“1,610 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  The room was always infused with the scent of petals. Orlo yawned, the fatigue tugging at his eyes as he slowly opened them. Beside him, Zora slept soundly, her dark blue hair fanned out across the pillow like the night sky. Her breathing was so shallow, almost imperceptible. She clutched his wing gently in her sleep, treating it as tenderly as one might handle a soft sheet.

  As Orlo watched her, a warm and devoted smile crept across his face. Yet this simple act of adoration had an unexpected effect: golden lilies began to sprout spontaneously around her, each blooms a manifestation of his feeling—happiness. The sight, although beautiful, sparked a sudden panic in him.

  "Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" he cursed. In a swift, decisive motion, he flickered his wrist, incinerating the blossoming lilies, the flames licking at the petals, reducing them to ash before Zora could awaken and witness the magic—and the danger—of his unguarded emotions.

  Hiding his secret had become nearly impossible over the past moons. Every time he saw Zora, every time she coaxed a smile from him, golden lilies would sprout because she made him happy.

  He had managed to keep the cause of these spontaneous blooms hidden from the Dargustea and everyone else. Yet, the reason was painfully obvious to him: the lilies appeared whenever he felt joy. And despite knowing that Zora might never return his feelings, his heart couldn't help but swell with happiness each morning they were together. How was it possible not to fall for his Hexe?

  "What time is it?" Zora mumbled, her voice groggy as she turned towards him in the bed.

  "Breakfast time," Orlo replied with a smirk. "Did Lolth drag you here?"

  She held his gaze for a moment, a silent communication passing between them before she looked away and answered, "Yeah... she did."

  He knew she was lying; since his attack, Zora had been coming to his room of her own accord, no longer needing the nudging of her Spirit, Lolth.

  Orlo found himself growing fond of her spirit's sassiness, a sharp contrast to Zora's more reserved demeanour.

  "You're not hungry?" he whispered as he noted her lingering gaze.

  "I want muffins... big muffins!" Lately, her meals had grown more frequent, interwoven with snacks throughout the day. Her appetite seemed to have surged over the last few moons, a change he noticed but never questioned.

  Orlo quickly covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a smile or laugh that threatened to betray too much emotion. "Get up. I'm hungry," he managed to say as he attempted to swing his legs out of bed without losing his balance. Though he was slowly regaining mobility, every movement was shadowed by a persistent ache that seemed to intensify with each passing day.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Getting ready for breakfast!" Orlo replied, his tone a bit too cheerful as he masked the discomfort of his movements, "I want big muffins, too!"

  Suddenly, a knock at the door sliced through the morning calm, sending a jolt of panic between them. They exchanged a swift, wide-eyed glance.

  "Hide!" Orlo hissed, scrambling to straighten the bed to make it appear as though he was the only occupant. He barely finished when he turned to find that Zora had vanished from sight.

  "Come in?" His voice wavered slightly as he called out, trying to sound casual despite the rush of adrenaline.

  "Hey, did you have a good sleep?" Muna asked, her head poking through the slightly ajar door of Orlo's room.

  "Yeah, yeah, like a baby," Orlo responded with a nonchalant shrug.

  "Were you talking to someone?" Muna's eyes scanned the room, "I could swear I heard you talking."

  "Well, you know, with Maggie! Who else would it be?" he quipped, gesturing toward the plant pot that had flourished under his care over the last moons.

  "I was wondering if you wanted to go to town just to... you know, take you out of the house," Muna suggested, her smile brightening.

  "When?"

  "After breakfast."

  "I... I can't. I have my training with Zora." Orlo replied, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing his nose, a subtle tell of his discomfort with declining the invitation. "Later?"

  "I only can this morning..." Muna's tone faltered slightly, a shadow crossing her features.

  "Well, next time then," he suggested, trying to sound upbeat. But he couldn't help but notice a shift in Muna's demeanour; her eyes began to roll, "Sure, whatever. Breakfast is ready." Her voice was terse, and the door closed with a bit more force than necessary.

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  Orlo stood there, shirtless, with his wings draped over his shoulders like a protective cloak. A knot of confusion and guilt tightened in his chest. He sensed he'd upset Muna, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly what he'd done wrong.

  As Muna walked down the hall, she glanced at Zora's room, noticing the door slightly ajar. Curiosity, or perhaps a nagging gut feeling, propelled her forward. She peered inside and saw no one. With a hesitant step, she crossed the threshold into a space she had never dared to invade before. The room struck her with its unexpected chaos.

  Clothes were strewn across the floor, and the closet stood wide open, its contents partially spilling out as if in mid-search. The desk was buried under a mountain of papers and posters.

  Among the clutter, one sheet in particular snagged Muna's attention. It was the form for the Trial of Elements. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up; this document would mean a pivotal change in Zora's life and perhaps in hers as well.

  "Weird, I thought she sent this last Winter," Muna murmured to herself, her eyes scanning the document laid out before her. It was filled with alias information that didn't match Zora's actual details. The name listed was 'Lolth, the Nameless,' under the race category, it read 'Fae,' among other sensitive pieces of fabricated data. The form was complete except for one glaring omission—Zora's signature at the bottom.

