A long, very long time ago. In a distant land whose name has been changed many times, there was a church. The smallest Church in all of Constantinople. They didn’t have much to survive, barely gathering any followers, but with a little help from the king the nuns in the church lived a calm, if not boring life.

The little house of the Saints sat on top of a small hill, overlooking one of the walls of the great city. The view was not all that special, but at night one could see the many stars above in the clean, pre-industrial skies. Aira, daughter of Maryam, used to sit on its rooftop to watch them closer, to clear her mind, to try and remember the distant memories of her Father, and the lands she and her mother had to abandon with the coming of war.

It was harder to remember every day… but she did her best to keep her memories alive, shining brightly like a fire in the middle of a snowstorm. She didn’t want them extinguished, no matter how painful it could be to look back now that it was all so far away. After all, these memories were her only escape from the life of quiet resignation she was forced to now.

Worshiping strange deities, following foreign laws, letting the traditions and myths they once held so dearly fall into oblivion.

The world was a strange yet wonderful place, full of mysteries to experience and people to meet, all beyond the walls of this city that kept her confined to this faith she resented. The lands of the west, the deserts of Kavir, the many gifts that the Stars bestowed upon mankind, and that the beliefs of the Saints refused to acknowledge.

Her mother didn’t see things this way. Maryam’s fire had been extinguished by tragedy and suffering; life had taught her that there is no time for an identity if you are to survive in this cruel world. It made no sense to cling to old tales, religions and hopes, even people! And so, to protect herself and her daughter, she forsook it all. And she would do it again, there was no space for regret in survival.

Aira was not a dumb kid, she understood the sacrifices her mother was making. She knew it was necessary, and yet, a part inside of her resisted, rebelled, demanded more than the life she could currently afford.

It was that one night, so many years ago, right when the young girl was getting ready to get back inside… that she saw the Alchemist for the very first time, limping, wounded and tired.

Their eyes connected for a moment, blue staring into hazel.

She could have ignored him, or called someone else to help. But something moved her, curiosity made her try to take care of the situation by herself.

That’s how it all started.

It’d been ages since that, a literal myriad of lifetimes. The old church no longer existed, nor did Aira.

Mustafá sat on her own, on top of the tallest tower in all of Palien, watching the stars. The night sky was cleaner here than in Obuda, there wasn’t so much smoke nor light polluting her view of the galaxy. And yet, there were so few stars that night, she could see so little of anything. It was like the entire planet had lost its way with the years.

And now, it spun by itself in the middle of a dark swamp.

Giovanni stood there as well, not too far from her, but not too close either. He was afraid. Not of her reasons to be here, not of the way she may berate him this far. He was afraid of himself, of these feelings of yearning that he couldn’t quite get over. Of the torture of seeing someone and feeling his heart pump faster in anticipation, only to be disappointed once again.

He had to remind himself that these feelings, this yearning, that past he kept looking up to… they were all meaningless now. It was hopeless to try and cling to them.

Mustafá, on the other hand, knew that the man was there and had known for a while now. They were both acutely attuned to each other’s presence, after all. She couldn’t ignore him even if she desperately wanted to, even if she detested that she needed him.

She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to look at him.

For he made her feel.

Even without using her balm, even after the effects of the recharging of her soul had dissipated already… seeing the man in person inundated her heart with conflicting, violent feelings.

She wanted to run away, find another solution… but there was none. She had exhausted all of her ideas and now, she had to deal with the consequences of her own inability to deal with things alone.

This was the worst part. The frustration of having to depend on him.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, they spoke. At the same time.

“Hi–”

“Took you long enou–”

They frowned. They both absolutely hated that.

After a moment, they tried again. Mustafá took the words this time, before Giovanni could even start. He wasn’t going to.

“The situation has grown out of our control.” She said, crossing her arms. “The Second Sacrifice is coming… I fear it may have even started already.”

“You said it would start in the North Pole.” Giovanni closed his eyes and reassured her. “This isn’t the start.”

‘But what if I was wrong?’, Mustafá wanted to say. ‘What if I miscalculated?’. Of course, she would never say such things. She would never admit to even feeling this way… it was his fault, after all. It was his presence that tampered with her emotions. His annoying, ever changing presence.

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“Of course not.” She said, those thoughts only taking a fraction of a second in her mind. “But they are no doubt related to it. You saw the pictures as well, right?”

Both of their minds went back to the images, snapshots of a magical massacre. Burnt floors, bloodstained walls, mangled bodies…

“That I did.” The young man nodded.

“Then you know this was not done by a mere human. This was the work of a Dragon.” Finally, she decided to look him in the eye. She wanted to confirm they were on the same page.

Giovanni doubted. He knew that much was impossible… but he also knew what he saw.

“Yes.”

“You are the only one who knows where the few Dragons left have been sealed. I need the map.” She demanded.

“Are you going to check yourself? Are you crazy!?” Giovanni frowned. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I will be bringing Tav with me.” She added.

“That’s even more dangerous!” The man crossed his arms. “I refuse to have a part in this.”

“All you need to do is give me the map and your usual warnings. From then on, it’s my responsibility.” Mustafá slowly stood up.

“I will be worried sick!” Giovanni whined softly.

