. Decision .

Fior and Mailo let out a sigh of relief.

The office is still at last.

With the Vice Chancellor gone, it takes on a different form entirely. The arch window, now unobstructed, pictures the blue sky and Dalrune Sea far below racing each other to the horizon, daylight freely casting in upon the circular room. Rustic tapestry and woodwork are its only embellishments – green and gold banners hang over the four wooden totems standing by the chalky brick walls, their carved, angular faces tranquil in noble sovereignty. Each artifact bolsters itself with a certain longevity, one that exceeds that of either of the individuals before them by centuries, or maybe more. They are so of age, in fact, that Kelsi’s recent handiwork of cracks and nicks might even be at home among them.

Mailo makes his way behind the desk, the centerpiece of this design. The window light gently reflects off his armor as if welcoming him back to his rightful station. He slips off his cape and drapes it over his intricately designed chair.

Back turned to Fior, he slides his hand over the smooth wooden table and ends the silence.

“…A caged bird, huh? I guess I could invest in one…” He puffs out an effortless chuckle at Cezar’s words. After a brief pause, he looks down at the one they were intended to insult, leering with neutral eyes. “You’re a real smartass, professor.”

“Am I?”

…

“-pfft…!”

…A crack in the refinement, like steam bursting from a geyser. The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until…

“BAHAHAHAHAH!”

It breaks completely, erupting into a howling, uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“Come on, Miles, already? Get a grip…”

“No, no, I…*coff!*” He fights to keep from doubling over any lower, hugging his belly with his one arm for support. “I know, I know…! I just…‘yer sass, it gets me every time!”

His northerner accent comes out as easily as he breathes.

He wipes the tears from his eyes. “Seriously, though, would ye quit torment’n me poor Vice like that? He can’t take no more!”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘Impolite.’”

“Hey! He’s the one always fussin’ ‘bout that sorta thing. I’m jus’ respectin’ values!” Mailo puts on a sarcastic scoff. “Still, he’s an earnest one, that guy. I give ’im that much. Makes ‘im reliable at leas’.”

“It makes him easy to play with.”

The snide ridicule trips another hearty laugh, one far more controlled than the last. As the amusement of the subject wanes, Fior decides to shift to another.

“How was the patrol?”

“Pretty normal. Baladeith's as…guarded as ever.”

Fior gives him a cynical frown. A normal patrol?

But before they can make him elaborate, Mailo clears his throat and plops himself down in his seat with a thud, intent on steering the conversation back on track. Despite his best efforts to be professional, his smile clings to his face.

“But enough about that fer now!” He crosses his legs, kicks them up, and…

*Clang!*

…brings them down on his desk, crumpling the documents Cezar huffily left behind. His silver boot drives through the paper and adds another casualty to the field of dents dotting the sturdy wood.

“Les’ talk business.”

Fior straightens their face and posture.

“So, ye and the girl caused another outcry. ‘Sume it was another one a’ them trials a’ ‘yers.”

“Yes.”

“An’ that outcry near leveled the whole buildin’.”

“Yes. She’s as reckless as always.”

“An’, as always, I of all people happen ta’ be here when it ‘appens?”

“…Yes.”

“Tch. Takin’ advantage of me soft spot fer ye again, I see. That’s so…you.” His grin finally fades to a stoic gaze. “Look, Fifi… ‘Yer a smart bastard, and I’d hate ta’ have ta’ be cruel. But ye know, I really do got a job ta’ do! I know I say that ev’ry time, but I mean it. So, when I tell ye not ta’ play with me, I really hope ‘yer listen’n.”

“I wouldn’t rely on you if I had any other choice. I wasn’t lying to Cezar when I said Kelsi is coming along fast – too fast even for me, honestly…”

“Well, thas’ not really surprising, yeah?”

“Exactly! She just needs...different accommodations than my past students. Maybe, say, a real training room that can take a real beating…”

“Oh, so our facilities aren’t enough fer ye now? Well, convincing the Board fer the benefit of just you two would prolly be impossible, I’m afraid…”

“Then at least let me use my powers to fix things up!”

“C’mon now, Fifi…we both know they’re not gonna tolerate that, either.”

Defeated, Fior's head collapses into the table with a drawn-out groan. The Chancellor doesn’t look impressed, but his lighthearted nagging betrays his entertainment. “Aw, don’t be such a crybaby. At the end a’ the day, you were the one who allowed things ta’ be wrecked in the firs’ place.”

“I know, I know…” Fior admits. They sit up and tidy themselves up again, though careful not to look too proper after putting Mailo off guard with their performance. That’s always been the trick with him. “But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: as her professor, am I supposed to stop her from learning just because things get out of hand? Even if she’s taking my lessons to heart? You say you’ve got a job to do, but I’ve got mine as well.”

Mailo’s eyes soften slightly at this, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You know this is all just part of the process, Miles. Kelsi is just a bit more lively than the others, that’s all. So, if no one else is willing to account for that, I’m begging you to let this slide just one more time. I’ll get her under control, and then I promise – really, actually promise – this won’t ever happen again.”

Fior’s plea resonates through the room.