  Muna's heart pounded as she bit her lip. With no hesitation, she reached for a pen. It was a moment of crossing a threshold she hadn't anticipated when she entered the room. Signing the form with the name 'Lolth,' Muna rationalized her actions as merely facilitating her sister's deeply held aspiration to become a Magi. She was just nudging fate a little—nothing more, nothing less.

  With the form now folded neatly, she slipped it into her pocket, smoothing the fabric over it to conceal its presence. Her expression cleared as she exited Zora's room, stepped into the hallway, and made her way to the dining room with an air of casual indifference as if the last few minutes had never unfolded.

  It is a favour. She was helping, not like she was trying to get rid of her. Was she?

  After breakfast, Muna quietly slipped into her car. She caught a glimpse of Zora and Orlo reflected in her rearview mirror, their figures diminishing quickly as she pressed the accelerator. Without hesitation, she steered the car away, leaving them behind as the road ahead stretched out, vanishing into the murky shroud of the Long Night. During these secretive excursions, no one seemed to know where she went.

  Since her return from Mir-Alma, Muna had fallen into a new routine. Each day, without fail, she would slip out of the house shortly after breakfast and often return long after dinner.

  As the car's tail lights dwindled into the enveloping darkness, Orlo's expression turned troubled, "I think Muna is mad at me."

  "Why?" Zora asked as she unconsciously matched her pace to his slower one.

  "I don't know. Will ask her later!" he replied, his hand tightened around the cane, supporting himself as he tried to keep up with Zora's initially brisk pace.

  Every day, they followed a rugged trail near the Dragustea household that wound up to a nearby hill, a routine that demanded Orlo engage his upper leg muscles strenuously to climb the steep path. The trail itself was rough, lined with loose gravel that crunched underfoot and dotted sporadically with flat stones. Alongside the path, sturdy trees offered Orlo frequent opportunities to lean against their trunks and catch his breath.

  She quickened her steps momentarily, not realizing the strain it put on Orlo until she noticed and felt his grimace of pain. She immediately came to a stop, her gaze locking with his.

  Her eyes softened, and she offered a wordless apology. She knew the pain he felt; she could sense it herself.

  Orlo staggered toward a nearby tree, his breath ragged. He leaned heavily against the rough bark.

  Zora watched silently, her expression unreadable. She felt every shard of his pain as acutely as if it were her own. Yet, her understanding of physical pain was theoretical at best; she herself was immune to feeling it. But she wasn't immune to Orlo.

  "Come on, enough slacking. Let's go up the hill!" Zora called out and began to walk ahead, assuming Orlo would follow as he always did. But when the crunch of leaves and pebbles underfoot didn't follow, she paused, turning back. "Orlo?" she called out, her tone shifting from commanding to concerned as she realized he hadn't moved.

  The reality of his pain, now too intense to ignore, reflected back at her through a bond she couldn't understand.

  Orlo was slumped against the tree, his injured leg lifted slightly off the ground in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. The darkness cloaked his face, but Zora sensed a silent cry.

  "Orlo?"

  "Can we go back, please?" His voice was strained with pain.

  Zora glanced back along the path they had taken. It wasn't more than two hundred meters, but to Orlo, it must have felt like miles. "Come on, you can do this. It's just a little more," she encouraged as she took a few steps forward, hoping he would find the strength to follow.

  "Zora..." Orlo's voice trailed off, a plea of desperation threading through his single word, pulling her back to his reality.

  "Come on, if you don't reach the top tonight, you sleep alone," Zora quipped, trying to inject some humour into the situation, but her attempt fell flat. Instead of motivating him, she watched in dismay as Orlo began to limp in the opposite direction, each step away from her heavier than the last.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Home!"

  "Orlo, wait!" Zora called, but he didn't pause or look back.

  

  In a gesture meant to honour and thank Zora for her tireless patience and unspoken understanding, I authored the "Handbook of Advanced Elemental Theories and Practical Applications for the Trial of the Elements." This book was not just a scholarly work; it was a deeply personal token of gratitude crafted long after the Winter. I believe it was around my two hundredth—or perhaps three hundredth Summer—piece of writing. The details blur with time. The handbook was more than instructional text; it was a dual gift for Zora, passed on to two different mages. One was to guide her, to nurture the knowledge and skills she possessed. The other was to challenge her, to push her boundaries and to test the limits of her understanding and capability. As a writer, I find it paradoxical that I often struggle to express the simplest personal truths. I never did turn back to tell Zora how truly sorry I was for things left unsaid, for the anger that I feared would overtake me—an anger so fierce that I might not forgive her for choices she was compelled to make, for paths she had to walk without my understanding or acceptance. Perhaps, one day, I should return to her side and lay bare these thoughts. To warn her of the storm that brews within me, of the madness that might cloud my judgment and harden my heart. And yet, despite this looming tempest, I wish I could offer her the choice—the freedom—that circumstances denied us both. Maybe if I wasn't that blind I could have saved both of them. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer