In the dim, desolate remnants of a once-thriving world, a farm stood as a forlorn sentinel, wrapped in a thick blanket of mist and decay. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt wood and lingering chemicals, remnants of a civilization long gone. Towering, skeletal trees with twisted branches clawed at the ashen sky, their blackened bark a stark contrast against the pale, ghostly fog that crept along the snow-covered ground like a living entity. Rusted remnants of old machinery lay scattered across the fields, half-buried in the toxic soil, their corroded forms silent witnesses to the passage of time and the relentless march of entropy.
The traders, known throughout the lands as Tengri, moved with a purpose that spoke of years spent traversing these desolate terrains. The Tengri were a sky caravan, famed and feared, riding on the backs of tamed Boidiats. These colossal creatures, with their flat, ten-meter-wide bodies covered in a thick, leathery hide, flew gracefully through the air, their powerful limbs moving in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic manner.
As Sabani was led closer to the waiting Boidiats, he could hear the low, resonant hum of tribal drums. The Tengri, dressed in leather and furs adorned with intricate beadwork and feathers, began their ancient chants, voices rising and falling in a haunting melody that echoed through the mist. The drums, crafted from wood and animal hide, produced a deep, throbbing beat that resonated in Sabani’s chest, a sound both comforting and unsettling.
The Boidiats, with their wide, expressive eyes and gentle yet formidable presence, awaited their riders patiently. Their fur, a mix of earth tones and patterned with natural markings, seemed to blend seamlessly with the environment, making them appear as if they were part of the landscape itself. The Tengri climbed onto their broad backs with practiced ease, securing Sabani onto one of the creatures with leather straps.
As the caravan took to the skies, the ground quickly disappeared beneath a blanket of swirling fog and snow. Sabani clung to the trader in front of him, feeling the wind whip through his hair and the rhythmic rise and fall of the Boidiat beneath him. The sky above, once a distant and unreachable expanse, now seemed close enough to touch.
The Tengri’s chants grew louder, their voices mingling with the rush of wind and the steady beat of the drums. Sabani watched in awe as the landscape unfolded beneath them, a patchwork of desolate fields, crumbling ruins, and sparse vegetation. The caravan moved as one, a testament to their unity and shared purpose, their cultural traditions a bridge between the past and the present.
One morning, the Boidiats descended through the mist, revealing a sight that took Sabani’s breath away. Below them lay a massive village, surrounded by a towering ten-meter wall, sturdy and well-maintained, a stark contrast to the decaying ruins he had known. As they drew closer, he could see the village within, bustling with activity and life. Towering buildings on stilts with tiled roofs that came down into a deep slope, but this wasn’t what caught his eye first. It was instead the snow, or lack thereof. For all his life, Sabani lived in a world where it drizzled during the mid-day, and heavily accumulated snow beneath the shroud of darkness, sometimes gathering up to ten feet in a single night. Yet this village had none. Instead, lively grass and flowers made up a majority of the ground, with the exception of stone pathways that mazed the village.
The Tengri landed outside the village gates in a clearing, where Sabani looked around. A once wild and unpredictable landscape now a harmonious blend of cultivated fields, orchards, and gardens. Beneath his feet wasn’t snow or filth, it was healthy soil and sand.
Their arrival was announced by the beating of drums and the low hum of chants. The gates opened slowly, revealing clean, cobblestone streets and buildings that stood upright and proud, made of wood and stone, adorned with carvings that shared the village’s past and culture. People moved with purpose and ease, their clothes clean and faces unmarked by the harshness of survival that Sabani had known. Children ran and played freely, their laughter a foreign sound to his ears.
Sabani was led through the streets, his eyes wide with wonder. He could feel heat gently rising from the stoned path, as if there was something beneath blowing it up. He saw vendors selling fresh produce, indicating the village’s sustainable agriculture, wells with crystal-clear water that flowed through a network of aqueducts and fountains, and homes that radiated warmth and security. The stark contrast to his past life was overwhelming, and a pang of longing struck him as he watched the village children play without a care.
At the center of the village stood a grand building, the hub of administrative activity. The Tengri escorted Sabani inside, where they were met by village officials dressed in fine, practical attire. The exchange was swift and formal, the Tengri handing over Sabani with the same business-like efficiency they applied to all their dealings.
One of the officials, a stern yet kind-faced woman, knelt down to Sabani’s level. “Welcome to Lanai,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You will have a new home here, and you will learn our ways. Life will be different, but you will be safe on our island.”
Sabani nodded, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. He was handed over to a caretaker, who led him away from the officials and out into the bustling heart of the village. As he walked, he looked back one last time at the Tengri, who were already preparing to leave, their role in his life complete.
The caretaker brought Sabani to a modest, well-kept home, where he was given clean clothes and a meal. The food was simple but nourishing, and as he ate, he felt the knots of anxiety begin to loosen. For the first time in his life, he slept in a bed with fresh linens, the sounds of the village a comforting lullaby.
