The walk home was full of unanswered questions. Aiora stepped with a hop in her step, a sly and toothy grin invading her otherwise expressionless features. Varin walked alongside Thaddius with fumes erupting from his ears, chewing through each inquiry.

“Who was that man? Was it really all that necessary to come out in the middle of the night, only to be chastised by some strange bloke?”

“I do not believe I was chastised, Varin. I think that is a you issue!”

With a huff, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked towards Thaddius. His satyr friend snickered towards him, wiggling his eyebrows as a taunt. “Are you going to let a girl like that talk to a big, scary man like you in such a way?”

“Not a joking matter, Thaddius.”

“Well, I believe it is, you were put in your place by the so-called ‘strange man.’”

Varin hummed and lowered his stare to the ground. The group grew silent as they continued walking, the dirt of the city streets crunching beneath their boots. As he lifted his stare and looked around the silent homes, he began to wonder exactly what the residents were like. He had met few, most of which higher in status, but the commoners he had met seemed modest. The last interaction he had with one was an elderly carpet beater. It was a woman who practically rushed Varin off as soon as he had arrived to drop off a rug for Mistress Leolina. Nothing unordinary about that old woman, and it seemed she got her frustrations out each day by beating on those carpets. At least she got paid for it, too.

His eyes averted to the mountainous regions that surrounded the village. On the peak of the mountain held a flickering flame that danced between the mist, the dull light source wavering between the gaps of rugged land. As Varin slowed his pace and squinted his eyes, his friends looked back with furrowed brows.

“Those mountains seem unfit for life, or even fire,” Varin whispered, although it was mostly to himself. His eyes followed the spiky peaks that fell all the way down to the bottom of the range, eventually flickering back towards the brightening source of illumination. It was a lone star atop the highpoint, the only brightness throughout the young eve. His eyes grew wide as the orange embers gradually transformed into an electric blue, erupting into the sky like haphazard lightning bolts. Thaddius and Aiora, too, gasped at the sight and watched the blue zigzags break through the cloudy night and follow the horizon into nonexistence.

“What in the heavens was that?” Thaddius said with a quiver.

“Magic?” said Aiora.

“Couldn’t be,” Varin responded with unease, “no Warlock alone would be powerful enough to erupt such magic through the sky like that.”

“That you know of. It’s not our fault Jaspar is limited in his potential,” Thaddius chuckled before waving the two of them forward. “Come, we need to continue on. It’s getting late.”

Varin pursed his lips and watched as the blue radiation slowly dissipated into blackness, the temporary chaos vanishing into nothing before his very eyes. Jaspar was a pureblood Elf who claimed he held power greater than any thunderstorm could provide, and in fact, spent the afternoon showing his groups of scholars how to literally hold a singular bolt of lightning in your hand. Quite an unnecessary display of power—Elves typically flourished over being the center of attention. Magical Elves only exaggerated that trait.

“Thaddius is right,” Aiora spoke quieter than before, her tone returning to that familiar insecure tenor. “Besides, I need to wake early. I have to teach our bratty newcomer how to control fire.”

Varin turned to Aiora and nodded with a smirk, “Miss royalty, was it? I am surprised she hasn’t ordered for your head to be cut off!”

“Indeed—although, it did take some courage for her to apologize to me earlier this evening. Come, we’ll have to figure out what is hiding in the mountains another day.”

“Perhaps your strange friend knows a thing or two about mountainous mages,” Thaddius hollered after Aiora as she began to scurry off back to Lighthelm. Before following suit, Varin turned his head to stare at the peak once more, another blue eruption of flames evaporating into the air before dissipating gradually. Something strange drew him towards this energy—it felt surreal and was powerful enough to illuminate the horizon, even if it was only for a few seconds.

“Come along, Varin! It is getting too late. I don’t want to find what goes bump in the night.”

With another moment of hesitation, Varin turned his attention back towards his impatient friends and headed back to the school of magic.

───── ❝ 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝖊𝖓𝖛𝖞 & 𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 ❞ ─────

The following day, Varin and Thaddius walked behind Aiora to help set up for the instructional period she was having with Cateline. Varin has only had one genuine interaction with Cateline, and it was the previous evening before the three of them had snuck out into the night to meet with that warlock. She held herself to such a pretentious standard that every word she spoke seemed disingenuous. Even the simplest thing as an apology came across cynical—not to mention the second she turned her attention to somebody who wasn’t the focus of her apology, she lashed out in the way all Princesses did. With a temper tantrum.

