steel from across the room.

"This war..." The two words, spoken by Edmund, cut through the playful atmosphere like a knife. The warmth drained from the air, replaced by a cold that seeped into their bones. "Any news on peace talks?"

Amara let out a derisive laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. "Ha! As if that young duke would ever agree to a peace treaty."

The others nodded grimly, the truth of her words undeniable. The duke was a power-hungry fool, a man who wielded threats like weapons and saw diplomacy as a weakness.

"Yes, you're right, Amara," Edmund said with a weary sigh. "He'd rather fight and risk ruin than seek peace."

Luka's voice, calm but resolute, broke the heavy silence. "Then we must prepare. Stock the food storage and ensure the village can endure. We are hidden behind Arimath's shadow, as our ancestors once were. If war comes, we must be ready."

The others nodded in agreement, their collective resolve like a silent vow. When Edmund finally spoke again, his words carried the weight of a command. "Go and inform the villagers. Let them know what must be done."

As the hall emptied, leaving only the elders behind, Adolphus leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "There will be two new additions to the village," he said casually.

The room erupted.

"What do you mean, 'new additions,' old bones?" Amara demanded, her finger pointed accusingly. "What did you do?"

Adolphus met her glare with a smirk. "What do you think it means, you senile old hag?"

Luka, ever the peacemaker, raised a hand. "Now, now, let's hear him out."

Adolphus sighed, his tone softening as he recounted his tale. "I found her drifting at sea—barely alive. When I pulled her aboard, she was clutching a bundle with all the strength she had left. It was her baby. Barely a week old. How she survived… it was a miracle. And the baby… she must be loved by the heavens."

Before he could say more, a shoe flew through the air, striking him squarely. Amara, now barefoot, stood with a fierce determination in her eyes.

"Why didn't you start with that, you old fool?" she snapped, marching out of the hall without a word of explanation.

The remaining elders exchanged looks, their expressions caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Luka's laughter filled the silence as Adolphus rubbed the fresh bruise on his head.

"That woman," he muttered, shaking his head. "She's completely lost her mind."