Two months had passed since Alan started working at the blacksmith, and this was his second payday. Alan had scraped together what he had saved up from his allowance, and counting the payment from his work now had a fortune of ten silver pieces.

It wasn’t a lot.

He took five of them with him, and headed towards the Crow residence.

Sara opened the door with a suspicious frown, which turned into a tired but welcoming smile when she saw Alan outside.

“Hello Alan, I’m afraid Marissa is at a friend’s house at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll be back before nightfall, if there’s something urgent.” Sara said, with a small sigh at the end.

Alan studied her for a moment, noticing signs of exhaustion in her attempt at keeping up her smile.

“I actually wanted to speak with you,” he answered, “can I come in?”

Sara was taken by surprise, going by her lack of reaction for a short while, but she hesitantly stepped aside and let Alan in. “Of course, come in,” she said, sounding somewhat confused.

After settling down in the living room, and accepting Sara’s offer of some hot water, Alan took in the state of his surroundings. He hadn’t been inside the Crow residence often, but his gut reaction was that it used to be tidier, and cleaner. He kept his observations to himself, but Sara apparently noticed as she brought the cup in from the kitchen.

“I’m terribly sorry for the current state of the house. I’ve been meaning to clean and tidy, but I've just not had the time lately. There’s just so much work to get through at the Threads, so I’ve had to work extra lately.” Sara apologized, looking timid. Alan thought he could feel a slight tremble in her hands as he accepted the cup from her too, though she quickly schooled her expression as she sat down opposite him.

“Now, I don’t think you came here just to inspect our current living conditions,” Sara said light heartedly, “was there something you needed?” There was warmth in her smile now, Alan noted, which felt a lot better than the timidness earlier.

“I was just wondering how you are holding up lately,” Alan began, unsure of how to proceed. “I know it can’t have been easy on you these last few months, and I just wanted to make sure you’re both okay.” Alan answered cautiously.

Several emotions seemed to cross Sara’s face as she pondered an answer, before settling on an amicable smile.

“We’re managing, considering the circumstances, thank you for your concern.” She answered, hesitating slightly before continuing. “It’s been… different lately,” Sara admitted, seemingly having decided to open up a tad. “Without Benjamin, it’s… all so quiet now. We were a small family before, and now it's just Marissa and me…”

A sadness crossed Sara’s face, and she didn't continue, choosing instead to focus on her warm drink.

“How are you doing.. financially?” Alan finally managed to ask, feeling like the question was intruding in private matters.

A forced smile accompanied Sara’s measured response. “We will manage, dear, you shouldn’t worry about such things at your age.”

“I am worrying, though,” Alan responded, feeling horrible for the somewhat harsh approach. He considered airing his suspicions about how much income had been lost with the arrest, but decided instead on another approach. “I’d like to help out a bit, if you’d accept it of course. I’ve gotten a job, and though the salary is pitiful, I got it so that I could contribute a bit to your finances.” As a repayment for helping create this mess, Alan left unsaid.

Sara’s face contorted in a mix of emotions, clearly not anticipating the new course of the conversation. “We’ll be fine, Alan. You spend your hard earned money on something for yourself, don’t worry about us,” Sara responded in an unsure and cautious way. “We’ll find a way,” her voice barely a whisper at the end.

Alan desperately searched for a way to change the outcome of the conversation. “What about just a small gift for Marissa, there must surely be something she needs that I can help out with?” Alan asked.

“We’ll be fine, sweety.” Sara responded, a hardness appearing in her voice. “Go home now, Alan, and don’t worry about us grown ups.” Finishing her sentence, Sara raised from her chair, indicating Alan should do the same.

“Please, there must be something I ca-” Alan began in a final attempt, but Sara cuts him off mid sentence. “We’ll be fine, Alan. Go home.”

There was no room for negotiation in her voice, and Alan despondently raised himself from his chair, and walked towards the exit.

Following the disastrous attempt at giving his salary to Sara to somewhat abate the problem he helped create, Alan briefly considered trying to convince Marissa to take the money. The notion, however, struck him as too close to dishonesty and going behind Sara’s back, that he abandoned it.

