nelithic

[nelithic]

AND ONCE MORE, THOUGH WILD EYES replace an anxious peace and feral grin an easy smile, there is a ghost of identity there. something about griss' turn of phrase, the way a thought occurs to him——curiously percipient——and the way he chooses to speak it. the similarities are intangible and gone the very same moment ; she could not explain what, precisely, it was.

only acknowledge that architecture of absence with a nod. "the arenas, then. i agree." and to rafal, who speaks next on his plans, a similar approval. "take care you do not draw scrutiny. this church seems to be. . . fond of their secrets."

the little emperor edelgard. her skeletal axe. the wariness in her gaze as she coveted her shadows from a compendium of eyes too keen to pry them open. it is not my intention to keep secrets, she had said something once to effect, and it had come to the dragon's realization after that it must be a part of the nature of fódlan itself. it was a different manner of inborn and instinctive conditional untrust than she had been born and raised knowing, though of adjacent tenor.

red eyes shift unconsciously to her twin, as if wondering if he has in their time here perceived the same; but at the same moment, he turns the same cardinal red upon her, bold with the familial authority of concern wearing fortitude's face——and with a statement, brushes thoughts of wariness from her mind for now. she sits up a little straighter: "of course."⠀(⠀they have each their own fell pride's constitution ; on her, appreciation wears acquiescence's face.⠀)⠀a second time. . . the admonishment made into warning does not go unnoticed. her face does not falter, but a subtle gravity creeps behind her eyes, recalling——more than the cold fang of steel——the wild despair of a brother. "it will not occur a second time. i also meant to include myself."

and just as quickly is flown. "then it is decided. for now, we will rest and restore our strength." griss' condition and evident hunger notwithstanding, even the durability of dragons was susceptible to wear and stress.

"and then our work begins." 　

₊　mortal immortality　┃┃┃　end.

Mortal Immortality [Griss, Nel, & Rafal]

Recovery | Infirmary task

[nelithic]

to be weak, to be strong

[nelithic]

THOUGH NOT THE FIRST OCCASION such a remark were posed, it still brings a fleeting smile to the corners of her mouth——wan, amused, and not so light that it reached the eyes, but flirting nevertheless at something nostalgic and untouched-upon for some time.

"you are not incorrect. i enjoy seeing the ways your kind grows and changes over time. . . "⠀which, perhaps in itself already spoils his inquiry.⠀"though personally i find your continual advancements in military construction to be of greater interest. to answer your question: i have not experienced a tariff, though i have some understanding of the concept."

when news of it would reach the ears of lythos, far removed. when she had begun, at some point, to mind such news——perhaps because it had impacted the lives of those she knew ; those who would then be gone some short years later ; those who would be followed by others.

"humans are adaptable and innovative."⠀she turns then, presenting briefly a deep crimson stone in one hand as though in wordless introduction or explanation, before tucking it out of sight again.⠀"i have always presumed it is because you are short-lived, thus that energy and momentum never has the chance to wane."

　𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬.

　　　　　　　　　 　　❪　m. showcase　/　lance point　❫

[nelithic]

RED HOLDS HIM IN ITS STONY REGARD only a beat longer——then dragon strikes. sure posture launches itself forward, driving spearpoint forward into the body of his chest, an open vulnerability he was sure to anticipate.

she wonders. does he fight, too, differently from the king she had stood beside once in war? fate, if indeed it was the force to be held responsible, was a curious thing: that she might see battle alongside the face of a perished ally again, an impossibility made strangely whole by the force of entire worlds.

angle twists at the last possible instant before impact, and she traces two quick steps back to retain space between herself and his blade ;

roll ,⠀8.

bubbling mire launches from concealed palm at his feet without warning, corrosive fangs seeking their target. a feint, earlier.

"you fear our fell magic. so you will face it."

already the next spell takes shape in curled digits, prepared to keep diamant alert and moving.

　𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟.

