The washroom in Sylvas Reach was nothing like the stone-tiled comforts of Noah's old world. There were no mirrors, no brass faucets, and certainly no privacy. Just slick, moss-slick floors carved into the base of a long, low communal house wrapped in vines. It smelled faintly of pine sap, damp wood, and the faint sweetness of some herbal oil left to linger in the air.
Noah crouched over his small wooden bucket, filled with cold stream water he had drawn from the channel outside. Around him, a handful of elves—quiet, elegant in motion even while half-dressed went through their morning rituals. The washroom wasn't crowded, but it wasn't private either. Low voices occasionally rose, speaking in Green Tongue, but otherwise, it was peaceful. Morning birds called softly from the trees above the open-roof beams.
Noah did his best to blend in. He took some water in the palm of his hand and splashed it on his face and cleaned his face.
He leaned forward, watching as a nearby elf rinsed his mouth and then spat into a small, circular hole carved neatly into the floor. Water flowed through that hole, down into some natural channel. Noah tried the same, coughing slightly from the bitter aftertaste of the stream water.
A gentle chuckle echoed to his right.
An elf was watching him.
He looked aged not just in the way his hair had thinned to a white sheen, but in the eyes. Deep creases sat beside his mouth, and his posture slouched ever so slightly. His robes were simple: dark green, patched in places, and tied with a plain cord. His feet were bare. But he radiated something beyond the years on his skin—a sort of quiet knowing, a patience like stone.
"You're the human they took in," the elf said in soft, fluent Sanguese. "Not often we see your kind scrubbing your teeth with stream water like us forest-folk, just it's not enough to clean your teeth properly."
Noah gave a short, awkward nod. "Still figuring it out."
The old elf smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. "Come here. You're scrubbing nothing but the cold."
Noah followed as the old man reached for a small clay jar tucked near a wooden beam. He opened the lid and scooped out a thick, dark green paste that smelled like crushed bark and mint.
"This is root-rend. Made from the moly tree. Crushes the grit out of your mouth and stains your tongue a little, but you'll feel the clean. We chew the leaves when we're out hunting for days at a time."
Noah took a pinch, unsure. "Is this... safe?"
The old elf snorted softly. "If it weren't, I'd be dead six hundred years ago."
"Six hundred?. No way you live that long?" Noah asked looking surprised at the elf.
"No pleasure in living that long, trust me. Now, let me show you how we clean our teeth in Sylvas Reach."
He gestured again, showing how to scrub it along the teeth using a rough twig shaved into bristles.
As Noah copied him, the taste hit like a bitter wall of tree oil and minerals, but there was a sharp, invigorating clarity to it. His tongue felt raw and clean all at once.
"Thanks," Noah muttered, rinsing again and spitting into the hole.
The old elf sat beside him, cross-legged and unbothered by the wet stone. "You'll be alright," he said after a pause. "Elves take time. We don't warm easily, not even to our own sometimes. But you've been seen walking besides that talented youngin Valinish, and that says something."
Noah leaned back against the wall, letting the cool damp soak into his shirt. "I feel like I'm being watched constantly. Like one wrong word and they'll send me back into the woods."
"Maybe," the old elf said, smiling again. "But watching isn't the same as judging. Trust is a slow vine. You can't pull it to grow faster. You let it climb."
He tilted his head, his tone soft but grounded. "You want to fit in? Be here. Show up. Work. Strain. Speak little. Listen more. Let them see your soul before you offer your sword."
Noah absorbed the words in silence.
The elf patted him on the shoulder gently, then stood with surprising ease for someone so old. He walked off without waiting for thanks, already humming some quiet tune.
Outside the Washroom – Mid-Morning
The forest was warmer now. The sun had broken through the trees in slanted beams, and the mist had mostly pulled back. Noah stepped out, still drying his face with the rough fabric of his shirt. The smells of breakfast being cooked drifted from a nearby communal hearth—roasted root vegetables, something stewing with herbs.
Valinish stood waiting by the bend in the trail.
He was dressed in light leather armor dyed forest-green and shaped to flex with his movement. A short blade rested at his side, along with a bow slung over one shoulder. His silver-blonde hair was tied back today, and he looked the same as he had the day before—young, serious, but not unfriendly.
"Registration's still waiting," Valinish said, nodding toward the path. "Lowarion wants you documented properly. Visitor status, trader claim. It'll get you past more of the eyes who think you're a danger."
Noah nodded and fell into step beside him. "They always like that paper trail?"
"They like knowing who's breathing in their forest," Valinish replied. "And it keeps the more paranoid types from doing something reckless. Paper's easier than blood."
