Aiora twiddled the vial between her fingers, bidding a farewell to Cateline as she turned to return back to Lighthelm. She watched the girl walk so hesitantly, her hands held tightly behind her back and hair a tousled mess.

Cateline had told her of the dream she had in the library, and how the book called out to her. It was eerie, no doubt, but something didn’t sit right with Aiora about it all. It was rare for something so powerful to happen, and with little consequence, too.

Typically, such an inexperienced mage would have to be walked through that type of experience—similarly to the time Aiora showed her the firstborn mage’s beginnings.

Magic was a give and take, especially magic with such dark roots. The Walk of Time has left countless mages dead, and if not dead they typically wished they were. Aiora did not tell Cateline the origins of what she experienced—mostly because she was not sure how trustworthy Cateline’s words were—but it still irked her nonetheless.

Perhaps Aiora’s mentor would have some light to shed on the situation. Before walking down the washed up trail, though, she had to wait for Thaddius. Luckily, he never kept a girl waiting.

He waved goodbye to one of the merchants, one hand holding a bag of coins that was halfway empty and the other holding a ball.

“A ball?” Aiora said, furrowing her brow at the satyr. He pushed some of his chestnut hair back and out of his face, bringing the ball to light. It was made of steel, light reflecting from the afternoon sun.

“Not just any ball, Aiora! It is a weapon.”

“A… A weapon, aye? Gonna smash their heads in with it, are you?”

Thaddius scoffed, puffing out his chest as if to appear put together. If Aiora knew anything about her dear satyr was that he was anything but put together. “No! I’m missing a piece, you see. The merchant said to return in the morrow, and he’ll assemble it for me.”

“So, let me get this straight. You have this… metal ball, right? And a merchant—not a blacksmith—assures you that they will return in the morrow for the remaining piece of this… weapon?”

Thaddius shifted, his hooves digging into the dirt. “Yes, that is what I’m saying. He seemed like a good fellow.”

“And you seem like a poorer satyr than ten minutes ago. Come along,

weaponsmith.”

Aiora made way down the beaten path, paying mind to the large tree limbs and rocks. Thaddius was only a beat behind her, his jabbering being drowned out by Aiora’s headspace.

She had been at Lighthelm since she was fifteen, learning and perfecting her magic so much to the point where she was encouraged to begin teaching it. In her five years at this academy, she had yet to see a novice mage perform the Walk of Time without the help of an experienced mentor.

Five years. Aiora tucked her lip between her teeth, thinking back to her first day at the academy. She remembered telling herself she would only be there long enough to control her magic, and then she’d return home.

Five. Years.

Perhaps Aiora was in denial about her intentions, and the idea of simply returning home brought her more fear, anxiety and pain than staying at the academy. At least she was safe there. And in control.

“Aiora. Aiora. Aiora!”

Turning over her shoulder when Thaddius swatted her shoulder, she scowled. “What is it?”

“I was asking you a question. An important one.”

“Aye? More important than your metal ball?”

Thaddius looked down at the expensive paperweight and sighed. “Much more important. I was asking if you were going to…”

His statement ended in a mumble. Aiora leaned in closer to him as they walked and sighed. “Speak up, Thad. I can hardly hear you.”

He mumbled, again. She stopped in her tracks and looked him head on, her eyes wide and mouth pursed. She didn’t have to say another word, he perked up without hesitation.

“I was asking if you were on your way to murder me, is all.”

“What are you on about?”

“The woods, Aiora. You’re taking me through some beaten path that is heading away from town. I thought you needed protection in town?”

“Thaddius—” Aiora started, but stopped and sighed dramatically. “I wasn’t planning on killing you, Thad, but the prospect is far more enticing than listening to your blabbering.”

“Somebody made you ornery today. What is going on? Where are we heading to, anywho?”

Aiora turned on her heel and continued, tucking a piece of her silver hair behind her pointed ear. “Sorry, Thad. A lot is on my mind as of late, but we are heading to a… friends home. They have taught me a thing or two—things that Lighthelm would frown upon.”

