A Bannerfall SMP story to come? Sneakpeak!
So i mayhaps be in the motions of working towards a Bannerfall Smp fanfic and decided to tease the beginning of the first chapter here. I do still plan to work on my other stories. Just i finally got this story idea and wanted to start working on it before i loose the idea. Okay so here is the sneak peak to the beginning of chapter 1.
Sneak Peak of Chapter 1 of Ode to Springwell: Ashen Grace.
The hallways were never ending. A labyrinth of cold stone and shifting shadows that smelled of ancient rot and wet earth. Scott ran, his boots thudding against the floor in a rhythm that matched his frantic heartbeat. He didn’t know what he was running toward, only what was behind him, a silence so absolute it felt like a physical weight.
Suddenly, the floor betrayed him.
Vines, gnarled and black like charred bone, burst from the stone cracks. Unlike the vibrant plants he tended to in his garden, these were hungry. They coiled around his ankles, thorns biting deep. The hallway air thickened and chilled, frost settling in his lungs, not just on his skin.
He tried to scream for his father, but his throat felt stuffed with dry earth. A violent spasm shook him. He doubled over, coughing dryly and harshly. At last, a cloud of grey ash burst from his lips, swirling in the moonlight like a dying ghost.
The darkness rushed in to swallow the mist, and then, Scott snapped awake.
The silence of the cottage in Barrowhill was deafening. Scott sat bolt upright, his hand flying to his throat, half expecting to feel the grit of ash on his tongue. But there was nothing. Only the familiar scent of old wood and the distant, rhythmic snoring of his father in the next room.
He went to wipe the cold sweat from his brow, but stopped. His hand wasn't there.
He stared at where his arm should be, seeing only the quilt and floorboards. The invisibility, his magic's "glitch" that always flared when his heart raced, had taken hold again. He was a ghost in his own bed.
With a shaky, invisible hand, he reached for the bedside table. His fingers fumbled against the parchment that had arrived the night before, the heavy wax seal of the Blue Kingdom glinting like a drop of dried blood.
He began to read, his voice a low, raspy whisper that sounded foreign in the quiet room.
"By order of the Crown and the High Command... Scott Springwell is hereby summoned to the Blue Kingdom. Your lineage and your gifts have been recognized as vital to the survival of the realm. This is not a request. You are to report to the capital at once to serve."
Scott let the paper flutter back onto the table. "A week," he whispered, his invisible eyes tracing the map in his mind. "At least a week’s journey... through the forest, past the Deadwood, and across the shoreline."
He looked toward the closed door, thinking of his father, the only person who still saw him even when he was like this.
"I’ve never been further than the village gates," he murmured, the weight of the word Mage feeling more like a shackle than a title. "And they say I have no choice."
The invisible boy stayed motionless until the first pale sliver of dawn bled through the shutters. Only then did the magic begin to recede, starting at his fingertips and slowly weaving his skin back into reality. He looked down at his solid hands, still trembling, the phantom chill of the blackened vines from his dream still tingling against his ankles.
Downstairs, the floorboards groaned under a heavy, familiar step. The smell of frying ham and toasted oats began to drift up the stairs. It was a warm, domestic scent and a sharp contrast to the cold dread sitting in Scott's stomach.
He forced himself to stand, getting dressed in his plainest travel tunic, and went downstairs.
Darius Springwell was already at the table, his weathered face practically glowing in the morning light. He was humming a jaunty melody from his own youth, one Scott hadn't heard in years. When he saw his son, he slammed a heavy mug of cider onto the table with a celebratory grin.
"There he is! The pride of Barrowhill!" Darius boomed, his voice echoing off the low-beamed ceiling. "I’ve already told the neighbors. Old Man Miller didn't believe it until I described the seal. A High summons, Scott! Recognized for your talent! I always knew those little 'fades' of yours were meant for something greater than scaring the local cats."
Scott slid into his chair, his appetite gone. "Dad, please. It’s... It’s not talent. It’s a glitch. I can't even control when it happens. How am I supposed to serve a Kingdom when I can't even stay solid for breakfast?"