The following days were a whirlwind of new experiences. Sabani was enrolled in the village school, where he learned to read and write, skills that had been unimaginable luxuries on the farm. He made tentative friends, other children who were curious about the newcomer but kind and accepting. Slowly, he began to find his place in this new world, a place where survival did not consume every waking moment.
The culture of Lanai was deeply rooted in the values and traditions of its founding clans. The Ichihara, a quiet group with large feet, moved with swift silence through the lands. They served as couriers and navigators, helping to discover the island and fence its borders. The Hosoda, proud and strong, were the keepers of the village’s laws, ensuring justice and order. The Sakatani, a modest people, possessed a unique kawatoshu—an extraordinary ability passed down through generations that allowed them to control water and transform their bodies into it. They used this gift to purify the island’s waters, construct aqueducts, and build large wells that acted as minor dams for hydropower. Finally, the Yoshisawa, beast masters and biologists, oversaw the village’s farms and pets. They had initially joined the village’s founder out of a desire to study the monsters that roamed the lands.
The customs of Lanai were evident in their daily lives, from the way they dressed to the ceremonies they held. Villagers wore garments made from natural fibers, often adorned with intricate embroidery depicting scenes from their history and mythology. Festivals celebrating the changing seasons, the harvest, and the enduring spirit of their ancestors were common, bringing the community together in joyous unity. During these festivals, music, dance, and storytelling played significant roles. Traditional instruments, such as flutes and drums, provided the rhythm for dances that had been passed down through generations, while storytellers recounted the legends and heroic tales of their forebears, preserving the rich cultural heritage of the village.
Education and craftsmanship were highly valued in Lanai. Schools taught the children not only practical skills but also the history and legends of their people. Artisans and craftsmen passed down their knowledge through apprenticeships, ensuring that the village’s legacy of excellence in metalwork, pottery, and weaving continued. The intricate designs found on their tools, clothing, and everyday objects reflected the deep connection they felt to their past and the pride they took in their work.
Lanai’s unique environment and strong sense of community created a stark contrast to the world outside its walls. Beyond the ten-meter high barrier, the snow fell incessantly, a reminder of the relentless cold that defined much of the world. But within Lanai, the warmth of both the geothermal heat and the villagers’ camaraderie created a safe haven, a place where hope and humanity could endure.
Years passed, and Sabani had woven a web of tales that painted him as a child of the grand capital city of Caipat. He had become known among the children of Lanai as a captivating storyteller, though his tales were far from the truth. The story of his origin, shrouded in mystery and grandeur, had made him a figure of intrigue and, sometimes, skepticism.
“I came from Caipat,” Sabani would say, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of his own fiction. “A city of towering buildings, bustling markets, and people from all over the world. My parents sent me here to Lanai to build a bridge between our two homes, to share our knowledge and culture.” The other children listened in awe, their imaginations painting vivid pictures of a world they had never seen.
Among his listeners, his closest friends, Nomi and Kaorai, were the most enraptured by his stories. Nomi, with their curious and open nature, often asked the most probing questions, always eager to learn more about this fantastical place. They were of slight build, with a quick smile and a mind that seemed to hunger for new knowledge.
Kaorai, on the other hand, was more practical. Known for his skill with small tools and his talent for creating intricate sculptures, Kaorai would often sit quietly, carving a new piece while listening to Sabani’s tales. His sculptures, whether of animals, people, or abstract forms, were crafted with a precision and care that spoke of countless hours of dedication.
One lazy afternoon, the three friends sat under a large tree on the outskirts of the village. Sabani was recounting a new adventure from Caipat, his voice animated and eyes alight with the thrill of his own narrative.
“…and then, the sky would turn a brilliant orange as the sun set over the city,” Sabani said, waving his hands for emphasis. “The marketplace would come alive with lights and music, and you could hear the laughter of people from miles away.”
Nomi leaned forward, their eyes wide. “Tell us about the people again, Sabani. What are they like?”
Sabani smiled, leaning back against the large tree trunk. “They’re all different, from all over the world. Traders, scholars, artists, and inventors. They come to Caipat to share their knowledge and find new opportunities. My family… well, they were scholars, known for their wisdom and knowledge.”
Kaorai glanced up from his latest sculpture, a small, delicate bird. “And they sent you here to Lanai to build a connection?” he asked, his tone both curious and skeptical.
Sabani nodded, unfazed by the doubt in Kaorai’s voice. “Yes, to learn from the people here and to share our own ways. It’s important to build bridges, to understand each other better.”
The three friends fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of village life drifting on the breeze. Sabani knew that his stories were just that—stories. But in them, he found a sense of belonging and a way to make sense of his new life. And as long as his friends believed him, even if just a little, he felt a little closer to the future he hoped to build.
As Sabani settled into his life in Lanai, he found himself marveling at the village’s resilience and beauty. The stories he told of Caipat paled in comparison to the real wonders of Lanai. Here, amidst the warmth and vitality of the village, he began to forge a new identity, one shaped by the strength and traditions of a community that had defied the odds and created a thriving sanctuary in a frozen world.