Thaddius cleared his throat, hesitating before responding. “And you needed a body guard… because? You say it's a friend?”

Aiora nibbled on the inside of her cheek and shook her head. “I need validation.”

“On?”

“His name is Gerard, Thaddius. He’s a looney old man, but he’s wise. I need you to tell me if you find anything damning about him while I distract him.”

“Aiora, I’m sorry? You’re saying you want me to act as your spy, now?”

“Kind of? I fear there is something I am missing with him. If it is damning, I have to make sure we’re safe. I can’t do that alone.”

“You could have warned me, Aiora. I am not fit to be a spy.”

Aiora looked at Thaddius. “Fine, then. You do the distracting.”

He choked on his own air, but Aiora didn’t wait long enough to hear his counter to her idea. Aiora had worked with Gerard many times, learning about the darker elements of magic that were rooted in mischief and all things unnatural. Where Leolina prefers natural, organic magic, Gerard prefered chaos.

This was the only way she would truly understand her roots and how to control the thing that nearly got her, and her family, killed.

As they approached the log cabin, Aiora shushed Thaddius mumblings and frowned. “I will make it up to you, Thaddius, but we won’t get very far if you’re complaining about the morality of this situation the entire time. All you have to do is ask to see one of his old books, or study a potion he’s been brewing. I need five minutes, at most.”

Thaddius frowned, tossing the metal ball between his two hands before nodding. “Fine, then. I’ll follow your lead.”

Aiora genuinely smiled, reaching up to hug her dear friend and whispered, “I owe you one, Thad. I’ll explain the rest, later.”

Nodding his head, he followed her to the door as she knocked. It only took a few moments before she could hear that old man waddling over. The door opened wide, and he greeted Aiora with the warmest smile.

“Aiora, my dear. It has been a while.”

He was a gray man, with his long hair unkempt and a beard to match. His face was sprinkled with wrinkles and a jagged scar that told a story. That said, the most impressive thing about Gerard were his eyes. They glistened this orange hue, but it was only noticeable in the sunlight. Indoors, they appeared muck brown. When he turned his head, the tip of his pointed ear peaked from his hair. One was jagged, the other untouched.

“Gerard, I know. I got a little preoccupied with my scholarly responsibilities.”

Gerard’s bushy brows furrowed, his lips pursing into a thin line. “You are still at that academy? What else do they have to teach you?”

“There is plenty to be learned—that is why I came to you, afterall.”

This made his face relax, his eyes shifting to Thaddius. “By the heavens… a satyr!” Gerard hollered and laughed, moving past Aiora to stand closer to him. Thaddius towered over the short man by a good bit. “I have not seen a satyr alive and well since the war.”

“War?” Thaddius asked with wide eyes. “Surely, you do not mean—”

“I do!” Gerard laughed. “Do I not look my age?”

Aiora stepped foot into the home, the two of them following suit. “Gerard fought in the War of Mimicry, Thaddius.”

“The one with the doppelgangers?”

“Indeed, boy. A violent time.”

“Gerard, this is Thaddius. Thaddius, Gerard. I brought him along because I’ve spoken so highly of you.”

A look of concern crossed Gerard’s face, but it left as quickly as it had arrived. “I am glad Aiora has spoken of me. Tell me, Thaddius, where do you come from?”

“I was born just outside the Starisque Kingdom. I spent my days traveling between there and the Empire of Wisers, though.”

Gerard tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth and held such a curious stare. Aiora had never seen that twinkle in his eyes before—it made him appear youthful. Perhaps Thaddius distracting him would be easier than she originally thought.

“The Empire of Wisers, you say? So you have worked closely with the endangered Arogin race?”

The Arogin’s were a practically extinct race of reptilians. They were banished from nearly all neighboring kingdoms, Thaddius’ homeland of Starisque an exception from that trend. Aiora liked to think that all the troubled races traveled to those lands—from Dark Wood Elves to Satyr’s to the Arogin. The list was only growing, and she wondered when her race, the High Elf, would be added to it.