“You shouldn’t. You know I can’t die, and as long as I am alive, I can keep Tav safe.” She turned to face the young man. It was so jarring, suddenly being his size. She hated that.

“Just because you can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. It doesn’t mean you can’t suffer.” He really didn’t want to ask, but he finally caved in. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“That is none of your business.” The alchemist rejected his attempts to relate almost instantly.

“Mustafá…” He looked at her, dead in the eye. “Please.”

“Stop that. Stop it right this instant!” She suddenly blew up, unable to contain herself anymore. “Just give me the damn map and let me go, you stubborn old man!”

Silence. A few birds flew away.

Both mages looked at each other for a long time… and Giovanni sighed, conjuring a roll of papyrus and extending it to Mustafá, who immediately snatched it from his hand.

“Thank you.” She said, taking a few steps past the man, only to stop and suddenly whisper. “... I still haven’t found it. The formula…”

“... Stop torturing yourself with that.” He closed his eyes once more. “You don’t have to—”

“I do. And I will find it. I just need more time.” Mustafá softly jumped off the roof, her body disappearing in a sudden blink of octarine light.

And then there was one.

Giovanni kept his eyes closed, his fists closed. Frustration was invading him. A few tears slid down his cheeks. He hated it, but he felt a little relieved that the woman was still in the chase for her Great Work.

If she was still trying to kill him, that meant, in a strange way, that she still cared.

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I am multitasking like a champion, reading and taking notes with one half of my brain while the other was keeping track of the messages in my computer.

Mana

You are probably familiar with this word meaning Magical Resource, and to a certain point, it is true. Mana is a fountain of magic naturally produced by organic materials such as plant fiber or flesh… but accessing it is very complicated. Humans can only make use of it by transforming it into Astral.

And yet, the rest of the World doesn’t require this process. Magical creatures such as fairies, ghosts and others just seem to use Mana directly from their very beings. Their bodies also seem to be literally made out of the stuff, so be very careful!*

* Not fully accurate. Even if their Mana Density is much higher than a human’s, they still have a physical presence in the form of a Core. These tend to implode in death, so acquiring them and studying them was almost impossible until recent years.

We humans also produce Mana naturally, visible only to those blessed with an eye for magic, babies and a few cats. This aura around us, as they call it, starts with a fluorescent greenish-yellow purple, until it stabilizes into a colour more fitting of the person that emanates it.

Even if Mana is useless for the casting of spells, it is 100% vital for humans; there have been cases of vampires and other creatures draining the entirety of a person’s reservoir, leaving them in an emotionless state some refer to as “Apathia”.

* The body requires a minimum amount of Mana to function and regenerate. Once that threshold is drained, the body enters Apathia. Attempts to combat this have been made by injecting Mana directly into the body to try and reactivate its regenerating properties, but this only works in 45% of the cases. More often than not, the person either becomes dependent on an external intake of Mana, or eventually enter Final Stage Apathia, where the body suffers necrosis until death.

* Some equate Mana to the Soul of the person, but my own studies suggest that Mana is only a manifestation of the Soul rather than its entirety. That “threshold” could be the Mana stored in the Soul itself, and once the Soul loses that, it cannot replenish it anymore after a period of time.

So, keep your wits about that!

So what we use for magic is actually called ‘Astral’, and ‘Mana’ is another thing entirely? Like, unfiltered ‘Astral’? I guess that makes a little sense, one can’t use raw prime matter without turning it into useful resources.

This ‘Apathia’ thing worries me. It sounded like ‘Apathy’... and it reminds me of Mustafá quite a bit, being so apathetic. Could it be possible that she got bitten by a vampire recently and that’s why she’s this much of a bitch? Or is this one of those words that sound similar but aren’t related in the slightest?

“Not sure if there’s a word for that.”

I guess not…

xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: I just read about Mana! n.n

ケンジー・イズ・マイ・ワイフ!!!: Your power grows Tavy-chan OWO!!!

man don’t you lecture me with your $30 haircut 8): man cant wait for you to start messin with manasteel

man don’t you lecture me with your $30 haircut 8): youre gonna motherfuckin flip

xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: MANASTEEL!? O.O That sounds so cool not gonna lie

ケンジー・イズ・マイ・ワイフ!!!: It’s suppah sugoi stuff!! >w< so cool!

man don’t you lecture me with your $30 haircut 8): yeah girl just ask mortimer about it

man don’t you lecture me with your $30 haircut 8): he’s the weaver around ere

xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: I will, I will! n.n Saints above this is so exciting!

I am about to write something more when I hear knocking on the door. That’s definitely Mustafá. Took her a while, huh? With a little smile, and feeling the strength back in my legs, I let the others know that I’ll be right back and carefully stand up. Everything feels a little woobly but, I can walk if I do it slowly!

She isn’t in a big hurry either it seems, just knocked the one time and that would be it! Good!

“Going!”

With cautious steps I move to the door and, after messing a bit with the lock, I carefully open.

“Hey Mustafá! What’s–... up…?”

What I have in front of me is the defeated shade of a woman, hairs messily falling from under her turban, darkened golden eyes staring right at the floor. Has she been in the rain or something? There’s no other explanation for her looking this soggy!

“Tea. Please.”