The scent hit them first. It was wood smoke laced with herbs, damp stone and something faintly sweet like sap. Runner inhaled and whispered in a low voice:
"Smells like someone made tea from a forest."
Broomshaven sat in a shallow valley cupped by low, forested ridges. It was a simple compact medieval town but its entire silhouette looked like it had been built by people with decent hands but terrible eyesight. Houses clustered shoulder-to-shoulder in uneven rows with walls of cream stone and tawny timber beams as each roof was shingled with mossy slate. The entire skyline looked drunk. Chimneys of every size and height twisted upward in impossible corkscrews, bending like they were growing rather than built.
Some chimneys spiraled in elegant helixes, others wobbled like candles left in the sun. The oddest ones bent into perfect semicircles before continuing upward as though they changed their mind mid-construction. A few even forked at the top like horns, releasing two streams of smoke that curled apart and rejoined. The smoke wasn't ordinary either. It drifted in shimmering hues of lavender, blue and gold.
As they walked deeper into town, the crooked chimneys reacted to them. Some trembled in excitement. Others puffed thicker smoke as though whispering gossip to each other. One chimney released a soft ring-shaped cloud that drifted over Shimmer's head and popped like a bubble. She flinched. Runner smothered a laugh.
The streets — narrow stone paths smoothed by centuries of foot traffic — wound through the town like lazy rivers, curving around buildings instead of cutting straight. Windows glowed with amber light and from nearly every doorway, enchanted brooms peeked out. Some swept the steps. Some hovered. Some chased each other like playful cats. A couple of them froze when they saw Vastarael, their bristle "heads" tilting slightly as if trying to comprehend what they were looking at.
Asenane whispered, "This place is… whimsical. It's like it is secretly made of a children's tale."
But the deeper they walked, the more they began to realize something underlying the cuteness. The town was too still. Beneath the fairy-tale charm thrummed a quiet suspicion. It felt like the whole place was sentient and taking notes.
They followed one of the curved paths until it opened into a wide plaza paved with pale stone tiles arranged in a circular spiral. Lanterns hung from crooked iron poles, flickering with soft violet fire. At the center stood the Giant Broom Statue, a monumental sculpture carved from shimmering white wood, nearly fifteen tall. A colossal broom rose straight into the sky but this one wore a carved wooden crown studded with crystals that glowed faintly.
Vastarael murmured, "Whoa. That's… dramatic."
Runner tilted her head. "Why is the broom wearing a crown?"
Shimmer shrugged. "Because someone looked at a cleaning tool and said 'royalty.'"
Before Vastarael could add anything, a voice croaked warmly beside them.
"Visitors! Heavens above, real visitors!"
They turned to see an old man waddling toward them from the far side of the plaza. He was wiry and hunched from years of leaning over something. His beard was a wild explosion of white curls and his tunic was patched so meticulously it looked like artwork. His eyes, however, were bright. He stopped a few paces from them, slapped his palms to his knees, and wheezed out:
"Welcome to Broomshaven. I'm the Chief of this humble town."
Asenane blinked, genuinely confused. "Chief? Why not mayor?"
Vastarael answered before the old man could. "Towns and Villages are ruled by Chiefs, Cities by Mayors and Boroughs by the kingdom's monarch."
The old man nodded vigorously. "Oh, I know how nobility works. Worked for them once and got fired later. Politics, you see."
He said it so quickly and so smoothly the three girls exchanged a look. That was a lie delivered at professional speed.
"Anyway," he continued, spreading his arms. "It's been a long while since we had visitors. Being at the far edges of Amaniya means we rarely see new faces. So tell me, what brings you all the way out here?"
Asenane stepped up. "We're adventurers. We wanted to see what your town is about, maybe gather information."
"Adventurers, yes?" The old man smiled. "Well, adventurers are welcome. Information, we have plenty. But important question first!"
He held up a finger dramatically.
"Do you worship any gods?"
Vastarael answered calmly. "We worship the Richinarias."
The effect was instant. The old man froze. Completely. His eyes dilated. His breath hitched like someone had punched him in the ribs.
"Ah… ah… magnificent. The Richinarias, the divine dynasty, the Holy Sovereigns of Reconstruction and Eternity… oh blessed heavens, you speak their name so casually…"
Vastarael felt a jolt in his chest.
The warning Lysameria gave them echoed instantly. Shimmer stepped closer to her sister. Runner subtly placed a hand on the Crystal Lotus. Asenane's wings tensed. The old man took a slow step toward Vastarael, his expression clasped between devotion and madness.
"Young man, to hear the name of Richinaria spoken with such warmth. Do you… you wouldn't happen to know more about them, would you? Stories? Tales? Lineage? Customs? Divine appearances?"
His pupils were too wide now.
Vastarael kept his voice steady. "We just worship them. That's all."
"Oh, of course, of course," the Chief whispered, but his hands were trembling like he wanted to grab Vastarael's shoulders and shake answers out of him. "Forgive me. Forgive me. It's just… we do not often meet worshippers of the Divine Bloodline… truly a rare blessing…"
Asenane leaned close to Vastarael's ear and murmured, just loud enough for him:
"Darling, I see why your mother wanted us to keep quiet. This dude is one broom short of a full sweep."
But the old man straightened, smiling with eerie delight.
"Well then. Since you follow the Richinarias, Broomshaven shall welcome you as honored guests. Anything you wish to know, I will tell you."