[nelithic]

THE MISTAKES OF FÓDLAN. and the grasping claws of the past. in descending twilight, the flecks of crimson eyes dim, recalling again the mysteries of her earliest months here and how they remain no closer to being resolved. the cores of dragons unearthed in the church's vault, the half-shapen beast lowing for something——pain, mercy, despair perhaps——in the heart of the woods at hers and griss' feet, the tail of wounded kin from another land fused with the living axe of this land's most celebrated heroes.

and glaringly between it all, a silence of dragons.

a soft puff of air escapes her lips, and she wonders if these questions, like the self-perpetuating serpent, have not already answered themselves. but she has always been a creature of finality, and rested ill at ease until the proof lay etched in stone. if only this world did not guard its secrets so closely——even those inhabitants she felt should have no reason to keep its innards sealed tight did so zealously, as though to open the way to history were to invite ruin, and thus everything best kept quiet.

perhaps that was indeed the case. perhaps it was best kept quiet. for the sake of the others who walked unknowingly and without harm, for the sake of preservation of peace. in such a way, outlanders like them were only a disservice, a disturbance to that peace with their conflicting goals ; hers, foremost, to ensure no other's safety above that of her brother's and her own. she could do this by waiting passively, fending threats only as they came. but that had never been how the children of the haunt ensured their own survival, and laying still with stomach exposed whilst their enemies plot their prey does not come naturally to her still.

looking on arval now as the woodland path bends and the foliage deepens, brush and bracken now skirting her thighs, she wonders if they will be such tenuous allies forever. and knows by the acres' march of time for the answer to be no.

"that has been shown to be true," she agrees placidly on the remark about dream and reality——the line here even looser than elyos, prone, as repeated experience has shown, to continental and cataclysmic shift. but this is an adaptation ; she thinks to her meeting with rafal and griss shortly after awakening from the most recent reverie——one, as all others, that demanded acclimation. "then what do you hope to find, exactly?" it is not as though it has escaped her notice: "i was under the impression he is not a pleasant memory for you, your——" birth. creation. what to call him. "——progenitor."

　𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞-𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬.

　　　　　　　 　　　❪　m. recovery　/　ghost hunting　❫

[nelithic]

QUESTIONS FOR WHY GRISS SEEMED so out of breath were best saved for another time ; she assumes the day's warmth is to blame, in concert with his attire when she catches him pulling at the collar with displeasure. it is true that he appears somewhat out of place in the pressed cotton and fitted coat, but she is likewise unaccustomed to human formalwear herself, so they will simply have to be out of place together.

nevertheless, she's not oblivious to the wide-eyed looks cast their way when they arrive at the designated table. griss makes himself comfortable, and as nel pulls out the chair to take her own place, her attention drifts to two women standing nearby at the pony wall, catching their furtive glances mid-whisper. one of them averts her eyes and draws away, but the other meets her stare with unconcealed apprehension, then flicks to her companion.

with a sigh, she returns to the pressed linen tablecloth and runs a hand absently over it, pleasantly cool and silken in the heat. were it rafal, this would be par for the course, but she wonders if she ought to apologize to griss.

"you are right. enjoying a few refreshments should not be difficult."

so she eases herself into the back of the chair, still keeping a peripheral eye on their surroundings, and beneath the table folds one leg over the other to wait. in the meantime, a change of topic that today's dress brings to mind.

"this is not relevant, but i had meant to mention earlier: i heard you were present at this year's ethereal ball as well. i did not have the opportunity to find you, but i hope you enjoyed the occasion. i have not forgotten that you are to thank for my choice of attire the year before."

　𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧.

　　　　　　　 　　　　 　　　❪　m. showcase　❫

[nelithic]

Volo Ergo Sum

( Ethereal Ball 2024 — [ Goddess Tower ] )

[nelithic]

SHE HAD GIVEN HER A WAY OUT — she had given them both a simple way out, and was half-poised to take it, draped already in an angular slice of shadow beneath the archway. instead, to honor the little one's honesty, she makes the error of pausing and the second error to listen. she knows, as they both do, the moment the accusation is out of the other's mouth that this is not the reason. time and again they have navigated and fought together, in both simulation and true threat, and she has seen the woman's capabilities.

if there was one who would stand dauntless in the face of a fell dragon's severing fangs, it would be none other.