They walked for a short while in silence. Birds called above. Somewhere nearby, a Woodcarmernauss(a bird which has bright black and Brown coat with a huge beak which it drills into the wood, which acts as it's meal), worked on a hollow log.
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The Registration House smelled faintly of paper and sun-warmed wood. A different elf sat at the desk today—a middle-aged woman with hair braided back into a practical knot. She gave Noah a curt nod as he stepped in, Valinish just behind him.
She handed over a thin slab of bark-paper with neat, vine-like etchings along the border. A sharpened twig-pen soaked in ink was already waiting.
Valinish spoke quietly to her in Green Tongue before turning to Noah.
"Just fill this out. Nothing fancy."
Noah nodded and took the pen. The ink bled slightly into the grain of the page.
He paused.
The letters printed on the form—neat, rounded, distinctly Sanguese—made him stop and stare.
He understood them. Knew them.
Not just the meaning, but the feel of them. He could already picture how his name would look on the page, how the strokes would move. His hand wouldn't tremble. There was no hesitation.
But there should have been.
He couldn't remember ever learning how to write in Sanguese. Hell, he didn't even know the world had this language until he landed in it. Back in his old life, he'd barely scraped by with modern English.
So why did this feel natural?
He just took a deep breath and filled out the form which was hard and rough.
Name: Noah Charles
Age: 17
Species: Human
Status: Visitor
Occupation: Trader
He hesitated at the last line, then glanced at Valinish. The elf answered the unspoken question.
"Lowarion made the call. 'Trader' gives you leeway. You're not military, not a threat, but useful. A bridge, maybe. Between outsiders and here."
Noah signed the bottom in clean, blocky letters.
The elf behind the desk took the sheet, scanned it without emotion, and placed it into a stack. A faint seal was burned into the top corner—a sigil of Sylvas Reach, shaped like a tree growing on rock.
"You're recorded," she said simply. "Welcome, Noah Charles."
Noah gave a small nod in return, unsure if it was gratitude or formality.
Valinish gestured toward the door. "Come on. Time for something a little different."
END OF CHAPTER
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--World Facts for all--
How Paper Is Made
Paper is a highly regulated and semi-magical commodity in Neoabianka. It begins with a specialized extraction process and ends in state-controlled distribution.
1. Bark Cutting by Ability Users
Only certified cutters possessing specific abilities are legally allowed to extract bark from paper-producing trees.
Slice - Allows the user to cut through anything except metals. It enables precision cuts of bark layers without damaging the tree's core, allowing for sustainable harvest.
Feather Slice – Cuts through anything except water-based products, making it ideal for separating delicate bark sheets without disrupting internal tree moisture balance.
2. Refining the Bark
After cutting, the bark is shaved, flattened, and heat-pressed using large wooden and stone presses run manually or by beast-labor. The aim is to reduce the bark to a pliable thin sheet.
3. Treatment with 'Gulava Resin'
A crucial step involves soaking the bark sheets in Gulava Resin, an extract from the Gulava flower, a rare, sap-producing plant found in humid southern regions of Opusterra.
Why it matters:
The resin breaks down microscopic grit in the bark without turning it to pulp.
It roughens the texture slightly, making it grip ink well and ensuring durability against smudging, water splashes, and long-term rot.
It gives paper a faint earthy aroma and a pale amber hue.
4. Drying and Inking
Sheets are left to dry on woven vine racks for 2–3 days. Once dried, they're tested for smoothness and flexibility. Only sheets that pass can be inscribed using Sanguese ink, which is derived from a mix of soot, binding berry-oil, and blackroot paste.
Paper as a commodity:
Paper is classed as a medium-rank commodity by the Neoabianka Central Association (NCA) — the governing trade bloc consisting of 16 of the world's 26 countries.
Legal Distribution & Revenue:
60% of revenue goes to the paper producer's national government or Kingdom.
10% is taxed by the NCA (used to monitor cross-border trade and prevent illegal document production).
5% goes to certified distributors.
25% is retained by the paper producer.
Distribution Rules:
Paper must be sold only in batches of 500 kilograms.
It is illegal to sell paper directly to non-governmental or non-administrative individuals unless sanctioned by a central registrar.
Traders and middlemen must carry proof-of-origin certificates to prevent illegal trafficking of blank paper (often used for forging documents or spell scrolls).
Use of Paper:
Governments & Military: Administrative records, land deeds, military orders.
Scholars & Strategists: Maps, academic treatises, scrolls.
Couriers: Used for official communication across long distances (paired with scent-marking waxes or beast-sealed documents).
Restricted Civilian Use: Only licensed scribes, diplomats, or registered traders may carry or use paper regularly.