“1,895 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  They had been crossing the ocean for a few days now, and as the ship cut through the waters of the Red Sea, Claramae could feel the gentle rocking of the vessel. She couldn’t sleep, and she remained over the deck, her gaze fixed on the expanse of the pitch-black horizon that stretched out before them.

  Shuri, having steered them into smoother waters, allowed herself a moment of rest.

  Claramae’s knowledge about the Mere, up until this point, had been limited to her morbid fear of water and the fact that she had been employed by pirates to sail their ship. This partnership between Shuri and the pirates had raised many questions between the faeries. However, Shuri had shared that neither she nor Jericho had any insight into the pirates' business on the land, as no faerie had ever set foot on the boat before their raid.

  Although it didn't answer all their questions, they had no choice but to trust.

  Claramae turned to Shuri with a question that had been lingering in her mind. "How do you know where we're going?" she inquired, her eyes scanning the vast, featureless sea, searching for any sign of guidance that Shuri might be using to navigate.

  The Mere, with a hint of a smile, responded as she removed her protective hoodie and glasses, revealing her face to the night air. "I follow the currents. It's easier, I guess..." Her voice trailed off as she leaned against the railing, positioning herself next to Claramae.

  “How?”

  “I just feel them… some are warm, others colder, some smoother… others more rough. Just like creatures. It’s a whole world down there.”

  In the scarce light of the deck, Claramae could see Shuri’s true self. She stood there as a young woman, her dark hair cropped into a haphazard buzzcut. Her eyes, a striking shade of glowing pink, brightening her features against the night.

  Her build was tomboyish, yet there was an undeniable beauty in her unconventional appearance, an exotic allure that set her apart. Observing Shuri in this guise, Claramae surmised that this form must be where the Mere felt most at ease.

  "Aren't you afraid to get wet?" Claramae asked, pointing to the goggles.

  "It looks calm now, and… I had to remove them; I could barely breathe with all these things," Shuri admitted. “So what are you going to do?" she then asked the faerie.

  "What do you mean?" Claramae responded, unsure of the direction in which Shuri was steering the conversation.

  "What's the plan? Well, you want to go to the Capitol. I guess your main goal is Whitestone," Shuri deduced, idly scratching her nose where the mark of the glasses had been, a faint line visible on her skin.

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  "I don't know. I hadn't thought that far. Was trying to make a plan. It's obvious I can't just walk into the palace like this. I might end up with the same fate as my missing sisters," Claramae confessed.

  "And the others?"

  "They'll go with you and stay with the Magis," Claramae replied.

  "Oh." A moment of realization washed over the Mere, understanding finally dawning. "You're planning to ditch them."

  "Well... they'll be safe, and I'll have to focus on the others... to save. At least, whoever I can, and I'll also prevent it from ever happening again."

  "Claramae..."

  "It can't be that hard to kill the Winter," the faerie asserted as if she wasn't terrified by the path she had just chosen.

  Shuri bit her lip, a gesture of hesitation before she spoke, "You might want to talk with Jericho first before you invade the Dame's private quarters just like that," she suggested.

  "Why?"

  "There are rumours... that we can't speak about."

  "What do you mean?" Claramae’s brow furrowed in an attempt to decipher Shuri's cryptic hints.

  "Some rumours are talking about a new Dame," Shuri revealed, her voice low, almost as if the sea itself might overhear.

  Claramae turned to face Shuri fully. "The Winterqueen had a child?"

  "Not exactly, but... you'll understand once we arrive in Ormgrund. And I suspect it will be quickly spread through the Great Continent," Shuri tried to explain.

  "I don't understand."

  "Veilla had three daughters; the youngest..." Shuri locked eyes with Claramae, "She might still be alive. No one knows what happened to her. Her body was never found—nothing."

  "Do you believe this daughter could lay claim to the throne?"

  "There's a prophecy that Winter will cease when the Sun return. Whoever they are, it's said they will end this fucking Winter."

  "A prophecy?"

  "Believe it or not, preparations are underway. The people even put out their crests—in their windows, doors, everywhere."

  "How? Where did this prophecy start?"

  With a knowing smirk, Shuri replied, "It came from Whitestone itself."

  "I find it hard to believe in prophecies—it sounds like a tale spun to make children behave and eat their veggies."

  "I don't know... but isn't it worth dreaming of an end to this fucking Winter?" Shuri pondered, "Who wouldn't yearn for the warmth of Summer?"

  "How do you know all of this?"

  "As I said, speak with Jericho."

  

  The fascination surrounding the Mere has always been a topic that captivated my students, igniting their imaginations and curiosity. The notion of a species existing without the traditional constructs of gender, devoid of male or female designation except during moments of procreation, presented a complex puzzle in their young minds. To them, the Mere were like any creature on land, vivid in their diversity and remarkable for their vibrant hair colours, yet this romanticized vision was far from the harsh reality of their existence. It was with a heavy heart that I had to clarify the grim fate awaiting any Mere who dared to venture beyond the safety of the Red Sea's shore. Leaving meant an irrevocable banishment, a severance of ties with their world with no hope of return. The tales and whispers suggested an end for these wanderers: upon contact with the sea once more, they would dissolve into mere foam, their essence scattered by the whims of the tides. This narrative, while filled with a sad allure, occasionally gave way to lighter moments, such as the curious inquiry from a young student of mine. Monica, with her wide smile and frizzy hair, once posed a question: "What about river water? Could Mere bathe in it, or would they be known as the stinky ones?" At that time, having never encountered a Mere myself, I was at a loss for an answer, but she made me laugh and the whole class. It was my first Winter of teaching. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer