Synnove remembers a dream about drowning, and then being awake, and not awake. Being herself, and not herself. She would wake up to the smell of fresh flowers and then fall asleep to a sting of a thorn.

For the past four years, Synnove has been living with a nagging feeling scratching at the back of her head, the way someone does when they’re questioning themselves whether they had left the oven on before leaving the house, or if they had already fed their pet goldfish, or if they had taken their daily medication or not. Did they miss something somewhere? Did they forget something important?

That couldn’t be it, is what Synnove would have answered if she was asked those types of questions. She couldn’t have forgotten anything of importance, because he had been the sole occupant of her mind these past few years. His name, or at least what he allows her to call him, is the first thing she would call out to when she wakes up, and his missing face is the last thing she wishes to see before she drifts off to sleep.

“Master…”

***************************************************************

“MASTER!”

Whatever gods or deities listening at the moment must have heard Synnove’s prayer granted it, because the boy stops mid-stride. He then slowly turns and faces Synnove.

Her master.

He was as beautiful as the day she lost him. Four years has passed since they have parted ways and his appearance hasn’t changed a bit. He still look like the first time she saw him, bursting through the dining hall in the North Hall to announce the arrival of the apocalypse all those years ago.

A moment of silence passes between them. Synnove half-expected him to go through one of his (in)famous long rants to explain his absence. For example, how he went to the store to get milk and somehow lost his bearings and was unable to return. Or maybe a portal swallowed him up before teleporting him to an alternate universe and he had to go through hell and high water until he could find his way back to her.

She would have forgiven him while he was still in the middle of his longwinded explanation, maybe even forget about the vow she secretly swore to herself (the one where she would chop off both his legs to prevent him from accidently wandering off again), maybe…

But his reply was a thundering and disappointing

“Hello Synnove.” and nothing else.

Synnove hears something inside her breaks.

“No, no. Don’t.”

“…”

“Don’t do that.”

“…”

“I’ve been looking for Master for four years, and you’re gonna come at me like we just saw each other last night? That’s what you’re gonna do?”

“…”

Synnove raises and puts both her hands on her head, half-resting her hands there and half-pulling her blond hair.

“What did I… What did I think?”

The boy’s mouth seems to be saying something but Synnove has blocked off and muted any sound. To her, the answer she wishes to hear as to why her master has left her for so long is no longer needed. To Synnove, those are just words coming out of his mouth, mere empty shells. No weight to them. No consideration they may be of some of value.

The boy’s lips continues moving but the girl doesn’t hear him as she continues talking to no one in particular while wearing a strained smile.

“What did I think, that you were gonna be happy to see me, I guess.”

“But Synnove…”

Her master’s words finally reaches her.

“What?”

“I did saw you last night.”

“…”

“We had dinner with my father, remember?”

“…”

“Are you not awake yet? Get up, sleepyhead, we still have to return to school. We’ve skipped enough classes already.”

The confused girl finds herself in big, unfamiliar bed, eyes blurry after being hit with the morning sun. The boy had open the curtains earlier to let light into the guest room where she had spent the night. Her master stands beside her bed now and is in the process of removing the thick covers that Synnove had previously slept under, like a fussy mother nagging her lazy child to leave the bedroom and become a productive member of society.

While still lying on the bed, Synnove looks down. Someone had also changed the girl out of her borrowed long black evening dress and into a nightgown. Synnove looks up to the boy who is still standing next to her.

His face is so close, she can almost reach out to touch it. But Synnove is afraid to do so, fearful he will disappear as soon as she touches him, like the memories of half-remembered dream that will vanish as soon as you try your hardest to recall it.

Her master seems tired. Even though the day has just started and he is smiling brightly, freshly showered and wearing new clothes, they couldn’t disguise the fact that the boy looks worn out.

Synnove quietly gets up and sits on the bed, still feeling sluggish. The boy continues yapping away while folding the covers and laying them at the foot of the bed.

