Alve did not spare a reluctant guard to the tallest man in the room. The mage, as to how their exclusive lavender togas identified themselves as, had an auburn sideburn but was also a rare olive, someone the sheltered princess had never seen nor heard of. But the most odious presence that kept her on edge was the mage’s own scrutinizing glare. Wherever and whenever the mage scholars took her to be tested, throughout the courtesies, dances, and even in her reading and writing tests, the shaggy mage followed, ogled, but never questioned or spoke. So, it almost plummeted Alve’s heart to the open balconies when she had now faced him for the last trial before freedom.

“Until we conclude today’s examinations, your grace, you will now face our recently reassigned mage from the tropical corners of Thrindiyo, is Region Mage Monterpelagious,” the Lord Visor Zazun introduced. “He will be the one to confirm whether or not you are capable of performing eth spells and studies, however likely you are as a noble of Chustern. If ever the outcome does not offer the expectations of the court,” the Lord Visor scanned the crowd of Alve’s own family, lingering at her brother longer before continuing, “you will still be then required to become a graduate scholar in years' time. Monter is a skilled mage of the state light, and his prowess on eth hariot and marto shall provide you with ease, princess. If you please step up and let him read your eth, then we can finally finish.”

Alve swallowed a dry tongue. The skin under her coat was becoming intensely painful at each stretch of her limbs. She badly wanted to scratch it since the morning but the tall mage’s gray eyes fumed ambiguous tension and made her forget the hurt. His held anger surprised Alve however when his light pat on her head immediately calmed her down. The bright green strands of eth that finally surrounder the princess then caught her awe.

“You must breath in owlet, you are putting our friends in pain as well,” a husky, quiet, and strained Thravbon accent brought Alve’s jade eyes to the mage’s. She was hardly in measure with Monter’s hip when she found the mage’s furrowed sad face. It immediately dawned on her that she did stop breathing. “Ground yourself. Close your eyes and listen, smell, and feel your surroundings.”

“But it hurts…” Alve replied faintly as she tried her best to do what she was told.

“Everything will always hurt. Your job will always have to be in courage, not in strength. Now, breathe.”

And so she did. The voices in the room started to mumble. The room was scented a dry musk. The tension on her head was finally leasing a little, her heavy heart, lighter. When the cool sweet sensation showered over her painful skin, Alve lost the track of time and dreamt.

The crowd started to buzz when Bapi floated the small princess aloft, his familiar grassy eth coating her sleeping figure. The mage then nodded to Lord Visor’s concession before sending the rested princess back to the gathered family of royals. The heir was fastened to his sister, his blue eyes already brimming with shadowed tears.

“If any of you have noticed my lords and ladies, mages, visor,” Bapi echoed dully but crisply. “That the princess could not sustain any eth brought to her,” there was a brisk shuffle of whispers and incongruence from the mages but never from the monarchs. “Nor she would control any of it,” this time the redhead lady who was usually jovial in the entire day’s session now glared at him. Taking note of the reaction, Bapi continued regardless, “her weak constitution perhaps had rendered her incapable. I healed her because she was barely holding on. So please, take her to rest but remain contented for I still approve her study in the Pillar-States School.”

They all concluded. Picking up their own fares, the nobles went back to their home floors in the palace, the mages to the dorms in the near school. Many of the scholars mentioned the princess’ character and skill in their own turns of the school’s corners. Bapi however found himself in the lord visor’s own office. Mage light was bringing out the warmth of the winter’s evening outside, a glass lancet window protected somehow the stronger wind and the thunderclaps cacophonic dances. Bapi was about to open his concerns to Zazun when he found a sleeping scholar in one corner of the room.

“Palk. Boy. You should try finding your bed,” the Lord Visor called out.

It took time for the principal in repeating the youth’s name before he finally stirred. The piles of paper scattered to the floor when the boy bounced into consciousness and toppled over his own chair and table.

“Sir!” Palk immediately stood.