The resulting feeling of helplessness soured his mood for the next few days, and idle thoughts on the subject of the Crow family often distracted him from his work, especially at the smithy, where he usually had occupied arms and a wandering mind.

“Enough, kid, enough! You seem distracted today, something on your mind?” Asked Brandon, as he was heating up what was soon to become a blade in the forge, while Alan was working the bellows, and apparently overdoing it.

Alan stopped pumping the bellows, taking a break and a breather. “I’m just stuck in a difficult situation, and can’t find a way out,” Alan admitted.

It was very warm next to the forge, and working the bellows didn’t exactly cool him down, so Alan had taken to controlling his temperature with magic while working, which was helping a lot. Even so, cold refreshing water was still necessary, and he drank deeply from a waterskin nearby.

“Aye, that happens to everyone once in a while.” Brandon answered, while checking the color of the iron he was working on. Seemingly satisfied with the temperature of the iron, he removed it from the forge and took it to the anvil. “Bring me the hammer, will you?”

Alan quickly finished his drink, and grabbed the hammer from among the tools at a nearby bench. On his way to Brandon, however, Alan stumbled slightly, and while raising his arms to regain balance, the hammer fell out of his grip. Both Alan and Brandon followed the trajectory as the hammer fell as if in slow motion, before finally landing between the red glowing coals of the forge.

“Aw bugger me,” Brandon starts, quickly placing down the iron he’s working with on the anvil, before turning to the forge again. “I’ll get i-- NO, KID, STOP!”

Alan was closer to the forge, and knowing how important and expensive blacksmithing tools were, reacted almost on instinct. As Brandon put down his iron piece, Alan quickly went over to the forge and stuck his hand in between the coals to get the hammer, being careful to regulate the temperature on his skin. As his fingers closed around the grip, strong arms closed around his midriff, and lifted him up and away from the forge.

“ARE YOU BLOODY MAD, LAD?!?” Brandon shouted while quickly moving Alan to the closest source of water. Without looking at the damaged hand, Brandon pushed it down into the cold water cask.

“What in the bloody hells were you thinking, kid??” Brandon asked furiously, glaring at Alan. “You’ll be damned lucky if you get to keep that arm now!”

“I’m fine, Brandon, I really am!” Alan finally managed to say, still somewhat shocked by the quick reaction of the blacksmith. Alan tried to retract his arm, but Brandon held it still.

“Bollocks! Keep your arm in the bloody water!.” Brandon delivered Alan a fierce glare, daring him to retort.

“Trust me, I’m fine! Actually, you don’t even have to trust me, I can show you.” Alan pushed Brandon away, finally getting freedom for his right hand, and took it out of the water cask.

There was no sign of any burn damage, only soot and unblemished skin. Alan quickly rinsed of the soot to show that everything was well. Brandon sat down right next to the cask, stupefied and speechless.

“I’m training to become a fire mage, Brandon. I know how to protect myself from heat.” Alan sat down as well, gauging Brandon’s reaction to the revelation, and feeling guilty for not having informed him earlier.

“Heh.. hehehe. HAHAHAHA!” Brandon’s deep and powerful laughter reverberated through the building. “Oh, seven hells, you got me good there, kid! I thought I was done for! Off to the execution block for injuring a noble. Oh, gods, I thought I was done for indeed.” His laughter faded away to a tired silence, as he leaned back into the wall and breathed out heavily.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I didn’t really think it necessary.” Alan said, prompted by the silence.

“It’s okay, kid.” Brandon answered after a while. “I get it, family secrets and all. But still, now that I know, we could put that heat protection to good use, you know? Ain’t never met a blacksmith that didn’t wish he was immune to heat.”

“I guess? I’m not really training to become a blacksmith, though...” Alan answered thoughtfully, not really understanding which part of the work would be all that much simpler. Although, he might have an idea about something he could do.

“I wanna try something,” Alan said, getting back up on his feet. Brandon soon followed, curious.

Alan went to the iron Brandon had been working on, still lying on the anvil, but now cooled off slightly. He picked it up with the tongs, and put it back in the forge. “What color are we looking for to see that the temperature is right?” Alan asked.

