Varin stood over his bed, folding the last tunic he had in his wardrobe, and tucked it away in his bag for the voyage. The headmistress and her beloved Jaspar had been throwing new things at him every day in preparation for travel, but he somehow felt ill-prepared.

To be fair, the information he knew was vague at best. Upon his arrival in two days, there would be a man dressed in a black cloak, with shadows under his eyes and glowing embers for irises. He would speak in tongues and lead Varin to the castle, where he would confront Cateline’s family and rid her of her impurities.

If only it was that easy. Ominous men in black cloaks would be the least strange thing he would have witnessed in months—however, there would be a man that was supposed to meet them at the port and introduce them to their quarters. From there, he hadn’t the slightest clue what would happen next. Hopefully something easy, but life was but a punch in the gut as of late.

Turning his head, he eyed the piece of parchment he found in the burned tavern days prior. Lifting it to the flickering light from the candelabra, he opened the seal and sighed shakily. He wondered what that void was like, the empty place Cateline described in this letter. Her soul was lost, and he had the audacity to frolic around the forest with a pretty maiden and drown his sorrows in mead. He still adored Adeline and appreciated the distractions she served, but his gut wrenched at the idea of prolonging Cateline’s slumber.

Eyes shifting to the flame, he edged the corner of this letter to it and watched as it began to burn. First, it charred and hissed, then grew orange and red with embers that danced to life. The page began to eat away, dark soot falling at the base of the candelabra.

It consumed him, the idea of burning away like that. Just as the embers were about to touch the bittersweet introduction of this letter, his name was called from outside the door. Sighing, he wafted the paper and blew the flame out clumsily, folding it back up once it was extinguished and opening the door before they could knock.

Standing at the door, his hand in the air ready to bang on his door was Thaddius with a scowl on his face and chest that heaved with each breath.

“What is the matter? You look like you have just run up Mount Vernius.”

“More like descended into a spiraling stairway to the underworld. The headmistress introduced me to our friend.”

“Friend?”

“Aiora.”

“What—”

“Her doppelganger, that is. The crafty wench, that thing down there talks, breathes, and walks like her. It feels wrong!” Thaddius exclaimed, lowering his hand to his side but kept it balled into a fist.

“And you are surprised because?” Varin sighed, returning to his bag to tie it closed. “She warned us. Aiora the second would be our most well-acquainted guest during our voyage.”

“I don’t know why. Why can it not be the two of us?”

“Who knows, Thaddius, perhaps a damsel in distress would deter curious eyes. Gives us reason to be traveling to another kingdom so randomly.”

“People travel all the time, Varin. Leolina also requests your presence so you can grow accustomed to ‘Aiora the second’ as well.”

Varin chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded curtly. “I’ll be there shortly. I have a few things to finish collecting first.”

“So be it.”

And with that, Thaddius exited his doorway with his cheeks still as red and ripe as a tomato. It was rare to see him so disgruntled, but Varin understood. Aiora vanished out of thin air—on her own accord, apparently—and the two of them were expected to act like this doppelganger was normal. One of the most powerful creations dark magic could conjure, and they were to simply just smile and wave.

Ridiculous.

───── ❝ 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝖊𝖓𝖛𝖞 & 𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 ❞ ─────

There she stood. Like a beacon of hope, radiating all this energy and brought him back to the recollections of when Lighthelm was a place to find knowledge and experience joy. Aiora was right there, with lifeless eyes and a numb expression.

“Varin,” the headmistress said quietly, “I am sure you have questions.”

“None at all.”

It was a lie, but he was too drained to care more about the subject.

“Fair enough, then. Would you mind sitting and sharing a drink with me, then?”

Varin shrugged his shoulders and took a seat, pinching the fabric of his pants between his thumb and forefinger. She grabbed a glass of two goblins off of her shelf, ones accented in silver and gold, leaves falling around the stem. She set it before him, filling it with wine before serving herself.

“I must ask you, Varin,” she said, “you have put more effort toward solving Cateline’s mystery than Aiora’s.”

He pursed his lips and watched the liquid sway as he picked it up. “That is a statement, not an inquiry.”

With a sigh, she leaned back into her chair. “Alright, then my question is why? Why go to such lengths for Cateline and only ask questions when it comes to Aiora?”

“Perhaps it is because I am more confident in Aiora’s ability to survive on her own.”

She hummed, drawing the liquid to her lips and taking a careful sip. “And Cateline? Is she not capable?”

Varin sat on this question, taking a swig before setting it back on the table. All he could bring himself to do was shake his head, turning his head to the fireplace. The wooden logs crackled beneath the flames, illuminating that side of the room as the moon peeked through the stained glass windows.

“I have a request, Varin.”

“You have many.”

Varin watched Leolina curl her fingers into her palms, pinching the skin before she nodded in his direction. Aiora’s doppelganger still stood behind him, unmoving and emotionless. It was eerie, to say the least.

“I ask that you bring me some information about her family upon your return. The things that will bring her back lie solely in her family name, so while you are there, I ask you to find something for me.”

“Find something?”

“A document.”

“Can you be vaguer, please?” Varin retorted, setting the cup down and stood to move by the fire.

“A record of execution. It should be simple enough to find, given you use the wits I know you have.”

Varin’s nostrils flared, reaching his hand to warm himself before nodding. “What choice do I have, headmistress. I am at your beck and call, after all.”

And with that, he turned on his side and exited the room. He cared little about the doppelganger, and all too much about this silly request. The audacity of that woman to request a record of execution while he sought to awaken a Princess over some distraught family quarrel he knew nothing of. At this rate, he would be in Axulran collecting this information for the next decade.

Climbing the stairs to the western wing, he collapsed to his knees beside Cateline and stared. He watched that golden aura dance around her skin, a sad smile stretching across his lips as he reached up to drag his finger across her arm. The layer of magic that protected her felt like a bolt of electricity, but he ignored it and kept his finger where it was.

“Cateline, I need your help,” he whispered. “I need you to help me once I arrive in Axulran. Can you do that for me?”

Silence. He laid down on his back, the stone-cold and rough against his skin. This chilly feeling eased him, and only then did he wonder if he would be content perishing in Axulran—a land rumored to be solely made of snow.

Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh and said goodnight to Cateline, falling to sleep right there on that stone floor. His last night spent in Lighthelm would be uncomfortable, but nothing would ever outweigh the discomfort of trying to save his closest friend and hopeless Princess all at the same time.