And the chimneys above them puffed thin streams of shimmering smoke, swirling in patterns that looked almost like bowed heads, as if the entire town was showing devotion.
As they followed the old man, they realized Broomshaven looked even weirder under the early evening glow. The narrow cobblestone paths were lined with those crooked houses they had passed earlier. And everywhere were brooms leaning against walls, brooms perched on benches and brooms carefully lined in circles around wells and gardens.
It was oddly peaceful.
"Ah, where are my manners?" the old man said suddenly, stopping mid-stride and turning to them with a toothy grin. "Name's Brumwald Bexlesworth, but everyone just calls me Chief Brum."
Vastarael gave a polite nod, trying to keep his tone light.
"It's nice to meet you, Chief Brum."
Brumwald chirped, turning around to lead them again with a speed far faster than his bones looked capable of.
"Nice t'meet all of ya! Visitors don't come by much anymore. Only folks from the outside we get nowadays are lost merchants or runaway couples eloping from strict families."
Shimmer and Runner exchanged glances. Runner quietly whispered:
"Are we technically all three of those?"
Shimmer elbowed her. Asenane chuckled. Vastarael pretended not to hear anything.
The sky deepened from orange to deep purple. Lanterns flickered to life automatically. As they walked, Vastarael asked.
"What do people do here, Chief Brum?"
Brumwald gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh, the classic hunting and farming. We're far out from the shiny places with no City taxes, no City help and no City meddling."
He said that last part like it was a blessing.
Runner tilted her head. "But… then where is everyone? We haven't seen a single—"
The chief whipped around, utterly delighted. "Oh, but ya have!"
He pointed to a row of brooms leaning against the side of someone's home and suddenly all four of them froze.
Shimmer went pale. "You're joking."
"No. That's them. That's the folks of Broomshaven."
He lifted his lantern so the warm glow fell over at least fifty brooms standing in perfect formation around a fountain.
"These here are descendants of the worshipers of the Broom God, Sweeperus Maximus. May his bristles rest in peace."
Vastarael blinked. He had seen a lot of absurd things in life, but this? This one was insane. Shimmer raised her hand like a student.
"Um… so they're… literally brooms?"
"Oh yes."
"During the day?" Runner asked.
"Yes."
"And at night?"
"Back to people."
Asenane covered her mouth, trying not to burst out laughing. "That's the curse?"
Brumwald nodded gravely. "The curse, yes. Daytime, bristles. Nighttime, bones again."
Shimmer squinted at one broom. "So that broom right there… that's a person?"
"Yes."
"And that one with the ribbon?"
"Yes."
"What about the one sweeping? But it's sweeping itself—"
"Oh, that's Calminea. Hard worker, that one."
The broom was indeed sweeping another broom's dirt pile. And yes, the broom was sweeping using its own broomhead. Vastarael had no comment. None.
Runner crossed her arms. "Okay, so… they clean during the day. Then what's the blessing part?"
"At night, when the curse is off, they can summon and wield brooms with ridiculous skill. Fights, flight, mystic bursts, acrobatics, heck, some of them can fly upside-down on their brooms while drinking hot tea!"
Shimmer's eyes lit up. "So nighttime is when the town comes alive?"
Asenane nodded slowly. "No wonder this place looks spotless. They're cleaning all day while enchanted."
"Exactly!" Brumwald said proudly. "No dust in Broomshaven! Perfection!"
He raised a fist in triumph. A broom beside him fell over dramatically like it was applauding.
The town inn appeared at the end of a moonlit avenue. Its sign swung gently:
'THE SWEEPING SHADOWS INN'
The building looked cozy enough with stone walls, timber supports carved into swirling broom-like curls and a roof patched with straw and tiles like someone couldn't decide on one style. But the wildest part was that that he counter inside was literally a broom.
A broom stood upright behind the desk with a tiny hat nailed onto its stick. Other brooms cleaned the floor, dusted shelves, rearranged chairs and swatted a spider off the wall with professional precision.
Shimmer whispered, "I… I don't know how to process this."
Runner whispered back, "I feel like we're hallucinating."
Vastarael muttered, "This is exactly the sort of weird my mother told us about."
Brumwald approached the broom behind the counter. He spoke to it like a normal conversation.
"Evening, Sweepmaester Gilder! Need two rooms."
The broom wiggled its bristles and tapped the counter, sliding forward two carved wooden tags with numbers on them.
Vastarael stared. Asenane stared. The girls stared. Vastarael slid a small pouch of gold across the counter. Chief Brum's eyes blew wide open.
"Richinaria gold coins?! Great heavens, you are wealthy!"
Asenane immediately stood straighter.
"We did say we're famous adventurers in Rise Borough."
"Very lucky, indeed! The Richinarias are the greatest dynasty that's ever lived. They are protectors, heroes and legends! Their gold is sacred treasure out here."
Vastarael coughed lightly and looked away. If only they knew. The chief cheerfully handed them the room tags.
"You folks enjoy your stay! Night is young, so don't be too shocked if you hear people singing in the streets, don't worry. We get rowdy after midnight."
This… this right here was why Lysameria warned them.
If the people of Broomshaven knew the truth that Vastarael was a Richinaria Son of Aeterium, the Dynasty Monarch himself, this whole town would probably throw holy celebrations, start a cult, build shrines and make his daughters into walking saints.
They needed to stay anonymous.
"The next few days are going to be… complicated."