"Nonsense," Darius said, sliding a plate piled high with food toward him. He leaned in, his eyes shining with a fierce, honest pride. "The Blue Kingdom doesn't send royal messengers for 'glitches,' son. They saw the potential. They saw the Springwell lineage in you. You’re going to be a pillar of the realm. A protector. It’s for the greater good, Scott. Think of it, no more scratching for copper in the dirt. You'll have a castle, a title, and the respect you deserve."
"I don't want a title," Scott whispered, picking at a piece of ham. "I just want to be sure I won't let them down." He hesitated. "What if I get there and they realize that I'm just me? What if I'm not the Mage they think I am?"
Darius reached across the table, his large, calloused hand covering Scott's much smaller one. The warmth of his father's touch was the only thing that kept the icy memory of the nightmare at bay.
"You are exactly who you need to be," Darius said firmly. "You’ve always been too careful, Scott. Too quiet. This is the world calling you out of your shell. It's an honor. A chance to be part of something legendary. Don't let your nerves blind you to the fact that you were chosen."
Scott looked into his father’s eyes, seeing a version of himself that was brave, powerful, and certain. It was a beautiful image, and for a moment, Scott desperately wanted to believe it.
"I have to leave today," Scott said, his voice steadying slightly. "The letter said at once. It’s a long way on foot—at least a week if I keep a good pace through the Deadwood and along the coast."
Darius’ grin softened into something more sentimental, but no less encouraging. "Then we'd best get your pack finished. The world is waiting for you, Scott. It’s a long walk, but every step takes you closer to the man you’re meant to be. I’ll be right here, telling everyone who’ll listen that my son is the one keeping the Blue Kingdom standing."
Scott nodded, forcing a small smile for his father's sake. He looked down at the heavy walking staff leaning against the wall. Miles of lonely road awaited him. The greater good, he thought. I just hope I can find it before I lose myself in the woods.
Scott pushed back his chair, the wood scraping softly against the floorboards. "I need to visit Mom one last time before I head out," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
Darius’ expression softened, the boisterous pride in his eyes turning into something more grounded and tender. "Of course, son. She’d want to know. She’d be the first one telling you to keep your chin up." He reached out and squeezed Scott’s shoulder. "Go on. I’ll get your kit sorted."
Scott spent the next hour in a daze of preparation. He moved through the small cottage, gathering the gear that would sustain him for the long trek ahead. He packed a sturdy bedroll, an extra set of wool tunics, and his leather-bound spellbook, its edges worn from years of secret study.
In the kitchen, Darius was a whirlwind of practical affection. He wrapped thick slices of dried venison in wax paper and tucked several heavy rounds of hard tack into the bottom of Scott’s pack. He added a small tin of salt and a pouch of dried apples, packing them with the practiced efficiency of a man who knew exactly how much a long road could take out of a traveler.
"There," Darius said, tightening the leather straps of the pack. "That’ll keep you until you reach the shoreline. You can trade for fresh greens once you hit the coastal villages."
Scott thanked him with a distracted nod. He stepped out into the small garden behind the cottage, the morning dew still clinging to the grass. Near the shaded fence line, a cluster of white lilies stood tall, their petals pristine and luminous in the early light.
With careful, steady hands, Scott harvested a small handful. He trimmed the stems and bound them together with a bit of twine, the fragrance of the lilies, sweet and heavy, filling his senses. They were the same flowers he had seen in his nightmare, though here, in the waking world, they felt untainted.
"I won't be long," Scott called back toward the cottage.
"Take your time," Darius replied from the doorway, leaning against the frame. "The road isn't going anywhere."
Scott turned toward the wooded path that led to the village cemetery. As he walked, the bouquet of lilies felt remarkably light in his hand, a fragile piece of home he was about to leave behind. He didn't notice that as he moved further from the cottage, the edges of his vision seemed to shimmer, his magic reacting to the grief he was already beginning to carry.
