Smacking the paper down onto the table, Thaddius lifted his gaze as he cleaned a sword. It was covered in mud and pieces of hay, a telltale sign that he had been sparring out by the archery field.

“Believe me now, Thaddius?”

Eyeing the parchment, he picked it up by the corner and eyed the scribbled writing. With a pallid face, he carefully set the paper down and cleared his throat. “Where did you find this?”

“In the tavern.”

Thaddius furrowed his brow, flipping the paper over a few times before setting it down once more. “It’s hardly burned. You found this in the tavern? The burned down, decrepit tavern?”

“Yep, fresh as day. It doesn’t make sense, Thaddius.”

The satyr hummed and stood, tapping his finger on the table before walking towards the armory. “Alright, so let us say you are being haunted by Cateline. What next?”

“Nothing. We can only hope she helps us where she can.”

Turning over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, he scoffed and placed the sword back with the rest. “Cateline has never been much help.”

And with that, one of the bows that had hung on the wall fell onto Thaddius, his head through the hole. He gasped, jumping back and looking at the spot it once hung on. “Curious…” Varin said. “Peeved the Princess, have you?”

Cursing, Thaddius removed the bow from his neck and hung it up. “The last thing we need is a Princess throwing things at us in a ghostly tantrum.”

“I do not know… it was quite funny.”

Thaddius glowered, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his neck from where the bow wire burned from impact. He sighed and walked out of the armory without another word. Varin eyed the wall just for a few more moments before following him out, hoping another phenomenon would happen before his eyes. Unfortunately, that was the last of the show. He told himself it was Cateline throwing a tantrum, but it could have likely been the bow not properly hung on the wall.

“Thaddius,” Varin called out and jogged until he was beside him again, “have you talked to Leolina about our trip yet?”

“Aye.”

“And?”

“The woman is mad, I tell you, but it’s mad enough it may work.”

Varin sighed. “I just don’t know what she expects us to do. She tells us we have to cleanse and purify whatever Cateline had left behind before we can bring her back, but that is… vague, to say the least.”

“Indeed.”

“Meanwhile, Cateline is talking from her everlasting slumber and claims her soul is lost in the crests of Axulran. What does that even mean?”

“Well, Varin,” Thaddius said with a smile, “it means her soul is lost in the crests of Axulran. I thought you might have better comprehension skills at your age.”

“An arse, you are. A wicked, cocky arse.”

“Have patience, Varin. We will make our final preparations and figure out this blessed twin situation when the time comes. For now, we help where we can and hope Cateline does not haunt us further.”

Thaddius turned his head dramatically, looking over his shoulder to make sure nothing else happened as a consequence of his jab. Letting out a huff, he nodded confidently and kept on his way.

“Right, a haunting is just the thing we need,” Varin said beneath his breath and parted from Thaddius. He walked up the western wing stairwell, trailing his fingers against the stone. Without hesitation, he made his way into the room and stood over Cateline.

He often feared that he would walk up here and no longer see that electric, golden ribbon bouncing around her pale skin. That was the only thing reminding him that she was alive and well.

I do not know how this is well in any regard, Varin said to himself. She was more like a porcelain doll at this point, rather than a living, breathing human.

As he always did, he adjusted her blanket and sighed. “Cateline, you gave our friend a fright in the armory. That was you, right?”

Silence.

Sighing, he kneeled and picked a few pieces of fuzz from the cover and pursed his lips. “You came to the woods, too. And the tavern. You’re just as prevalent as you were when you were upright, it seems. You were eavesdropping on me and that woman, Adeline, were you not?”

Silence.

Chuckling to himself, he looked over her once more and stood back to his feet. He felt like a fool, coming up here to say a few passing glances and idle mumblings. She would be in the same state she had been the past few days, an endless and idle figure that would remain until Varin traveled and tied up the loose, frayed strings.

Or, so Leolina claimed.

After that vision in the woods, Varin was not so sure. Sadly, he could do nothing but wait until he arrived in Axulran.

“Your homeland is icy, or so I’ve heard. Mine is, too, it should comfort me. I haven’t seen snowfall in ages.”