“At this stage, you want about a bright orange color, but usually you wanna hold it in a bit longer, since it cools down in the air while you work it, so you could go for the beginning of yellow.” Brandon instructed.

Alan used his mana on the metal in the same way that he used it on his skin, to get a feel for the temperature changing. His best description of the sensation was like touching a working engine, and feeling the vibrations change as it turned faster or slower. He could keep his body temperature at a constant by deciding on a given frequency, which he had worked hard to identify correctly at all times. Now he was looking for the frequency at which the iron was the correct temperature to be worked to the right shape by a hammer. He also used his mana to help increase the temperature, mostly as an exercise, but the main contribution to the heating was still the forge.

“There, that’s the color,” Brandon said once the color was a deep orange. “Now keep it in for a little while longer.”

Alan took note of the vibration frequency at the right temperature, and took the iron out immediately. He started supplying all the mana needed to keep the temperature correct, while the air around the metal was trying to cool it down.

“Now, you took it out too early, so if you look closely, the color will start changing back to red now.” Brandon said, easily falling into the mentor role.

“Aaaany minute now…” Brandon said after a short while longer.

“...” The blacksmith stared intensely on the metal, as if willing it to follow his instructions.

Alan kept up the mana flow, though the metal needed a surprisingly large amount, and he knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Are you doing something to the metal?” Brandon finally asked, just before Alan gave in and stopped supplying the metal with mana. It immediately started cooling.

“You did something, didn’t you?” Brandon asked, now quite convinced, seeing as Alan was gulping air and put down the still glowing piece of metal soon to become a sword.

Alan calmed down for a few more seconds, feeling the familiar headache appear as a result of the heavy mana drain. “Yes, I did.” He finally admitted.

“I can, to a certain extent, control the temperature of the object close to me.” He took a deep breath, before he continued. “But as you can see, I’m still quite new to this, and it will take me a good while before I can keep it up for any length of time.”

“That’s… amazing! Brilliant!” Brandon put on his widest smile, and excitement showed clearly in his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t wanna be a blacksmith, kid? The things you could do with perfect temperature control, I tell you, would be beyond any other smith in this city!”

Brandon fell silent, his gaze distant, and his smile still plastered on. Clearly imagining all the possibilities. Alan let the silence reign for a while, before finally answering.

“I have aspirations for the mage academy, so I’ll have to disappoint you there, sadly. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have enjoyed working as a smith, or that I in any way look down on your profession.” Alan hastily added, not wanting to be seen as prideful or disdainful.

“Don’t worry, lad, I understand.” Brandon said quickly. “Tell you what, though. If you help me control the temperature of the pieces I’m working on, I’ll double your salary. You don’t even have to do it all the time, just as much as you can manage, and it’ll help you train magic to boot, right? What do you say?” An expectant and hopeful expression adorned the blacksmith’s face.

“Sure, I’ll do it. I think it’s perfect practice anyway.” Alan answered. Now that he’d had the idea, it seemed silly that he hadn’t tried earlier.

“Great, let’s get started, kid!”

The following months showed a steady decline in Alan’s grades at school, enough for his parents to show concern. The curriculum had mostly moved away from anything Alan found interesting, in favor of specific history for the many noble houses of Alamar.

Again, Alan understood that this in theory could be very beneficial for anyone planning on joining the higher circles of society, though he suspected a lot of the knowledge needed to understand and successfully navigate the political landscape was more difficult to acquire.

Other courses elaborated on military doctrine and history, which Alan recognized could be important considering the current diplomatic mission the King had ventured on. It still failed to capture his attention, as his mind quickly drifted away from his current environment.

His work at the smithy had continued more or less as he expected. Brandon had been able to improve the quality of the arms he was producing, though the change wasn’t easily quantifiable to buyers, and thus didn’t much improve his sales or income in the short term. If he could prove significant quality improvements in the long run, it would most likely increase his orders tenfold, but this wasn’t a viable strategy considering the whole process was on borrowed time, stopping when Alan entered the mage academy at the latest. Thus they had taken to experiment with different temperatures in the creation process, trying to find improved processes for forging weapons.