but love is not a violent battlefield, nor the consummation poe had come here tonight hoping for. long-term companionship was a war of attrition: a murky tension of giving and taking, allowances and forbearances, of gentleness in spite of. or perhaps in inclusion of.

these were not a dragon's to ask of mankind. nor man's to ask of dragonkind. earlier, rafal had claimed, in the absence of choice, there were worse fates he could imagine than to consider the short-lived as partners. yet once again nel fell short of her brother's unwavering conviction. doubt still harbored within her breast, as beating a thing as a heart and in many ways stronger. one short slumber and generations would pass ; and she—— left only with dust and memory to age upon her scales like blight.

another sharp click of heel, and poe draws as close as the cold night will allow her to. an answer demanded: no creature of caution, as she professed, and thus no room for ambiguity. demanding not gentleness, but the fervor, or else the fang, upon either she would sooner be crucified than left to ponder at its pedestal. nel nearly admires her this ; in this way, poe is much like her twin. and the steadiness of her voice fills the remainder of her confidence and returns inert stone to its place.

as she wished.

"perhaps," comes the staid answer, the slide of black steel once more postbellum. the strength of the mage's bearing tells her enough: she is no wilting rose inviting one's misplaced guilt, and would not languish, stripped of all thorns, in the absence of it. nel gives her one more impenetrable look. "you would do best to forget your feelings for me."

and so the serpent returns to her haunt of shadow with sharp and assured stride, this time begetting neither chase nor further question.

knot by knot she unties herself from loss, and lets it rise away from her as the moon, full in its halo. what a small thing it seems to become, what a bright star at the vanishing point, watching in singular orbit until she no longer distinguishes its hue from her own—

blue on blue.

Volo Ergo Sum

( Ethereal Ball 2024 — [ Goddess Tower ] )

[nelithic]

STEADY FINGERS STIR SLIM METAL AGAINST PORCELAIN, noting the way the little emperor has seemingly abandoned the treats she herself had prepared in favor of the conversation.

"the divine dragon brought it with them when they came from another world," she replies simply after a measured sip. then amends: "not our divine dragon ; a mirror, in some ways like the one i knew and in other ways not. that is the alear at this academy today."

"regardless, i am still not certain how our bracelet was able to cross worlds. . . perhaps the chaos of the war disrupted a boundary." more soberly: "or perhaps, at times i wondered if the state of our world was enough to drive even the emblems to abandon us."

the sentiment hangs for only an instant, then nel blinks and looks to edelgard again as though recognizing what had been spoken aloud. "my apologies. i do not ordinarily burden others with such heavy thoughts."

　𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝.

[nelithic]

MEMENTO IS PRESSED TO HER HAND before she can react, surprise flashing across her face as the young man fumbles through a swift exit. "wait—" but then he is gone with a fan of straw-blond hair, tense back vanishing into the throng with a stiff gait eager to put distance between them.

she had not even had the chance to reciprocate, she thinks as fingers uncurl around the hard edges of a teardrop-shaped crystal, then adds it with a sigh to her assortment of tokens.

perhaps if she encountered him again, she ought to apologize. her approach had been too sudden, the topic too brusque. but she had not anticipated it to elicit such a reaction ; some surprise, maybe, but such alarm. . . ? and at its conclusion, precious little closer to a clear answer. ' it depends upon those involved ' but also ' that does seem to be the common understanding '. and all she has to compare it to is. . .

eyes close. no use relying on such fraught experiences from so long ago.

should answers from others prove unforthcoming, then it appears her usual tactic is still best.

directly to the source, then. calm steps turn, the click of midnight heel drowned on polished floor by the whirlwind of food and mingle and dance, amidst all of which meandered a single point in velvet red and rose gold. the one she had accompanied to this event, and the only one who could speak truly of her intent. 　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　₊　teach me how to swipe left　┃┃┃　end.

　𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐏𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓.