Mailo takes a deep breath, drawing in as much air as he possibly can to fuel a mind torn between skepticism and empathy. His foot, still lodged into the disciplinary notes on the desk, begins to sway back and forth at the heel.

“…Before I decide, I gotta ask ye a question firs’.”

“What is it?”

“I took a peek at ‘yer place on the way ‘ere. An' don’t get me wrong! It was a hell’ve a mess, and I really did feel that quake from the outer wall…but things didn’t seem as blown up as usual…So, Fifi, be honest wit' me…how'd it go this time around?”

Perfect.

“She awakened today.”

The pair sit without another word.

A hushed gust of wind patters against the window.

Mailo pulls his foot from the desk and untangles his legs, sending the papers scattering onto the floor. His face flat, he shifts his seat forward and leans on the desk, propping himself up with his toned arm. He runs a finger over his orange stubble just once as his whole being is overtaken by deep thought.

…

Time passes.

Mailo doesn’t budge – not even a little. After so long, one might be convinced the room itself has collected him, fashioning his regal, contemplative essence into another inanimate ornament.

Fior, too, stays relatively motionless, though they occasionally shuffle giddily in their chair.

…

Mailo eventually comes to with a lengthy huff. The corners of his mouth strain, revealing their creases in a manner Fior has rarely seen.

Is that…conflict?

Fior's enduring faith finally crumbles. “Hey, hey – you’re not actually considering what Cezar said, are you…?”

“No, ‘course not. I wouldn’ dream of expellin’ either of ye.”

Ah, that’s a relief…

“‘Yer both suspended, though.”

Huh?

“…Eh?”

Suspended…

Not expelled…

Suspended…?

They finally register the blow.

“W-what?! D-did you even hear what I said? Kelsi has a stable core now!”

“I heard ye. And congratulations. But it don’t change anythin’.”

“Why?! What's so different this time? Plus, she- she won’t even wreck things anymore!” The Chancellor raises a doubtful eyebrow. “…Not as much…”

“Fifi, ‘yer far too naïve! D’ya think I got infinite power ’r somethin’? Even las’ time was a stretch, but if I pardon ye a sixth, Cezar and the rest a’ the Board’re gonna lose it in a big way fer sure. They might even start losin’ faith in me!”

“-!” Fior opens their mouth to protest. They know the kind of influence this man holds, and they aren’t fooled by his phony appeal to a collective will. Yet, although they recognize the blatant lie, Fior’s startled heart anchors their tongue in place.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“…B’sides, they’re more worried about what’s already been screwed up anyway. Whether ‘r not Kelsi’ll annihilate the whole place next time ain’t even on the map to them, ‘specially since they’ve got no clue how ‘yer field a’ study even works. And they don’t care to, by the way.”

Were they not so stung, Fior might’ve been able to enthusiastically agree with that much, at the very least.

“But I don’t ‘ave the heart ta’ expel ye. So, I’m gonna do what’s best an’ suspend ye fer a bit instead. That way, they won’t be gettin’ suspicious, I’ll keep up my reputation, and both ye and ‘yer student can come back later when things‘ve died down! Don't sound so bad, eh?”

Fior sits in silence. The pain inflicted by Mailo’s decision subsides, but this vacancy only makes way for a wave of betrayal.

After all this time, now he’s deciding to punish them? For what, “reputation?” That can’t be it! They suppress the urge to leap across the desk and strangle the truth out of him.

Barely keeping calm, they manage a simple question. “…How long?”

“Four months’ll do it. Ye’ll be back by *Fómhar.”

“You’re Joking!”

But at the sight of Mailo’s unchanging smile, they know he isn’t.

They begin to bemoan themselves for their carelessness.

All that gloating over Cezar – what had it all been for? Nothing! They imagine his smug face relishing in the news, shuddering with disgust. A deep blush floods their cheeks, and they wish above all else to never have to see him after this.

Plus, how will they tell Kelsi?

How will they take care of…

Overrun with worry and shame, they clench their trembling fists.

“You can’t do this to me! I have to train Kelsi! I have to…I need this job!”

“Gods, Fifi. Get a grip! It’s not all that bad! Think’ve this as an opportunity!”

“Okay, now you’re really messing with me!”

“No, I’m serious! ‘Yer task ‘asn’t changed! Ye can still teach Kelsi!”

“Where am I supposed to take her, huh? The city?”

Fed up, Mailo's right hand clasps onto their shoulder, shaking their bickering figure mercilessly. “’Course not! Did that brilliant brain a’ ‘yers spring a leak?! How’ve ye not caught on? I’m tellin’ ye ta’ get outta here and do some real trainin’!”

As the dizziness fades, Fior’s jostled lips split open, deflating in a feeble squeak:

“Huh?”

Mailo collects himself before continuing.

“Whew…Ye were complainin’ ‘bout that crummy room, yeah? Well, I really hate ta’ admit this, but there’s frankly nowhere on these grounds that’ll be good enough fer ye…”

Fior remains frozen as they return to their senses, the realization coming to them in bits and pieces. Their voice is vapid with awe. “You want us to leave Altar City…?”