“Can you imagine the amount of lessons we’re gonna face when we get back? I know it’s the first week of the new year and all, but the teachers at our school are notorious for distributing assignments right out the gate. I wish they hand out blueberry muffins as easily as they hand out homework. Come to think of it, is it really called homework if you live in dormitories? They should be called OWWW!” the boy screams loudly. Synnove is currently grasping his left cheek as hard as she can.

“What the hell, Synnove?” complains the boy awkwardly (his cheek is still being gripped), tears of pain welling up in the corner of one eye.

“I’m sorry Master. I wasn’t certain if I was still dreaming or not and I needed to make sure.”

“Then why are you pinching me instead of yourself?”

“It’s punishment for making me wait for four years.”

“What?” the boy is extremely confused.

“Now leave, I need to get dressed. Or keep watching, I don’t care. Whichever suits Master’s fancy.” The girl with the long flowing golden hair starts to take off her nightgown. The boy immediately leaves the guest room and although she wouldn’t admit it outright, Synnove secretly finds herself disappointed that her master didn’t stay.

***************************************************************

“Father, what happened to your face?” the boy asks innocently while eating a buttered spring roll, as if he had nothing to do with it. Devlin who is standing behind Ser Derek does a double take, the personal assistant’s eyes nearly bulges out staring at the boy in disbelief. The young aide is also sorely tempted to launch another round of attack on the boy.

“Must have banged it against the bedpost while I was rolling around sleeping. What happened to yours? That swollen red cheek looks hideous and it seems you didn’t have a good night rest.” asks Ser Derek as he passes some scrambled eggs to Synnove who is sitting on the opposite side of the small table they are having their breakfast in.

“Well there was this nasty bedbug but I managed to squash it in the end.” smiles the boy and just as he is about to take another spring roll, the boy leaps up from his chair and yells out in pain.

“What? What is it?” inquires the older man, alarmed by this strange event.

“It’s nothing. Looks like another bedbug managed to crawl up the side of my pants and pinched me in the hip.”

“Guess I have to call in the exterminator then.”

“If you do, please alert them of the termite infestation in the library.”

“How did you…”

“How could I not? And also, your garden is about to be hit by a massive rose aphid invasion so unless you’re willing to lose the flowers you asked the gardeners to back-breakingly plant in memory of dear ol’ mum, I suggest you get him here as soon as possible.”

“So I guess it’s true that you know all there is to know…”

“I know enough.”

“Then it will be easy for me to bring up the subject since you should already know what I’m about to say next.”

“I haven’t really check that far yet, actually. Why don’t you surprise me?” smiles the boy nonchalantly while he takes a sip from his teacup.

“It’s about your prospective fiancée.”

It’s the first time for Ser Derek Acanthus… seeing two people (the boy and his maid) spit out whatever liquid or food they have in their mouth at the same time.

***************************************************************

During the carriage ride back to the Whiteford Academy, Synnove decides to bring up the subject that has been lingering in the air for the past couple of hours.

“So about this fiancée of yours…”

“What about it?”

“…”

“It’s just a formality, Synnove. Something to strengthen the bonds between two houses, albeit temporarily. You should think of it more as a business partnership. Ninety-nine percent of the time these things never follow through.”

“What Master says will happen and what takes place ain't ever exactly been the same.”

“If you’re so worried, maybe you should throw your name in the ring.”

“It’s actually put your name in the hat or throw your hat in the ring.”

“Really? I could have sworn there was a saying like that.”

“And besides, I’m not really worried.”

“Is that so? Then please, do enlighten me as to why?”

“It’s because I know Master best. And despite your numerous infidelities with Rofle, Master is still working hard towards his one and only goal.”

“Saving mankind from its impending doom?”

“Warm.”

“Seize Ouroboros and turn it into a more ultra-super-secret organization that can control the Nine Kingdoms from the shadows?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Averting the war that I started?”

“Cold.”

“Reading all the books in the Grandiel Continent?”

“Getting colder.”

“Becoming the best Cakera player with thousands upon thousands of adoring fans?”

“Bone-chilling, middle of the winter in the Drumvell Kingdom cold. Seriously? That was one of your dreams?”