　　　　　　　　　　　　 　❪　ethereal ball 2024　❫

[nelithic]

EDELGARD'S RETICENCE BEGETS FURTHER QUESTIONS. ones the fell dragon opens her mouth to inquire— but the moment swiftly passes⠀(⠀or perhaps the emperor does not allow the window for scrutiny⠀)⠀and the subject returns to their purpose of conversation. nel reserves a sigh for herself, inward, only ; this may have been more productive had the young eagle led with such a declaration at the start.

"it is difficult to explain. i can call it only an instinct, a pall of recognition that would need to be deliberately obscured to go unnoticed. the dragons of my world all possessed this ability, no matter the race."

or so it had seemed. she distantly recalls the first encounter with the divine dragon they had summoned to their aid in lythos, in many ways a perfect portrait of the one they had lost, yet upon closer attention lacking many of their notable traits — this very sense being one of them. upon her first transformation, the divine one had reacted with alarm. at the time, she had assumed they would have known the instant they met ; there had been no reason to believe otherwise.

"but beyond that, i am afraid i can provide you with few answers. though, i am curious. why the central church of this land collects the remains of dragons. . . " red eyes flick to edelgard's — her own — empty hand, "and fashions them into weapons to be used by man."

"where are those dragons now, if they once existed? these are the answers i seek for my own sake and that of my twin. and i cannot rest secure until i am certain."

but thinking of that half-living axe she had salvaged from a suffering beast and returned to its owner prior, another thought occurs to her. arms fold, the severity of her gaze lifting into something more akin to curiosity. "what would happen if you tried to wield your aymr now? is it possible in your current form?"

pretense of truth

[nelithic]

AS IF A COVER IN HER MIND WERE PULLED BACK, the mention of a stage and a waiting audience pulls more into the checkered memory of this place, a piece obscured by grime and shadow cleared away and brought to the surface again. yes, there had been a stage, at the start — nel turns to look down the dark column of steps leading to a deeper underbelly. . . down there.

and what else? for a place she knows they have been traversing for some time now⠀(⠀. . . an hour? several? days? it is impossible to say.⠀)⠀it is strange for memory to be this hazy. but then, of what she does recall, their movement through it had been equally erratic, illogical, perforated with snatches of recollection that did and did not at once belong to her amid the disorientation of coming to constantly in new surroundings and varying states of disarray.

griss' hopeful suggestion brings her back to the dingy corridor, and she frowns before shaking her head. "i suspect we will not find a way out until we resolve whatever it is this place wishes for us to see." or else die in the attempt. though, for all they have been puppeted from place to place, the intent has not seemed malicious.

they are trapped here. but why? not, she guesses, to endanger their lives, but for some other purpose. the surroundings were beginning to repeat ; and, recalling griss' words about the stage and the dragon, the flaming city and the sage. . . the recollections as well.

were they recollections?

her attention returns to the tunnel stairway into the gloom, and she moves to begin the descent. "down here, griss. perhaps the stage will provide some insight. if i have not overlooked something, it is where we began."

𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬.

　　 　　　　 　 　　❪　m. anniversary 2023　/　any point　❫

[nelithic]

THEN THEY WERE AGREED, rafal's reluctance notwithstanding. she could understand his misgivings ; even as nil, master of minor tricks and enchantments and their employment as he was, he had shied away from the larger trades of magic. at the time, she had thought it parcel of his weakness, the same destined infirmity that had culled him of tooth and wing robbing him too of ancestral power.

whether or not that remained the case, two thousand years gave her insight to his other well-sought strengths: for even one deemed ❛ failure ❜ was still a child of gradlon, who learned to leverage anything within reach. "if we are fortunate," comes tacit agreement on the tail of a twin's assertion, "then that confidence may remain and serve as our advantage. however, she has already been imprisoned not once, but twice. though she is still young, her hubris has proven imperfect. she will be cautious."

"rafal, as faculty of the black eagles, you are the best equipped among us to gather information. pasithee's identity, the motive for keeping her alive, the extent of her power, and where potential weaknesses may lie." the plan of action is the same as besieging any city, or fighting a war where the enemy boasted greater power, greater numbers, greater morale. these were their inheritance from a dying world, and a method they knew well. "your eyes and ears will serve us well, and i know you to be more than capable."