Catherine and Marissa had grown closer in the months following the arrest of Marissa’s father. Alan rarely saw the two of them separated anymore, as Marissa lately had invited Catherine to join their usual Sunday magical practice in the Rosewoods as well. Alan was very happy with this, considering what he suspected to be a deteriorating economical situation at the Crow residence. The Storm family would never lack for funds, so should Marissa need anything at all, Alan expected Catherine to find a good excuse to give it to her, one way or another.

Alan had made a point of visiting Sara at least once a week since his first attempt at helping out economically, though he had been very careful about broaching the topic again. On the few occasions that he tried, Sara had gently rebuffed him, stating that she would find a way forward on her own. The fact that Marissa hadn’t been around at any of the visits, hinted to the fact that she spent very little time at home anymore.

Alan couldn’t blame Marissa for this, as he expected her movements had been closely monitored while Benjamin ruled the house, and that she was now thoroughly enjoying her newfound freedom. It was still tough seeing how the loneliness got to Sara. It was most visible through smaller details, like her diminishing eating habits, which was beginning to affect her figure, and her smiles growing fewer and further between.

Naida, at Alan’s prompting, had invited Sara over for dinner on several occasions, but the events seemed to be reminding Sara more about what she had lost rather than the fact that she had friends that cared for her, and she soon stopped accepting the invitations.

Alan was again on his way to the Crow residence, carrying an apple pie his mother had made while he was at his magical practice with Aquillus.

As he rounded the last corner and spotted the house, he noticed a small procession clad in white robes leaving the house he was heading to. It looked to him like priests, but it was hard to judge at a distance. The only explanation he could come up with for the priests to visit was Sara’s or Marissa’s health, so he hurried through the last stretch to make sure they were okay.

Sara opened the door after a few knocks, looking slightly better than normal, to Alan’s relief, and she quickly told him that Marissa was fine as well.

“I don’t really have time for visitors now, Alan, but I do have some good news I can share with you,” Sara continued, with an enthusiasm Alan hadn’t seen in her in a long time. “I’ve finally found my way forward!” Sara’s smile was infectious, and Alan found it greatly improved his mood as well.

“Marissa and I will be moving away from this lavish villa into a more humble abode, but I think it will be good for us in the long term. We need a change in our lifestyle, both economically and spiritually, and I think this opportunity I’ve found is the perfect solution for us.” Sara had a somewhat distant gaze at the end of her sentence, seemingly looking forward to a change of pace.

“That’s good, I think,” Alan answered, somewhat uncertain about what was happening. “Where are you moving, if I may ask?”

“The Church is taking us in, to live under their protection and at their expense, in exchange for participating in some sermons and doing some simple tasks now and then.” Sara answered, dreamily. “I’ll have to prepare for moving!” Sara suddenly exclaimed, dragging herself out of the haze. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for visitors now! Thank you for looking after me through this hard time though, and be happy to know that you helped me make this decision by having faith in me. Goodbye for now, Alan.” Sara said as she firmly closed the door in Alan’s face, not acknowledging the pie he held in his hands.

Alan stood still for a while, trying to process the information. His gut reaction to anything involving the church was usually a negative and unwelcome feeling of something being wrong, but he had to remind himself that they really did help people in need at least with healing, as he himself had already experienced. This might just be another, similarly selfless side of the church looking to help people in need.

Something still felt off though, and Alan couldn’t shake that feeling as he went home, pie in tow.

The following Sunday meant magical practice with Marissa and Catherine, and Alan walked out to their usual spot in the Rosewoods, expecting the two of them to show up after a while, as they usually came together nowadays, and tended to be late rather than early.

Finding their little clearing empty as expected, Alan took out his metal pieces and started working on his own practice. He had devised a training method where he was multitasking, both keeping a fire lit above his left hand, while he kept a current running through the metal pieces at the same time. When he felt he had a steady control of both actions, he held his right hand in the fire created over the left, and regulated his temperature so that he wouldn’t get burned. The exercise forced him to do a lot of things at the same time, but he had grown increasingly proficient at it, and his practice from the blacksmith had also helped immensely for his mana pool and regeneration, meaning he could continue the exercise for almost an hour now before needing to rest.

