Festival - Transient as the Flower and Scattering Ash (Chef, Marked One, Rosalyn)

Anfitrian threw a festival for their comeback. People of all walks of life flooded the streets. From the noble high life to the poorest inhabitants of the city.

They all partied and partook on the food placed there. The resurrected were treated highly, as heroes. Well, in a certain way, they all were heroes.

But some had a different calling that night. They distanced themselves from the heart of the festival. They walked the fringes, the shadows cast by the firelight of happiness, gluttony, joy, and euphoria.

An unusual duo was together that night. A chef and a doctor helped the poor, those who were too weak to attend the festival proper, or the ones who couldn’t.

Chef was there for her own reasons. She was invited to cook for some pigs, but after seeing how wastefully they ate, how little they cared for the food they placed in their own mouths, she couldn’t stand their presence and walked away to do as she pleased.

The Doctor wanted to help, and the ones down on their luck were more important than some festival. At least, he felt so.

It was a coincidence they found themselves together that night.

She cooked a hearty meal for those people. A stew with thick broth, boiled vegetables, and meat, with bread with a side of sliced cheese, and sausages.

The Doctor took care of their wounds, infections, and even the smallest cold, just so they could enjoy the festival to the best they could.

It was a silent cooperation between them.

The silence was awkward.

“So, it kind of sucks, doesn’t it? To see that even at the world’s end, people still segregate themselves into castes, and exploit one another.” Chef spoke with a heavy and solemn tone, a lament that after everything was said and done, the same things she saw over and over again remained.

“Is it? Has it ever changed? Was there a point when life, our society, was not like that?” The Good Doctor was not someone brought to life like them.

To him, this world was all he knew. A world without a golden sun and without the means to innovate. A painful, chest laugh came from Chef.

“No, it always has been like this, but it does hurt to hold hope for the better.” Even if things didn’t get any better, and people stayed the same, Chef had a clear view of her path.

To cook and make those people's lives a little better. It was all she could do.

“I see.” The Good Doctor couldn’t find in himself the will to make a verbose speech like he usually would. The fact that a person of ages past could tell so confidently that nothing changed in people after all this time… it was damning, but as a doctor, he had an oath to uphold.

“Anyway, even if things are that bad, their smiles make it all worthwhile, don’t they?” Chef broke her solemnity to smile at the people they were helping.

Their sadness and hurt melted away by their actions. Warm food and care. The light of the festival cast on their backs highlights the darkness they faced, making the light in their eyes and smiles that much brighter.

“Yes. It does.” To see children play gave him a little hope; it made his heart warm. Hope, such a strange, foreign feeling.

Once upon a time, he would think it was a disease of some type. The feeling to do great things, even as his mind was gripped by despair and the throes of insanity, to see fortune in tomorrow, and the prospect of a better future when the future was grim.

How could a healthy mind experience such a feeling when everything around them crumbled?

But to see and fight, besides heroes of the past, made him understand that feeling a little. It was not that it gave them an insane delirium of things that would never happen, but it inspired their hearts and souls to do better, perform acts of good despite the odds.

Hope was a powerful world, a powerful feeling.

And it was something innate to all of them who dreamt, even if innovation was dead, fragments of hope still remained.

He heard many times the thanks of a mother whose son and daughter he helped, treated their infection and inflammations, and brought them from the brink of death to a healthy state once more. Despite the many times he had heard it, it still felt empowering as ever.

To see that he made a change in someone’s life.

The Good Doctor glanced at the Great Chef. She had a soft smile and a face of gratitude, despite being the one who distributed and cooked the food those poor souls ate.

It was no different from the faces of those he helped.

From the Festival’s direction, a redhead came. She held an instrument in her hand, and a sword rested on her back. She looked at the Good Doctor and Chef.

A silent plea for permission to join them in their mission. “Worry not, Girl. Feel free to join us. We do not hoard the right to help others.” A small smile crept onto Rose’s face.

She took a tree stump as a chair and started to play. The mood of the people improved as they started to sing to the tune of the music.

Mismatched words and tones, mismatched voices without a single thing unifying them besides the help they received, and the ones that helped them.

They were all on the fringes of society, in the shadows of a great festival, and yet they still had the time and right to be happy, to have their bellies fed, and be treated right, independent of the power they had, or where they were in the social hierarchy.

They danced and ate, they partied in the shadows, at their own rhythm, to their own pace, free to be who they were without fear of repercussions. Little as they were, there was still happiness to be had as children played and sang.

As adults cried and laughed together, the elderly passed on their wisdom to the young and growing.

Rosalyn silently hummed alongside them, wordless, but with her presence known amongst the group. Tonight, they were united by more than just being part of the heroes who conquered a dungeon.

They were those people’s heroes.

That was all they could ask for.

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Pub: 11 May 2025 20:22 UTC

Edit: 11 May 2025 20:22 UTC

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