Her chest rose and fell just enough, the ribbon of energy dancing around her skin a tad more sporadically than it had before. Varin watched in amazement, his lips parting just slightly and his breath hitching in his throat.

Varin didn’t know a thing about this energy, only that it reacted viscerally to any touch that came to the Princess, and either kept her alive or kept her asleep. That, specifically, he did not want to find out in the wrong way.

“What does that mean?” Varin asked, mostly to himself--or, entirely to himself if he considered Cateline a ghost as opposed to a bystander. “Excitement? Terror? Nothing?”

Just as quickly as it sped up, it slowed. Sighing, he nodded and made way to the exit. “I suppose it is the latter.”

Although he didn’t turn--for he worried his senses were slipping him--he felt the most idle breeze pick up in the room. It took every ounce of self control not to turn. Nearly giving way, hesitated at the base of the landing, clenching his fists before tittering, sluggishly walking down the steps. He had to rest, regardless of his anxieties. Tomorrow, he had to train Senevia.

───── ❝ 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝖊𝖓𝖛𝖞 & 𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 ❞ ─────

“You have the footing of a one-hooved satyr,” Varin said with a sigh.

“Oi,” a grunt of a voice chimed in. Turning over his shoulder, he smiled as Thaddius walked up with a piece of bread in his mouth. “That is an insult to all satyr’s, one-hooved or not.”

Returning his attention to Senevia, he watched as she stood, blindfolded with a dull, sparring sword in her hand. It was entirely wooden, the grip wrapped with leather and fraying at the seam. She wobbled in place despite her still stature, a telltale he was right. She wasn’t ready, and as a result, she was unconfident. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon to their east, golden rays crawling across the saplings trees and providing a natural shade for them to practice in.

“A one-hooved satyr would roar at the sight of me, Lord Varin!” Senevia cheered with a smile, taking a few steps in the general direction of that sparring dummy. She reached her hand back to swing, missing the hay covered burlap sack by a good arm's length.

“Roaring in their grave when they see this technique, Senevia. Remember what I just told you.”

After a defeated sigh, Senevia stood with her feet arm's length apart, bent at the kneecaps and her sword angled downward. Varin pursed his lips, shaking his head. Her shoulders were hunched over, head cocked to the side.

“In the face of battle, you must appear larger than life, child. What do you think if you came head-to-head with an ogre in the mountaintops surrounding Traburg, hmm? Think he would tremble, cower, and plea for his life?”

“Undoubtedly so!”

“Perhaps, but you have a few things to fix.” Varin reached for the sword at the tip, tilting it upward so it was in a batter neutral position. “Straighten your shoulders, and lift your chin. These three things will exude confidence, even the largest of foes would mistake you as a professional warrior.”

“Largest of foes? Even dragons?”

Varin smiled. “Even dragons. Bring your right hand up, holding the sword at an angle now…”

Senevia carefully followed his instruction, following his guiding hand as he held her arm at the elbow. He nodded, mumbling a correction under his breath before taking a step back.

“Senevia, do you know what this stance is called?”

“‘Fraid not, Lord Varin.”

“It is called an Ochs. This is a defensive stance. I want you to maintain this position, and listen.”

The air grew silent, the only noise a distant smack as Thaddius’s last few crumbs of bread were swallowed. Her grip on the weapon was shaky, but with her posture straightened and chin upright, he had no doubt she would hit the target this time. This is why he had her vision obscured, it forced her to focus on her footwork as she went towards her foes. Varin knew all too well what a foe in the evening could do when preemptively attacked.

Cringing at the memory, he closed his eyes just for a moment and let out a shaky breath. “Have you listened, Senevia?”

“Yes.”

“What is it you hear, then?”

Varin cycled her to eye the other side of her footing, nodding in approval. Her bottom lip puckered out in focus as her nostrils flared just slightly; she was dedicated, no doubt, but he wondered why she wanted to learn to fight in the first place. Although, the life of an orphan ought to be scary. He would be a fool to say he was surprised by her sudden interest.

“I smell… raspberries? Yes, raspberries and lilac blossoms.”

Turning to his right, he looked at a lavender bush and shrugged his shoulders. “Interesting nose you have there. Go on. What about the ground, the wind, and the sun?”