Catherine and Marissa showed up about the same time that Alan took his first break. “..but what did you answer him?” Marissa just finished asking Catherine as they entered the clearing.

“I said I’d consider it if he got me blue rosenthal flowers next.” Catherine answered, with a sly smile.

“But there are no- Oh, you’re so mean!” Marissa answered, giggling in delight.

“Good morning, Alan,” Marissa turned to Alan with a beaming smile, “how is your practice going?”

Good day to you too, girls,” Alan answered, “it’s a bit late for good morning now. My practice is progressing well, I think.”

“Good for you,” Catherine stated, sitting down on her favorite spot, making room Marissa next to her.

“We brought sweet rolls, you want one?” Marissa exclaimed, unpacking three sweet looking pastries, and handing one to Alan when he enthusiastically nodded and stretched his arm out to accept one.

“Thank you so much, these are amazing. I still don’t understand how you always manage to acquire these when the bakery’s barely open on Sundays.” Alan spoke in between the bites.

“Oh, you still don’t know?” Catherine said with a shrewd smile. “Her secret is that she-mnmonm-” “Shush you, my secret!” Marissa cut her off, by forcing a piece of her pastry into her mouth, giggling all the while. Catherine pretended to fight back for a short while, until she gave up and started eating instead, her entire attitude radiating happiness.

Alan leaned back and relaxed against his tree, managing to completely forget his worries for a while. He wasn’t sure how things would progress from there on, but he didn’t need to know at that moment either, and he let the peace and happiness from the girls settle him into a calm state of mind. It very much reminded him of all the times his own daughter had friends over, but the memory didn’t sadden him with loss right then, only fill him with nostalgic happiness.

As Alan started practicing again, he gently reminded Marissa and Catherine why they had gathered, and they too, soon began their own practice. And it lasted about as long as it usually did.

“Hey, don’t get so close, you’re interfering with my practice!”

“Oh, am I so distracting to you that you’re losing control of your mana when I’m nearby?”

“You know that’s not- No, stay away foul creature!”

“Oooh, that looks like a comfortable resting spot, I think I’ll just lie down here for a bit.”

“Hey, my lap is off limits while we’re practicing, Cat!”

“Miaooo?”

As Catherine and Marissa happily bickered back and forth, Alan couldn’t stop a wide smile from showing, but did his best to concentrate on his own practice. His fine control usually varied slightly from day to day, and he figured it was tied to how awake and rested he was feeling. His control would usually erode slightly over the course of a few hours practicing, which he contributed to fatigue. Other days, he would be distracted by his own mind bringing up memories from the past, which also affected how well he could keep in control of his mana. He concluded that his mental health had an equally large impact on his mana control as his physical health, meaning he had to look after both. And there was nothing better for his mental health than these practice sessions, surrounded by giggling and laughter, and sweet rolls to boot.

The following Monday found a tired Alan sitting in the back row of the class. He admitted to himself that he might have overdone it with practice the day before, spending both a long time in the clearing with Marissa and Catherine, and practicing further on his own with the railgun prototype afterwards. He definitely hit his limits of mana capacity, and thus still nursed a slight headache from the drain. It kinda feels like a hangover, Alan mused.

Class had begun a while ago, but Alan had yet to see signs of either Catherine or Marissa, and other students had noticed they were missing as well.

When they both failed to show up for the rest of the day, Alan started worrying. Did this have something to do with Sara’s plan to move? He would have liked to investigate, but had to go to work soon after school, so there was little time for him to look into it.

Alan went by the Crow residence on his way home from the smithy at the end of the day, but found it empty. It seemed likely that Sara and Marissa had moved during the day, and that Catherine had helped, so Alan went home, expecting to see his friends at school the following day.

They didn’t show up to school the day after. Alan decided halfway into his first lecture that he didn’t care much about the Lancaster legacy or history, and abruptly left in favor of looking for his friends, to his lecturer’s annoyance.

But where to start looking? The city was too large, with too many churches of all sizes, to start guessing which one Sara had decided to move to.