“I believe you and Thaddius would have a much better time fighting, Varin. I do not think you would want a girl to pummel you into the ground with one spell.”

“Precisely why I challenged you to a duel, Aiora. Enchanted weaponry is much different than spewing a little bit of fire everywhere.”

“I don’t wish to go through that again—take my piece of advice seriously; do not let Varin use a sword enchanted with the energy of lightning. My poor leg is still sore!” Thaddius said in a faux cry of pain.

“As it should be, every warrior leaves with a few scars to tell the story.”

“Of what? The Great Battle of Varin? You should only hope to be so renowned,” Thaddius mocked and looked after Aiora as she walked over to a table located at the center of the yard. Cateline sat there with a frown curving downwards on her features, her dark hair tied behind her back into a braid. Although the Princess seemed displeased, Aiora responded simply with glee. It was an interesting dynamic, the two of them, but one that could oddly work when it came to learning magic.

Eventually, Aiora parted from the girl and walked to a barn located at the corner of the square, rummaging through it for a moment. Varin watched as the tiny girl struggled to carry two wooden posts and burlap bags full of hay in her arms. Aiora stuck her tongue out in concentration as she clumsily wobbled back to them. Each burlap bag was stuffed to the brim with hay, little pieces flying throughout the air behind her.

"Are you two going to stand all dumbfounded, or are you going to help me get these training dummies spiked into the ground?”

Thaddius snatched one from her grip with a smirk, heaving it into the ground with ease and wiped his hands clean of hay. Varin watched as, somehow, tiny strands of hay float around his head, eventually resting upon the tip of his horns and tickled the corner of his temple. The satyr flicked the hay off his skin, grimacing at the loose pieces that stuck to his clothing.

“You could not have chosen a messier methodology to teach fire. What are you going to do, burn them to the ground?”

“Precisely, Varin! You are getting smarter each day,” Aiora teased as she stabbed the burlap bag into the pointed edge of the post. Varin shook his head, turning to listen to Thaddius.

“Intelligence is a virtue. I would doubt Varin has earned said virtue quite yet.”

Varin jabbed two fingers into the Satyr’s chest, “Watch it, satyr, or I’ll rip those horns straight off!”

“Oh, I’m trembling. You aren’t quite as scary when you don’t have enchanted swords by your side.”

Varin chuckled and eventually walked off to watch the lesson of fire from a safe distance. Varin sat on the sidelines with Thaddius, his eyes tracing over Aiora’s hands and arms as little orange embers bounced around her skin. Before attending Lighthelm, Varin had always seen magic as something from a prophecy. He had never met a mage, nor did he seek one out. That feeling that resided in the pit of his stomach was but a nuisance, and not once did the Lord question what energy was bottling up inside. One day, without hesitation, it exploded in him in an act of defense. The neglected power within him was so powerful it shook his land, creating cracks the size of rivers throughout his yard. It was a terrible bout of power, one that needed to be tamed. From that day onwards, he sought out the mages that hid in their homes, hoping to never be discovered. While there were some villages and kingdoms who saw magic as an asset, such as Traburg, they were few and far between. Most Kingdoms, much like his homeland, saw it as a root for all evil.

While he watched Aiora glow red, though, he could not help but appreciate the beauty of that type of madness. Such elements that are impossible to control, such as fire, ice, and lightning, are flowing within his veins and waiting to be mastered. Waiting to be expelled in a spray of alchemy. While Varin claimed to only harness the power of magic for battle, that curious twinkle that itched at the back of his mind urged him to know more. Just like that explosion of lightning throughout the sky—most would shrug it off, such as Aiora and Thaddius did, but he wanted to experience that energy.