“The ground is…” she mumbled, digging her feet into the grass carefully, “...moist, slick after the rain we had in the dead of night. And, the wind?”

“The wind, yes. Pay attention where it is pushing, or pulling, you to.”

“Why does that matter, Lord Varin?”

Sighing, he looked over at the horizon. “If you ever were to face battle in the wastelands outside of Traburg, you may be cursed with the elements. Rain, fire, fog… they all inhibit you. It can push you down a hill, it can burn you alive, and it can drown you. So, that said, tell me where the wind is.”

She stood still for a moment, humming before shrugging. “From… there?” she said and nudged her head toward the horizon. Varin nodded.

“That is the east, Senevia.”

“Alright… from the east.”

“Perfect. To help you, the sun always rises in the east, and sets in the west. The stars can guide you in the night, but that is for another lesson. Now, the last question before I want you to strike. I told you the direction the sun has risen, correct?”

“Correct, Lord Varin.”

“Then, with this, I want you to find that dummy we set up for you. What direction was it in before we blinded you?”

Senevia hunched her shoulders, quickly correcting it when Varin made a disapproving sound. “To the… left?”

“Good. Paying mind to the elements, the ground, and the placement of the sun, go and attack the dummy.”

She shuffled a little before standing still, the wind blowing strands of her dirty blonde hair from its updo. She began to take a step but hesitated. Varin corrected her footwork and reminded her to pay mind to her level of confidence. If an enemy saw her hesitate, they would be a fool not to strike.

Senevia did as he instructed, leaning forward ever so slightly before taking three long strides. Her footwork was still off, and she looked as awkward as ever, but she was confident. That was the biggest battle, the rest could be changed with practice. Varin was pleased.

As she drew her sword back, she swung at the dummy and hit it in the side. Jumping out of her skin, she lifted one side of the blindfold up and cheered, dropping the sword to the ground. “Oh, did I do it? I did it!”

“You did it, Senevia!”

Thaddius clapped melodramatically in the background, standing from his table and approached them. “As awkward as a chicken, you are, but that will be fixed with time. You’ve got the spirit of any warrior I’ve seen.”

Looking over at the Satyr, Senevia’s eyes grew wide as she spotted his hairy legs and hooves. Blinking, she cleared her throat and nodded. Thaddius seemed unphased, he was used to people gawking--after all, satyr’s were all but plentiful. Their race was dying out due to wastelanders hunting them in their villages for sport. That was why Thaddius came to Traburg in the first place, his family was pillaged and murdered while he was away.

Varin had no idea how he remained so positive, but he did. It was something he envied. Sometimes, when he would think back to the way his father died, he would get so enraged he could set his room ablaze. A thief in the night came, assassinating his father once he awoke. The screams of his mother when she found him still made him shudder.

“Right,” Varin said quietly and tore himself from that reverie, “I think that is enough for today, Senevia.”

“Does that mean there will be another lesson?” she asked with a smile, holding her hands in front of her waist.

Weakly smiling, he sighed and kneeled in front of the girl to untie the blindfold. “Senevia, I must tell you. I am leaving soon.”

Her face dropped. “Leaving?”

“Right. I have to go on a trip, you see, to a nearby kingdom that can help me.”

“When will you be gone?”

“Not so sure. Perhaps a week? Soon, no doubt.”

“A week? Lord Varin, that is not fair!”

Her big, blue eyes began to water and her bottom lip poked out in a pout. His heart fell to his stomach, cocking his head at her. “It is only temporary, Senevia. But I do not think I can train you before I depart.”

Sniffling, she nodded and lowered her gaze to the ground. “Of course, Lord Varin. I apologize,” she said before turning toward the academy. “Thank you for training me today.”

And, with that, the little girl ran away into Lighthelm with teary eyes. Standing, Varin looked over at Thaddius with a furrowed brow. He could only wonder what was going on in her head, and although he had a few ideas, he decided it was best to leave her be.

“Children,” Thaddius said under his breath, “are strange things.”

“What is the time?” Varin grumbled and looked to the horizon, the sun now hanging overhead in the sky completely, “I already need a drink.”