Alan started at the Crow residence, but found it just as empty as the previous night. From there, he went to the closest church, which was relatively small but richly decorated, meant for easy access for the nobles in the district. They had not heard anything about Sara Crow, nor would they say where the Church usually let people stay that needed shelter, as this was apparently held back from the public, in fear of people seeking revenge against anyone sheltered.

Alan next headed towards the Storm mansion, hoping that he’d find Catherine, or at least information about where she was from Heath.

“Ah, yes, she is here. It is good that you came, the young Lady has barricaded herself in her room, refusing to come out, or even eat.” The butler stated upon Alan’s questioning upon arrival at the mansion. “With Lord Storm away on the mission, there’s no one I can turn to for help in matters like this. I’m afraid that I’m not very good at comforting, so I hope you can succeed where I have not. This way please.”

Alan followed Heath through several corridors, worrying about what had happened. As they stopped outside a set of double doors, Heath knocked politely, then announced Alan's presence through the closed door. “Your friend Alexander Moltus is here to see you, my Lady.”

“Go away!” A tired feminine voice pierced the thick wooden doors.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the butler said with a nod, then turned around and left Alan standing outside the door.

“What happened?” Alan asked, concerned.

“... won’t let me see her..” Alan barely heard through the door, straining to listen.

“Who won’t let you see her? Please let me in, Catherine, I can’t hear you out here.” Alan asked.

After a few worried moments, the door slowly opened before him. Catherine was standing in front of him, with wild hair and puffy, red eyes.

“Don’t you dare comment on my appearance.” She said, tiredly, straining her voice to sound angry, but her posture soon fell apart, and she withdrew to her bed.

Alan followed her in, finding a chair to sit on, before turning back to his questions.

“What happened, Catherine?” Alan asked carefully.

Catherine sat quiet for a while, looking down on her hands, before answering. “Sara, that… that... hag, sold Marissa to the Church.” She eventually said.

“...She did what??”

“She sold Marissa, so that she could live out her days sheltered by the Church.” Catherine stopped to breathe now and then, clearly working hard to restrain herself.

“But… that doesn’t.. Does the Church practice slavery??”

“Ughhh… sometimes you’re just so…” Catherine took a deep breath, before continuing. “Sara applied for Marissa to become an acolyte. A priest in training, if you will. In exchange, Sara gets to live in one of their shelters for the rest of her miserable, lonely, sad and pitiful excuse of a life.”

“I don’t understand.. Why do they value priests so much? How is this stopping you from seeing Marissa? Does she not get a say in this? And why are you so angry at Sara, when you know exactly what she went through?” There were a lot more questions Alan wanted to ask about the Church, but he had to restrain his curiosity for the moment.

“They value priests because they need a modicum of magical talent, and most magical talents are picked up by the mage academy, or end up as knights. Additionally, the Church claims that becoming a priest is an incredibly difficult endeavour, and thus they require that the acolyte invests so much time in training and prayer, that they basically have to give the Church complete control of their lives until they become ordained as priests. As if that wasn’t enough, they require everyone in their service to follow the scriptures in every aspect of their lives, which in practice means they’ve forbidden Marissa from seeing me as I am considered a bad influence on her life and training.” Catherine slid slowly down from the bed, ending up on the floor with her knees held tightly against her chest.

“But why do they think that you’d be a bad influence, and why does Marissa not get a say in this? And how do you know all this?”

“I know because I found them, of course.” Catherine almost whispered. “Sara probably made up some stupid reason why she thought I was bad influence on Marissa, because Marissa was spending time with me while Sara was alone at home, lonely and sad and a miserable wench.”

“Catherine, you are using an awful lot of female degrading terms for someone in a so-called crusade against the patriarchy. And you haven’t answered if Marissa gets a say in this or not yet.”

Catherine made herself even smaller, hiding behind a cascade of hair, her voice shaking as she answered. “..she has a choice. She has to choose this on her own too. But her stupid, backstabbing-” “Cat..” “--... mother, has convinced her that this is the right thing to do, and so she’ll do what her mother wants.”

“Ok, so to sum it up; Sara couldn’t manage their financial situation, and she refused help from her friends. She made a deal with the Church, in which Marissa would accept an acolyte position, training to become a priestess, and in exchange, the Church granted Sara permanent refuge, and we don’t know if she will also work for the Church as well, do we?”