“The Aroginians are kind people, do you know any?”

Gerard chuckled, waving the satyr into his study without another thought. “Not only do I know any, I lived with one. I’ll tell you over a cup of tea.”

Aiora watched as they disappeared into the other room, his entryway growing silent. Suddenly, it dawned on Aiora that she was about to break this man's trust.

It had to be done, though. She was risking far too much by coming here to not know his origins. He told her all these stories—of the War of Mimicry, to the journeys across Axulran and Traburg, along with their neighboring wastelands. She had no doubt the stories were true, but why he chose to settle so close—yet so far—from the city perplexed her. He was like a hermit, but one she feared had a darker origin story than he let on.

Aiora didn’t have rhyme or reason as to why she doubted this man's intent, but she knew that her most powerful tool—outside her magic, of course—was her intuition. It was almost never wrong.

Walking to the left wing, she entered his alchemy room. In the center was a long, wooden table that had a few oddly shaped vials and glasses thrown about. There were bookshelves that climbed to the ceiling, each one full of books and encyclopedias. None of that mattered, though—Aiora already had a clue where she needed to look.

In the back corner, nestled next to the bookshelf, was a handcrafted box with papers and various objects placed inside. Carefully approaching it, she kneeled and began to sift through it. Most of it was seemingly useless. Old maps, political messages and scrapped alchemy recipes. At the bottom, though, was the one thing he refused to explain. A small box.

A few weeks back, Aiora was here learning about a mischievous potion used to extract the truth out of people, essentially making them incapable of lying, and as they were going through this box for a mistakenly trashed recipe, he panicked when she picked up this box. Gerard was an open book, or seemed to be at least, and loved recounting his old stories.

Whatever was in here was either incredibly incriminating, or incredibly embarrassing.

In the other room, she heard them laughing and discussing their experiences with the Aroginians and how they were mistreated as a race. She had a few more minutes before her absence would be noted.

Setting the box on the table, she untied the ribbon that held it together and stared at the small envelopes that were stacked inside. Some of them were still unopened, but they each had a blue wax seal with a crest on it. Even when Aiora lifted it to the light, she couldn’t make out which crest it was, but it looked important.

Grabbing one of the letters that was already opened, she put it underneath the candlelight and began to read.

Gerard—

The time is close, my dear. I fear our affair cannot go unnoticed, and I want more than anything to ensure you are safe. Ensure you are unaffected by the trying times the Elves are going through. I have my own duties, and as much as it pains me, I must follow my destiny. I wish it involved you by my side, my love.

We will meet again, and soon, but I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and close. This is not a goodbye, this is an apology. I must go through with what has been set out for me, else the killings will continue.

I will recount my love for you over and over again—only stopping when a millennia has passed.

Until I can find you again,

E.B.

Aiora blinked at the sorrowful love letter. As she picked up the rest of these letters, too, she found a recurring theme. The two would recount their unrequited love, but express their concern for the conflict surrounding them. It didn’t make sense, though, why would Gerard go out of his way to hide love letters?

Were they simply too sensitive to him?

Unlikely. Gerard had told her extremely intimate stories of what could have been, as well as his family. As she was about to pack the box back up just as she found it, something glistened at the bottom. Lifting the remaining envelopes up, she grabbed what looked to be a lapel pin with a family crest.

It was not any family crest, though—it was royal. The lion surrounded by a rose could not be mistaken for any other family than the one behind the attempted elimination of her race as a whole.

The Bennett Royal Family Crest—a bloodline of killer kings and their whores-for-wives. Sucking in a breath, she slipped the lapel into her sleeve and closed the box before returning it to its place. She left the room once she was sure it looked just as it had before she arrived.

If Gerard was anything, he was meticulous. It was risky enough that she was taking this lapel—but not only was he meticulous. He was a traitor, too.

