Zet'ski had always been near to my home in Revaliir, but the two of us rarely interacted. The Saljans looked down upon the residents of Salem as a whole, believing that they perverted the natural order by spending their afterlife far outside the soulstream. For that reason alone, I had given them a wide berth, not wishing to garner unneeded disdain from such a nearby neighbor; and that policy of mine held for many years despite the copious amounts of superfluous, holiday cheer that they sent my way annually.

The Reverie Ball is what I refer to: something that was hardly a novel occurrence for Zet'ski's inhabitants. The event had been held for many years, though was often restricted to local neighbors only. The Saljans were a fairly insular and selective people, after all; otherwise they wouldn't have chosen to isolate themselves in the mountains so effectively. Yet, one year they decided to break that tradition. They extended a warm welcome to the entire world, and it was with muted curiosity that I decided to take them up on that offer.

Robin and I went out on a date to the snow covered peaks for the first time ever that night, both dressed in practical as opposed to fancy clothing. Our overcoats were thick and hooded, guarding us from the elements until we reached Zet'ski's protective barrier. Then, once there, we got to gaze upon the majesty of one of Revaliir's earliest settlements.

But, like most things in life, the perfection of the city on a hill was fleeting.

"Hey, what are you lot doing?!" Before we could even pass beyond the walls of the town on our way to the Cathedral, Robin and I were stopped by a group of arguing Saljans. Three, younger members were attempting to dig out the ground from underneath what was obviously an old shrine to the celestial Reverie. This shrine was sitting squarely outside of a rickety tent that had been well lived in, and the three hooligans had effectively woken up that structure's inhabitant with their digging. The one with the shovel even dropped his implement in fear when he realized he had been caught, startled by the old Saljan's yelling as he suddenly appeared from inside that out-of-place abode. "How many times do I have to tell you lot? That shrine stays up so long as I'm breathing! Now get! Shoo!"

I remember watching the youngest of those three shrine robbers sprint off as soon as that old timer gave his threat, but the others were different.

"Man's certainly a pain in the neck," one remarked as he and his partner turned heel in the snow at a slow, deliberate pace.

"Don't take it personally. He's the oldest member left. It's hard for him to let go of the old ways, you know?" Clearly, they were both veterans of this type of behavior. They knew the old man wasn't a threat, but also thought he wasn't worth the trouble. It was something the elder Saljan could sense, though not something he appreciated.

"They'll never understand," he said in disappointment after those two were far enough away from his precious shrine: words that marked my decision to approach.

"Such is the fate of the young," I told him upon entering his proximity, holding Robin's hand in my own while the two of us made our way to his shrine.

"Hah! Says the youngin' herself!" The statement got his attention right quick, though his obvious scoff was hardly unanticipated. He regarded us as more, potential troublemakers, but he also stayed his hand until he heard our stories. Gave us just enough rope to hang ourselves, so to speak. "What's a couple of young ladies like yourselves doing out here," he asked with a certain scrutiny? "Thought all the children were off partying in the Celestial Hall."

The old Saljan had a point. Robin and I had been intent on visiting the ball at first, but, after that most recent incident, I'm not sure either of us felt like continuing on our way. Neither of us liked large gatherings in the first place; and that argument had soured our appetites for interacting with the rest of the younger Saljans. Not to mention, one look at my beautiful wife-to-be was all I needed to decide that we didn't need to go to the ball for our date. Here, in front of the shrine, was good enough, so I tossed an instant hearth down nearby before kneeling respectfully in front of the shrine alongside Robin.

"This world is Reverie's creation, is it not," I asked my host while giving thanks to Reverie in traditional fashion? "I don't need to visit a grossly ornate monument to give thanks to her, then. The earth itself is her temple, and any shrine like this is her home." In truth, I had intended to give thanks to Reverie from the beginning; for, without Revaliir, I would never have met Robin. Yet, the old codger didn't need to know that to be taken aback by our actions. At first, he was angry because of the fire, thinking that we were going to desecrate his precious shrine. Yet all his rage melted when he saw Robin and I showing respect instead: the same quality he had so long wished to instill in the younger generation once more. Whether he was content or dejected by that development, what was absolutely true in the moments that followed is that he finally sat down on his nearby, rickety chair, waiting for us to finish our "prayer" with a melancholy expression.