"griss, our task falls to finding any and all means available. against such an opponent, variety in options will be more useful than devotion to a single strategy. if she traps us again, even the most unlikely tool may be leveraged to grant us an opening."

. . . for an imperceptible moment, authority makes room for silence. once accustomed at least to five, of which now three remain.

but the same order remains:

"do not forget that you are each of you indispensable. loss may be recovered, but lives cannot."

　▀▀　next ,　 @twistedisciple　₊

Mortal Immortality [Griss, Nel, & Rafal]

Recovery | Infirmary task

[nelithic]

　𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐥 ████ ,　𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 　/　drabble ₊

the first time her mother received their lord father, she thought her the most inestimable creature in all gradlon.

young and eager to please, she had witnessed little more than the passing of feet wreathed in royal cloaks, knelt down and head bowed to honor his arrival and blacken not the name of her mother in disgrace. that he could be understood as ' father ' then had never once crossed her mind. her existence in his origin came detached and absolved of presumption, unmoored from connections of the body or the heart ; as it was with all her siblings, he was progenitor as a god who with a wave of one hand fashioned life and law: his blood and fangs a gift not to be squandered.

though tender of age, she understood that others across the land received similar visitation, that their proud and strong gradlon reigned and culled and cycled only as result ; but, being tender of age, still she imagined her mother somehow exceptional. them, somehow exceptional.

. . .

throughout history, magic had always run rich in the line of the fell dragons. but none so fertile as those born from their subjugated counterparts. the mage dragons of elusia had long lost their history. but among them, there were those who preferred it that way.

nel grew with no elegant, splendid horns, wreathed in rune and cloth. no tie to the fogbound fields of the snowy kingdom of man, whose blood ran similarly quicksilver with magic and ritual. her attention was directed and shaped with care to the red sun of her inheritance, gradlon's waiting throne beneath the lord-god's watchful eye, reserved only for the righteous by strength.

you are the lord sombron's child, and only partly mine. inheriting all of his greatness, and none of my wretched kind's weakness.

but she could still teach her something. brutal, punishing, exacting as could be: it was time, and it was love. the concoction of her might was in half owed to her, and this the young nel was never made to forget for each spell that wracked her limb from limb, agonized her nights on end, imprisoned her without remorse.

if you wish to be relieved from pain, or if you desire freedom, then be stronger. then you can have everything you want. i will not save you. nor will your brother.

. . .

but matricide begins the same as fratricide: a contained storm that loses control. she had been aware of her mother's growing frustration with her children's inaction for some time now, steeling herself for the reckoning that, given her temper, would inevitably come.

nil would not seek his strength in the orchestrated death of his sister, no matter how she pushed.

and nel would raise no hand against her brother in that promised defense, no matter how she warned.

where had she gone wrong as parent? after all, her daughter had everything if not for this, a simple and natural action that for incomprehensible mulishness, she would not take. a crown aligned, and a father's approving eye. what is a mother's desire if not for her young to excel: far beyond expectation, far beyond even herself, and win for that accolade, safety, success. where had she gone wrong, that the priceless fang of a precious child, pride of the brood and of her heart, should be turned upon her instead with everything she had instructed?

in that cool and unflinching rage so reminiscent of their liege lord, not bloodlust but bloodbelonging, as easy a thing as to die. in this, she witnessed sombron again—— and knew that her daughter kept the blood of kings.

. . .

centuries later, that daughter would stand upon the elusian ground and wonder at the home the mage dragons must have walked once. but perhaps that one had never walked at all. had she been born here? or had she too only ever been a product of that raging sun? to ask back then would have been out of the question.

so grasping amidst the fog, she reached out again as she had over and over since those days long flung:

what had been her mother's name? and what had she looked like? m. . . m. . .

there was no hope. after all, she had been born a fell dragon, raised a fell dragon — a birthright to kill, and a birthright to forget.

　

　 NEL has mastered dread fighter.