“I don’t care if she works there or not…” Catherine answered, clearly caring little for Sara’s general circumstances.

“Tell me, Catherine, that you would refuse to help your father if he asked something similar of you, knowing that he’d been living a nightmare for most of your life, possibly only because of you.” Alan eventually said, feeling bad for putting Catherine on the spot, but believing it was necessary.

“I don’t… Yes, I’d help too, okay?” Catherine relented, and Alan pushed on.

“So, you’ll be separated for a few years, Marissa training to become a priestess, and you training to become a mage. I know it sounds horrible right now, but it’s not the end of the world.” Alan tried to be comforting.

“You don’t understand! It’s the Church! They hate people like me, and they’ll brainwash Marissa to hate me too!” Catherine finally said.

“They hate wood elves?” Alan asked, he just couldn’t resist.

“No, wha-- Yes, yes, they hate wood elves.” Catherine said, giving Alan a tired look, before burying her head between her knees again.

“You’re afraid that Marissa will hate you, because someone tells her to?” Alan asked, trying to convey his own trust in Marissa.

“Yes.. No, I don’t… I don’t know… I’m scared, okay? You don’t know how convincing they can be.” Catherine said, then continued in a weak voice, “..I do..”.

They sat in silence for a while after that, both in deep thoughts. Alan didn’t know much about Catherine’s history, and didn’t want to prod either. Not like she’d be likely to tell the truth if he asked anyways.

“Look, Catherine, you’re old enough to take the aptitude test and enter the mage academy now, right?” Alan asked eventually.

“I was waiting for Marissa, we were gonna do it together.” Catherine sullenly said.

“If you enter now, you’ll probably be just as busy as Marissa with your training, and a few years will pass you by faster than you thought possible. And after you’re a mage, and Marissa is a priestess, you’ll find your way back to each other.”

Catherine stayed silent, but didn’t refute him outright, which Alan took as a good sign.

“Can you trust in Marissa, and find your own way forward in the meantime?” Alan asked, hoping to create a goal and a drive in the confused teenager in front of him.

Catherine took a few seconds to get a hold of herself, but slowly stood up, with anger and ambition in her eyes. “I’m gonna become the greatest fucking mage in this kingdom. Let them try to claim that I'm a bad influence then!”

She looked at Alan with an almost manic expression. “If they still refuse to let me be with her then, I’ll burn every damned church to the ground.”

“That’s the spirit! Except with a bit fewer threats, I suppose, but you’ll work out the details as you go.”

“Ok, I know what I have to do now. Practice, practice, and more practice.” Catherine slowly regained her spirit, which Alan saw in both her stance and her eyes.

“Thank you for pulling me out of my self-pity, Alan. Now go home, I need to start practicing.”

Alan chuckled before answering, and started walking towards the doors. “Sure thing, Catherine. I’ll expect your name to be on everyone's lips when I enter the academy in two years time.”

“They won’t even dare to speak it out loud.” Catherine said ominously, as Alan left her room.

As Alan found his way out of the mansion, he was met by Heath at the entrance hall.

“You did well, young Master Moltus. I would like to thank you on behalf of Archmage Storm for helping in this delicate issue.” The head butler spoke, then proceeded to produce a small scroll from within his coat.

“As was promised, your reward for your help today.” He held out the short scroll, probably an introduction of sorts to the mysteries of lightning magic, if Alan guessed correctly.

“I don’t feel comfortable accepting rewards for help any friend would have given.” Alan answered honestly.

“Then consider it an investment on our part. It is in the interest of House Storm to strengthen its friends, and we officially consider you among them.” Heath kept a neutral expression throughout the exchange, only allowing a small smile at his last question; “Would you accept the scroll with this wording?”

Alan’s curiosity finally overcame his unease. “I will.” Alan extended his hand, accepting the scroll.

“Very good. I hope to see you again soon, though I hope your help will not be needed again.” With that, Heath held the door open for Alan, politely indicating he should get going.

Alan took the hint, and left quickly, scroll in hand.