After a few moments of being lost in his reverie, Aiora and Cateline began to exclaim something in surprise. His eyes snapped back to the two girls, expecting to see the Princess finally harnessing that warm magic, but instead watched as her body began to divide into two halves of opposing energy. One side began to freeze over, while the other began to burn with a rush of an inferno. The Princess began to panic, her words becoming jumbled with curses and cries of anguish. Varin and Thaddius ran over to the girl, their eyes wide and their mouths spread open in surprise. The grass began to both freeze and ignite in flames, As the satyr struggled to squash the flames, Varin slipped over some of the slush that coated the ground and kneeled on the opposite side of Aiora. They both placed their hands on the Princess, staring at each other in uncertainty.

Beneath Varin’s fingertips were welts as her skin began to burn, the warm sensation resembling a pot that rested over a fire, stinging his hands irritably. When he spoke, his voice shook, “What are we to do? It is as if she’s burning from the inside out!”

“On my half, she is frostbitten. Thaddius, go get Mistress Leolina. Now!”

Thaddius, without another word, ran off into the academy and the two began to whisper any chants and spells that would diminish the pain Cateline was suffering through. Varin stared down at the pale girl, her eyes bloodshot and rolling into the back of her head as the corners of her mouth began to foam. Each word that spilled from their lips echoed into the air, their lungs releasing so much energy that the Lord’s hands began to shake. As Cateline experienced the torment of fire and ice, her back lifted off the ground and her bones cracked as if they had snapped. Varin jumped at the sound, his eyes shut tight to avoid the traumatic sight before him.

Varin had seen death plenty of times. His family was that of warriors, strong-willed and without remorse to those who defied them. Varin, though, had not seen suffering. He had yet to stand alongside somebody who surely wished they were dead as opposed to experiencing such detrimental elements. He had never felt somebody’s body twist and turn in a struggle to win over this internal battle. Most importantly, though, he had never seen a witch suffer through something so brutal. Varin would never wish this pain on his worst enemy.

Within minutes, the Mistress and Thaddius were by their sides. The Elven Mistress moved Varin to the side, her eyes raking over the struggling girl with a frown. Although she appeared worried, she did nothing to react.

“Mistress Leolina,” Varin whispered, “We do not know what to do.”

Leolina hummed, her angular eyes narrowed down at the sight. Carefully, she leaned down and placed her fingertips on the temples of the Princess. Her eyes closed and she began to chant a spell Varin had yet to hear, one that vibrated within the core of the Mistress’s chest. Quickly, the small crowd of students began to form outside in the courtyard and whispered amongst each other about the sight. Varin turned his head as Jaspar pushed through the crowd, gasping at the sight and clenched his fists. Varin raised a brow as the lips of that Elf turned into a snarl, curiously emoting in a rush of anger as opposed to worrying. Varin was not necessarily surprised that sympathy was the last emotion that was read over a Pureblood Elf’s face, but anger was not the first reaction he would expect. Tearing himself from the curiosity, he turned back to Mistress Leolina as she finished her final words.

With the last few breaths of her chant, the fire that surrounded the body of the Princess began to extinguish. The ice melted as if it never existed, and her body slowly stopped shaking. Cateline’s breathing was slowed and so subtle that she could have not been breathing at all, and although her skin stopped freezing over, the tips of her fingers were still purple and the skin alongside her other arm was ridden with boils. A droplet of blood began to drip from her nose, the crimson staining her pale skin as it dripped down to her chin.

Without much more worry, Mistress Leolina stood back to her feet and spoke lowly, her words almost resembling the tone of a song as opposed to a normal sentence, “I will go get a doctor. I need to figure out exactly what’s happened here.”

Aiora and Varin watched as the Mistress stepped by Jaspar, waving him to follow her as she practically floated back towards the halls. Each step she took was so delicate, and her words were like that of silk. Nothing about Mistress Leolina was natural, and slowly he was beginning to see she was not made of just light.

"That spell was not one I’ve heard before,” Aiora whispered with a tremble, her gray eyes staring down at the unconscious Cateline.

“I do not think it was light magic.”

Varin and Aiora stared at each other with worry, their lips curved into a glower. Although the Mistress’s spell saved Cateline from a painful death, the root of that spell could not have been good. The way Leolina’s chest shook with power, the ground practically rattling alongside her. Dark magic was rooted in loss, and with each spell came the sacrifice of something else. If that spell was dark magic, it meant whatever Leolina had sacrificed would be revealed within the coming hours.