[nelithic]

A FORTHRIGHT YOUNG MAN GREETS HER. and throughout his explanation, she remains quiet and attentive, expression unchanging save for where a placid gaze follows his — back out across the lush grazing fields strewn gold with evenlight. he says more than she expects, and perhaps only partly to her, for the way he considers the pastoral view suggests a half rumination for himself.

nevertheless, she takes in the detailed statement, imagination shaping sketches of the situation he must be seeing. the closest she can find is what had become firene in her old world: a prospering breadbasket nation, strong in agriculture and war, uncontested in many respects. but few would have dared to attack them even for a cut of those resources. and she could not have envisioned firene being willing to share.

". . . i see. so you aim to assist another nation, though they have a history of assaulting your own." intrigue and approval slips in to a level tone, brows lifting in consideration of the little one. he looked young, but if what he claimed was true, then he possessed a generous spirit seldom seen.

"i presume you are a lordling, or a prince, to be thinking of these matters. you spoke of tariffs — . . . monetary penalties paid on supplies moved from one country's borders to another, correct?" one of the many ways humankind drew lines of declaration between themselves, justifying their animosity. she had always found it strange and perhaps a little regretful. not entirely in the conflict itself, but that conflict should still rule the lives of even those for whom it was so brief.

　𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬.

　　　　　　　　　 　　❪　m. showcase　/　lance point　❫

[nelithic]

ATMOSPHERE QUIETS WITH THE TWO THAT REMAIN. the tension, she watches drain from poe's expression, and wonders again at the nature of the enmity between two individuals who seemed at once so similar.

both, evidently, adept wielders of magic, both curious and withholding in their own ways. their reactions to one another spoke of parallels that could only be shaped by knowledge matched by loved ones.

though they were perhaps not twins as far as she could see, she has seldom witnessed such tells in relationships that were not somehow similar. and even this apology poe offers is the same.

what did it mean to apologize for another, if not that you knew them just as well as yourself? foregoing any shame of presumption to speak for another's actions as one would their own heart, their own hand. "your concern is appreciated, but i am not so easily bested." a faint gleam of distinction within the stony face of neutrality: "in fact, niamh and i appeared to have had the same strategy in mind, so i can find little fault with her approach."

if she is to be named underhanded, the observation seems to imply, then you may well turn your judgment likewise upon me.

"i would hear more of your relationship with her, and how you came to know one another. the two of you nearly caused quite a scene."

　▀▀　next ,　 @loveevangelist　₊

　𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦.

　　　　　　　　　　 　　　❪　post - boel　❫

[nelithic]

AND DRAGON PURSUES. at the onset of this invitational game, they had made an agreement. magic, for dragonstone. the red beating heart sits in its customary place unused, the depth of its primordial power untapped. but as always in the darkness, when the shadows grew long and cold, and the pounding blood of her target beguiled her base nature with its warmth, she feels it gnaw like instinct. scales that threaten to rattle, wings desiring to unfurl ; a tail that grabs, fangs that maul.

too late she reflects that this is dangerous. too late she acknowledges that once leaving the doomed land of her birth, she has seldom experienced the hunt since. conflict is not the same ; even ambush is not the same. always, she had nil at her side, and later, the winds, whose grounding light and humanity kept her pulse bloodless.

in spite of this, here, alone, poe had invited her to draw red.

distracted by such errant thoughts and the disquiet of her own earlier suppression without realizing, she rushes through an open grove, an unhesitating instant to taste the air commanding her left through the thick brush in the other woman's direction. shadow melds into shadow again, seamless horizon line between the midnight of the sky and the midnight moving below.

and comes again upon another grove. again, left.

and again, the moonlight spilling free to an open grove three. this time she slows, pauses enough to frown at silver pools seeming at once to congratulate and mock her arrival. this time she marks that the distant height of the canopy has not changed, and the shape of the leftmost path taunts her in mimesis. an illusion?

hands at her sides curl, back straight. senses alert, she prepares for the silent moment to shatter into chaos as wary steps advance to the small clearing's center. was this the young mage's trick — or the forest's?

Chasing Shadows

Seminars are encouraged at the monastery. They help others learn from their peers while strengthening friendship at the same time. Well… most seminars. This seminar, on the other hand, is on… the basis of keeping one’s composure? That’s what the paper says, after all... (Sword +1)