The cemetery was a quiet, forgotten corner of Barrowhill, where the grass grew long, and the wind seemed to hold its breath. At its furthest edge stood a single, massive willow tree, its sweeping branches creating a private curtain of swaying green over a solitary headstone.
Scott ducked beneath the heavy boughs, the air suddenly turning cooler in the deep shade. He knelt in the soft earth at the base of the trunk where his mother’s grave rested. The familiar ache of the roots beneath his knees provided a grounding weight.
He didn't just lay the lilies down. With the careful, practiced movements of someone who spent more time with plants than people, he used a small trowel to partially plant the stems into the damp soil of the grave, ensuring they would stand tall and drink from the earth for as long as possible.
"Hey, Mom," he whispered, his voice cracking in the hollow silence.
He stayed there for a long moment, his fingers tracing the moss-covered letters of her name, Liliana Rune Springwell. The bravery he had worn like a mask in the kitchen crumbled.
"I got a summons," he said, looking down at his hands. "The Blue Kingdom. They want a Mage... a High Mage, they said. But I think they’ve got the wrong person. I’m still just the boy who accidentally vanishes when the lightning gets too loud. I’m so scared I’m going to get there, and they’ll see right through me. That I’ll let them down, or worse... that I’ll be the reason someone gets hurt because I wasn't strong enough."
A stray breeze rustled the willow leaves, sounding like a faint, collective sigh. Scott leaned his forehead against the cool stone of the marker.
"Dad is... he’s so happy, Mom. He’s boasting to the neighbors and packing my bags like I’m some kind of hero returning home instead of a kid leaving it for the first time. I didn't have the heart to tell him how much I’m shaking." He paused, a different kind of shadow crossing his face. "And I’m worried about leaving him. Without you... It’s just been us. If I leave, who’s going to make sure he eats? Who’s going to keep him company when the winter gets long?"
He reached out and adjusted one of the lilies, its white petal a stark, pure contrast against the grey stone.
"The letter said I don't have a choice. But I wish you were here to tell me if I’m walking into a dream or a nightmare."
He stayed for a few minutes more in the silence of the willow's embrace, drawing what little strength he could from the quiet earth. Finally, he stood, wiping the dirt from his knees. He took one last look at the vibrant white bouquet, a small piece of his heart left behind in the soil. “I love you Mum. I guess I should get going now.”
As Scott turned and pushed through the willow branches to begin his long walk back to the cottage, he didn't see the shift. The moment his back was turned, the vibrant white of the lilies began to bleed away. Starting at the tips of the petals, a dull, sickly grey began to spread, the flowers wilting and curling as if a sudden, invisible frost had touched only them. By the time he reached the cemetery gate, the "Ode to Springwell" had already begun its first mournful note.
The walk back from the cemetery felt shorter than usual, as if the world were impatient to push him toward the horizon. When Scott pushed open the heavy oak door of the cottage, the sight of his father standing by the hearth, his pack meticulously cinched and waiting, made the air in the room feel thin.
"All set then?" Darius asked, his voice a little thicker than it had been at breakfast.
Scott nodded, sliding the heavy leather straps over his shoulders. The weight was significant, a physical reminder of every ration, every spare tunic, and the heavy spellbook that now served as his only anchor.
"I'll write," Scott promised, though they both knew the post between Barrowhill and the war fronts was a gamble at best. They weren’t even sure how long ago the summons had been sent out, honestly.
Darius stepped forward, gripping Scott’s upper arms with a strength that felt like he was trying to transfer a lifetime of courage into his son’s bones. "You’re a Springwell, Scott. You’ve got the earth in your blood and the stars in your head. Don't let those city-folk make you feel small." He pulled Scott into a brief, crushing hug. "Go on now. Before I start thinking I should come with you."
Scott didn't look back. He knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to lift his feet. He walked through the village gates as the sun hit its highest peak, the familiar sights of the blacksmith’s forge and the local tavern blurring into a smear of green and brown as he stepped onto the main road.
(HAS BEEN Edited. I finally found out what is most likley Scott's father's canon name and have changed it)