"If only the others could remember that."

As the night went on, my fiancé and I stayed out near that old shrine. We ate linner – or rather a meal in between lunch and dinner – by the campfire while others raised a raucous noise from the ballroom nearby. For the most part, we enjoyed an uncomfortable silence between ourselves and our host during that time, at least until Robin finally broke the ice between us.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir," she said after finishing her nigiri that we had brought for the night, "What's your story?" The old Saljan had long since abandoned his confrontational demeanor by then, so he saw no harm in answering her. As such, he talked freely while holding his hands toward the flames.

"I'm just an old codger here, lady," he began. "The younger Saljans forget what your friend said, whereas I remember. That makes me old. The youngins? They know Reverie created the world, but can't be bothered with tradition anymore. Tradition is boring, they say, so, instead of being content with the old shrines, they make massive structures on hills and throw wild balls inside them. Somehow they believe that's what Reverie would want, but no really remembers what Reverie wanted anymore."

Robin, being her thoughtful self, noticed the sadness in the old man's eyes as he spoke, but she wasn't sure what she could do to alleviate it. She looked to me for advice in that situation, like she frequently had in the past; but, instead of speaking outright, I motioned for her to keep him conversing. I had an idea on how to lift the elder's spirits, but I needed some time to whip it up. Robin needed to keep his mind busy for me until then, and so she did.
 
"Is this one of the older shrines then," she asked, immediately plucking at the shrine keeper's attention once again?

"Aye," he responded, moving his gaze from the flames and onto the statue. "The moonstone in the temple was always there; even before the building itself went up. Before that, the landscape was dotted with these small shrines. They were everywhere throughout Zet'ski in the early days, all with the same pictures you can find at the grand cathedral today. But, over time, younger generations fell in love with ornate structures instead. With Reverie gone, they thought they needed bigger and better shrines. So they built the cathedral around the moonstone, gathered the shrines up one by one, and moved everything to a central location. This shrine is the only one left standing from the old days, and only because I keep my neighbors away from it."

The old man's story of a time long forgotten was melancholic, but it also went on just long enough for me to produce a gift for him. After probing his memories, I discovered that his bitterness had come largely from a lack of friends and loved ones. Death had taken so many of them, gradually leaving him as the only survivor. His wife was the last one, and, after she died, he was left completely alone as the shrine keeper. That lone shrine outside Zet'ski was now all he had left to remind him of her and happier times; so, to him, trying to take it away was like trying to remove his last comfort in the world. I relayed that to Robin mentally so as to prep her, but then still presented her with some magically conjured food that I believed would lift his spirits.

The item in question was the equivalent of a "commoner's meal" in Zet'ski: a lone, mountain goat skewer mixed with potatoes and radish. It was something the elder's wife had made for him when they first met, during the time when Zet'ski's agriculture was still just struggling to take off. Robin took that meal over to him as a peace offering, and then held it out gently for him to take.

"Here," she said while standing there in front of him. "It's for you." Typical of an old man, however, our host didn't even look up.

"Oh, I couldn't-" he started while keeping his eyes fixated on the fire. Yet before he could finish the dismissal of Robin's gift, he smelled the aroma of memories coming from it and looked up. "This is…"

"What your wife used to make, right?" Taken aback by the realization of our kind gesture, the Saljan with no friends was left speechless. He took the skewer from my fiancé all the same, but, instead of eating it, he silently held it in his hands until he could collect his emotions.
 
"How did you know," he asked in bewilderment, to which Robin explained:
"You're right about me being young, but Nat isn't the same. She thought that you might appreciate some food from your past." She returned to her seat next to me after saying that, giving me a large hug as soon as she sat down. Meanwhile, the recipient of her gift stared at his skewer, resuming his silence as he started to sob quietly.

"I miss you so much, Laura," he eventually whispered. The old man had tears on his face after that: tears that he wiped away before finally being able to eat his skewer. "Thank you. Both of you," he proclaimed just before taking his first bite. "You two are welcomed to stay here as long as you like. My tent is yours."

So it was that the three of us stuck together until it was time for Robin and I to leave. But, sadly, that moment came sooner rather than later; because, despite the need of the world to relax for a time, there was never any rest for the wicked. A fell cloud was approaching: and its arrival would spell the premature end of the evening's festivities.