She had a few options. The first, being the most sinister, would involve walking by the tea cup he had situated to his left, slipping him this vial of potion. This potion that was forbidden and frowned upon across the entire Kingdom—including Lighthelm—would be the reason for his temporary paralysis. The irony of it all? He taught her how to make it.

As Aiora approached the entryway, hiding no longer, she realized how out of character and vindictive that act would be. So, she opted for option two.

“Thaddius,” Aiora said with a shaky breath. The two of them looked at her, their eyes softening at her worried stare. “I think I’ve fallen ill, can you walk me back to Lighthelm?”

Thaddius blinked, clearing his throat before setting the ornate teacup on the table. “Of course, Aiora. Gerard, do you mind if I return at a later date to continue the conversation? Are you ever in town?”

Gerard’s eyes lingered on Aiora with a frown before he looked at the satyr, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I do better the further I am from Daggernest—or, the entire kingdom, for that matter. That said, you are a friend of Aiora’s, and any friend of hers is a friend of mine. Return at your own accord.”

Thaddius smiled, bowing his head out of respect and followed Aiora out of the home. Her footwork was clumsy and fast, tripping over a few roots as she made way back to that beaten path. Thaddius struggled to catch up, but when he did he grabbed her by the shoulder to slow her.

“Aiora, what did you find?”

“He’s a bloody traitor, that’s what!”

Aiora was fuming. It was such a simple thing—those sorrowful love letters and faded wax seals. But, it made sense. Gerard had told her tales of his origins, of how he spent his younger years courting a woman he should have left alone. He failed to mention it was the Queen of Axulran, the one woman who stood behind the execution of so many elves. E.B., birth name Emmeline Bennett, was a coward that allowed her husband to murder and plunder entire civilizations. Once the killings were largely done, they banished them from that side of the region to get rid of the rest.

“What are you going on about? What did you find?”

Aiora revealed the stolen lapel, waving it in the air as if it were enough to make the heavens strike her down. “This crest, with the foolish lion and ugly rose… recognize it?”

Thaddius grabbed it from her hand and studied it closely, ultimately shrugging his shoulders out of confusion. “I have never seen this crest before, no.”

Aiora snatched it back and began walking again, her cheeks flushed and ears red. “It’s the Bennett Family Crest. You know, the same family that ordered the execution of my kind, of your kind, and all other races that didn’t fit their ideal.”

Thaddius sighed and jogged to keep up with her. She may have been short, but she was quick on her feet. “I still am a bit lost—so what if he has the Bennett family crest?”

“It means he was involved with them. There were letters, Thaddius, letters that showed he could have prevented so much. He had a hand in it all!”

“So, you are blaming him for the war crimes committed by an entirely different family all together?”

“I am blaming him for being involved. I am blaming him for letting love blind him. I am blaming him, yes.”

“Now, Aiora, that is not fair. You have to see that.”

Aiora stopped in her tracks and glared at the satyr, her gray eyes as alive as fire. “Want to know what I see, Thaddius? I see a man who fought a war trying to protect my kind, and lost. I see a man who put his heart before his people, and then ran like a coward when it didn’t turn in his favor. I see an imbecile that has lied and surely has motives that run deeper than a simple mentorship.”

Aiora continued her trek back to town, ignoring each question Thaddius shot her way as he kept up with her pace. Eventually, he shut his mouth and let the silence serve as his answer, but she still felt as enraged as she was when he was asking for clarification.

Aiora had reason to feel so personal about this—it went beyond the test of history and war. It was personal to her.

Just as they entered the gates of Daggernest, Aiora stopped in her tracks and clenched her hands into fists. She looked up at Thaddius, tears collecting at the corner of her eyes. No, she dared not let them fall—the sting reminded her where her rage came from. Where her pain and loyalties lie.

“Emmeline Bennett ordered the execution of my brother while they were seeking refuge, and the king,” she said and spat at the floor in his name, “made me watch as the guard slit his throat.”