“Hey, any hot-blooded boys who picked up the disc and played a game of Cakera would have had that dream. Fine. How about finally getting to eat that sweet delicious blueberry muffin?”

“I’ve said it already before. Your one and only goal. Your true goal, Master.”

“…”

“Well?”

“You really are the one who knows me best, Synnove.” the boy sighs.

“Obviously.” the pigtails maid haughtily smiles.

The boy gazes forlornly out the carriage window. A heavy silence falls inside the fast-moving vehicle.

“You want to tell me about them?” asks Synnove in the hopes it will lighten up the mood.

“No, I don’t think I will.” It is the boy’s turn to grin smugly, but his smirk couldn’t conceal the sadness hidden in his eyes.

“It’s okay.” the pigtails maid replies, not disappointed at all. “That’s how I know it’s real.”

“…”

***************************************************************

Just as the carriage carrying the boy and Synnove finally arrives at Whiteford Academy late in the afternoon, the boy is suddenly alerted to a situation that sends him into a frenzied state.

“Stop the carriage!” yells the boy at the top of his lungs. He doesn’t even wait for it to stop, the boy kicks open the door and jumps out of the still-moving vehicle. He hits the dirt hard, rolls forward a few times before recovering and continuing sprinting into one particular direction.

Synnove soon follows closely behind, in full battle-mode. She doesn’t know what had set the boy off, or what kind of new enemies they will be facing soon, but the pigtails maid is ready to serve by her beloved master’s side.

Up ahead, the third year student sees her master has already stop after reaching his destination. The pigtails maid runs up to him, adrenaline pumping and eyes alert. While trying to catch her breath, Synnove finally surveys the place where they are currently situated.

Both the boy and the pigtails maid are presently standing in front of a pig pen, one of the few located in the Whiteford Academy. These pig pens, along with some chicken coops, provide nearly half of the meat used to feed the students and the teaching staff of the academy. Also, Master Wes would sometimes use the various pig pen as a punishment tool an obstacle course for unruly students who failed to live up to his standards of being a future Knight of Enahel.

Synnove notices her master is starring daggers into the pig pen. She follows his gaze and sees a herd of pigs gorging themselves on a mound of something. The pigtails maid couldn’t quite make out what that mound is since it is covered in dirt and mud, plus surrounded by numerous pigs which are feasting hungrily on it. It takes Synnove a few seconds to realize what the mound comprises of, and why her master is releasing into the air a heavy dose of killing intent.

“Are those…” the pigtails maid solemnly asks.

“Yes.” the boy answers through gritted teeth.

“Is Master…”

“I’m pretty fuckin’ far from okay.”

“Will you…”

“You godsdamn right I will. Somebody got some answerin’ to do.” declares the boy before striding off towards the North Hall.

The pigtails maid takes one last look into the pig pen, shakes her head dejectedly, and follows in her beloved master’s footsteps.

***************************************************************

Tea time in the North Hall is usually a hive of activities. Students would normally partake in discussions regarding the lessons they have learnt during morning classes or maybe make plans for recreational activities in the afternoon. Generally, most of the active students would be busy fueling themselves with food in preparation for the games they enjoy spending their free time with (fencing and horse riding for elite students, wrestling and Cakera matches for the commoners).

Today, however, something is very different. Almost all of the students are moving in a carefree manner, no rush to go to where their next activity will be held. Many are sitting down comfortably in their chairs, slowly sipping their warm and tasty beverages, silently hoping the peace and serenity will last forever. Like parents finally relaxing after they have succeeded in putting their unruly and uncooperative children to bed.

A few rare students of course are maintaining constant vigilance. Eyes darting everywhere, looking for any signs of trouble. Noses twitching, trying to detect unfamiliar scent coming down wind. Years of tutelage under Master Wes’ harsh instructions have not made them complacent. And it is about to pay dividend because these few rare students are the first ones to jump out the windows as soon as the boy comes bursting through the front doors of the North Hall.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” bellows the boy deafeningly for everyone to hear.

“……” everyone in the North Hall stops what he or she was doing. A few are wiping tears from their eyes, sad that the peace lasted for as long as it did.