Sighing, Zazun motioned Bapi to sit at a plush seat before returning to his startled student. “Go to your room kiddo and remember to watch where are going.” Palk was about to gather food and tea on a tray when the principal said, “leave us, boy. Me and mage Monter will manage on our own.”

Disappointed but grateful for the dismissal, Palk eventually left the office with a wobbling swagger that made Bapi concerned. “Calls himself a chemist, rather alchemist, the lad does. Says ‘life doesn’t have to revolve around eth.’ Makes me worry from time to time,” Zazun said as they watched the young scholar shut the door after the small click.

“You were allowed to sponsor?” Bapi inquired.

“Juggled apparently with the higher-ups. Advising that I have to find a Blessed, not some ethless lackey. He is about to graduate in a year or two so I recently have acquired a new one. A silent boy that one.” There was a long pause before the principal inevitably found Bapi’s thoughts. “You can speak your mind, mage, I have a strong barrier.”

“Does the word dabgha come into mind?” Bapi finally insisted.

Zazun shortly barked a laugh before reaching for his right arm, “I thought you said you wanted to know what happened to my arm?”

“Master. Please…”

“If you are talking about the Alohimanian term for the protector, I would ask why?” There was a stretch of silence. Although a hearth blazed in the room and sweat trickled down Bapi’s back, he needed to know. He must know.

“He died from his bad health, five years ago, mage,” there was forlorn in the principal’s voice. Zazun dropped his eyes to his withered hand, Bapi presumed the principal had no nerves anymore to make it clench. “Although the monarchs had forgotten their former High Adjunct, the school still honors him dearly.”

A long exhale came out of Bapi but not of relief. “If you mean to say honor, you have meant to say?”

“His work and everything else was not all burned or thrown away to the river, is what I meant to say. The new High Adjunct wanted it but…” Zazun paused and scrutinized Bapi hard.”

“But you defied.”

“Tricked actually. Some of us could not let his power be forgotten if such of the Faharian War were ever be forgotten.” The principal startled Bapi when Zazun started to peel off the bandage of the damaged arm. A cold rush swallowed the younger mage as the blackened corpse-like arm came free of its coverings. “Should have asked first about this, Glakzvikovik.”

The name made Bapi shoot up from his seat. Hard breathing flared from his nostrils. “How… did you know?” Bapi seethed.

“Taihe, the invoker, was whispered from the Cander Isles. Glakzvikovik for Thrindiyo’s seer of the desert. Respected Ikama, father-priest of Fibi Enderi. And…” Zazun glared at him before continuing, “Bapitismiaga of the once-prosperous land of Krugan. What does a hero and a fugitive want with the forgotten champion of the Faharian War?”

“He was a friend,” Bapi replied barely a whisper.

“And what does a friend want with the last memories of the White Owl?” Zazun also then stood, and the elder’s anger boiling on his now reddened face.

Bapi’s fear of the Lord Visor’s arm had already added coal to the flames of death and destruction they once had extinguished. Then the memories of the green eerie eyes of the little princess finally flared his dire last hope. Their last little hope shouldered over a sickly girl of four. Prisoned by chains of court and intrigue. Seen to only a means to an end to the entirety of Entherah.

“A new hero,” Bapi finally answered but the window that had held out all this time burst loudly from the sheer threat of the foreign snowstorm. Zazun’s whiskered brows held high as surprised cornered his supposed superior barrier weakly.

Foreign was the wrong choice of words to bear. “Do not dare!” the wind howled in the familiar Etharini.

“Tr… Tr… Tron,” Zazun stumbled.

“Fuck.” Bapi had only moments to curse before the silence and the absence of the elemental finally settled. The wind outside however continued to groan.

The hesitation in the principal's voice came to Bapi after a long moment. “I fear the elementals, mage. But I fear for the people more.” The old mage’s eyes glistened with hidden tears. Bapi could not phantom why. “I can only give you what I can, Bapistimiaga,” the Doyen Lord Visor fastened.

“We get what we can,” Bapi replied sadly.