“I MEAN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!”

Some of the students are genuinely puzzled at what was upsetting the boy, but no one is foolish enough to ask.

The boy suddenly spies someone trying to hide his large build under a table.

“Porkins, come here please.”

“…”

“Porkins, I’m not gonna bite your head off. Get over here.”

“…no.” a soft answer can be heard floating out from under the table.

“Porkins, don’t make me give you an ultimatum.”

“Sounds like you already have.” grumbles the sixth year commoner student under his breath as he crawls out from under the table and moves steadily towards the boy.

“What is it?” the sixth year student asks after he finally arrives face to face with the boy.

“You already know what.” says the boy.

“No, I don’t know what. Which was why I asked what in the first place.”

“The blueberry muffins from this morning’s breakfast session…”

“What about em’? And before you ask, I did't even take one.”

“Why are the pigs eating so many of them?”

“You have to take it up with the people in charge of food management. They’re the ones who handle how the food waste are treated.”

“No, what I mean is, why are so many blueberry muffins remained uneaten by the people they were made for?”

“But you…” the sixth year student is perplexed. “Don’t you have powers that lets you know the answ-“

“Of course I know the answer!”

“…”

“But I need to hear the answer firsthand so that I can process the information like a normal person instead of going around stabbing people like the homicidal prodigy that I am.”

The sixth year student stares bewilderedly at the boy before finally answering.

“It is because you proclaimed that all the blueberry muffins belongs to you.”

“…”

“And that you were going to kill anyone who went up against that decree.”

“…”

The boy takes a deep breath, ingesting the answer for a few seconds. Up until now, no one in the North Hall (aside from Porkins) has moved or said anything. They are all silently spectating the scene of the boy standing still in front of them.

The boy suddenly turns and moves towards a storeroom located at the back of the North Hall. Normally, only staffs or authorized students are allowed to enter this room but obviously there isn’t an adventurous soul brave enough to stand in his way.

The people in the North Hall can hear the boy rummaging in the storeroom. Not too long after, the boy emerges from the room carrying a dusty old wooden sign. Many years before this, the sign was placed at the dessert table as a reminder to the student not too be greedy.

Unfortunately, around three years, one of the staff misplaced the sign (he accidently dropped the sign behind a shelf and wasn’t too bothered with getting it back). There behind the shelf, in the dark and cramped space, the sign laid forgotten gathering dusts. That is, until the boy had recovered it today.

The boy approaches the dessert table and places the sign on it. He motions to a nearby dining table.

“I need something sharp. Give me a knife or one of the cutleries.”

Disappointingly, none of the occupants of the said table has the fortitude like Porkins. Not one of them dared to move (unless you count trembling as moving).

The boy rolls his eyes at this sight.

“Pride of the Knights of Enahel, you lot are.” the boy snorts. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

The boy uses his finger to carve something into the wooden sign. After one finger gets too mangled or too bloody to work with, the boy switches to another. The process takes him a few minutes before he is finally finished and satisfied with his work.

The boy turns around and proclaims to the ever-watching crowd.

“Hear me, good people. From this day onwards, let it be known that any man… or woman, I’m not sexist, is free to enjoy the occasional blueberry muffin. You shall take only one, no more, no less. No ifs, ands or buts. One shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be one.”

Once the boy is finished with his declaration, he turns and leaves through the front doors of the North Hall with his familiar pigtails maid in tow.

After the boy is long and truly gone, did the occupants of the North Hall heave a huge sigh of relief. A few students gathered their courage to see what modification the boy had done to the wooden sign. There, on the dessert table, the students can see that the boy had crossed out a few words and carved in his own.

“ONLY TAKE ONE. THE GODS ARE I AM WATCHING.”

********************************************************************************************

Regrettably, since so many blueberry muffins were left uneaten during that fateful morning’s breakfast session, the Food and Nutrition Directors made a unanimous decision to take blueberry muffins completely out of the menu. This is done to ensure such wastage shall not be repeated again. Although the boy will try his hardest, it will be a long time before blueberry muffins return to be a staple menu in the North Hall.