“There we go, now ‘yer gettin’ it! Look, Fifi – the fact a’ the matter is the girl’s not just too powerful for Rift Point, she’s too powerful…period! We’ve been able to more ‘r less take care’ve ‘er with ‘yer help, but seein’ as she’s got a hold of ‘er core now, there’s nothin’ more we can do. And as ye know, Arcany’s pretty much a no-go anywhere else…”

Fior listens carefully to Mailo’s every word. His reasoning seems sound, but…

Something’s off.

“Plus, I’ll be up front with ye: her bein’ around ‘as been starting to cause more problems than usual. None of ‘em bein' ‘er actual fault, by the way! But since she’s suspended now, too, she’s goin’ back out where the bulk a' people are, and that might make things worse…”

Fior winces, thinking back to Cezar’s select scorn for the girl. That bumbling oaf. Someone like her, reduced to that to so many…and over something so trivial.

“…So, this is the perfect chance fer ye both, yeah? why don’t ye take ‘er out with ye ta’ make it all easier? She’ll be safe in ‘yer care, I’m sure, and ye’ll both get a lot more outta it than stayin’ ‘ere.”

Disbelief consumes the professor's mind. What the hell is he thinking…?

…Still, they can’t deny the intrigue taking over some small corner of their mind.

It would be nice to get out of this drama for once…

And it would be better for Kelsi in the long run…

And how long have they waited for another chance to go out there?

…!

They catch themselves considering the proposal, horrified they’ve even begun to entertain it.

“…No…no! It’s still too dangerous! She’s not ready for that, not even close! And…besides, I won’t risk her life just because of the ignorant morons who are too stupid to get her!”

Mailo stands up and turns toward the window, taking a few moments to himself before reflecting on cunning scrutiny.

“…So ‘yer sayin’ ye’d go if ye had another incentive?”

“What?”

“Ye won’t risk ‘er life because of those ‘ignorant morons’ is what ye said. So, would ye do it because of…somethin’ else?”

“T-that’s not even close to what I meant!”

What is this guy playing at? They wish they could make out his nebulous intentions, but unable to see his face past that barrier of a back, all they can do once again is let him deliberate in silence.

…

As he’s lost in thought, the room’s air stiffens.

He stands for what seems like ages before turning back around. Fior notices his expression is one of a solemn ilk, though they can’t comprehend why. It leaks into his tone as he speaks, ignorant of the vehement denial expressed only moments prior. “Fifi, ye asked about the patrol earlier, yeah? Well, truth be told, I was actually comin’ back ‘ere ta’ tell ye this, but…” He pauses, glances at the cracks in the walls, and exhales an empty chuckle. “Funny ‘ow things work out.”

“Spit it out, for gods' sake.”

“Well, t’day’s patrol was normal. But we just got word back from that hired scout…”

“And?”

Mailo opens his mouth to reply but stops mid-breath. It lasts only an instant, that fraction of a second for which he’s caught on some inexplicable hitch. But no sooner does Fior notice this reluctance than does Mailo end it, giving the professor no time to analyze his strife.

To them, his voice is like a divine premonition, like a great bell tolling all around.

“The Druid’s Flame ‘as been found.”

The room falls into a final silence. It isn’t soothing, like the first. Not triumphant, like the second. Not grave, as had been the last.

No – this silence is something far more ambiguous, something stuck between shock and serenity. It’s as if some terrible, abhorrent, unthinkable tragedy has taken place, yet granted calm resolution in its passing. And, as a result, the absolute silence is not pleasant, not foreboding, not possessive of any feeling of any kind.

It is simply nothing.

In this nothing, Fior sits without a single motion, drawing in the meaning of the words spoken to them while failing to grasp even a single one. This professor, the one who was just caught up in flustered rage, the one who had even earlier been playfully conniving, is now devoid of expression entirely.

Mailo startles quietly at this strange aura, returning some semblance of life to the air.

“I ‘spected ye ta’ be a bit more blown away…”

Fior looks up at him, their face inconceivably placid. Their voice is equally stale. “…What do you want from me?”

“Fer ye ta’ finally go an’ get it, an’ ta’ take the Elemental along. Thas’ all.”

“Why don’t you send the Guard?”

…A pause, and then the expected retort.

“Fifi, we’re the Guard. We serve our stations, we never leave them...usually. And b’sides…” Mailo walks around the desk and places a hand gently on Fior’s shoulder. “There’s none that know that dreaded curse better than ye. An’ I figure outta respect fer ‘yer situation, it’d be wrong not ta’ entrust ye with completin’ the cure.”

They emerge from their trance just slightly at the mention of that…thing.

“Of course, we’d compensate ye fer retrievin’ such a high-tier item. So, if ‘yer worried ‘bout anythin' back home, ye’d be covered.”

But Fior doesn’t seem affected in the slightest by the mention of money anymore.

“I admit I’m takin’ advantage’ve ye, though. An’ fer that I really am sorry – I won’t try ta’ force ye to go if ye say no, nor Kelsi fer that matter. But either way, all that stuff I said earlier stands, and neither of ye can avoid the suspension. So, I really mean it: there’s no better time than now.”

Fior lingers in the offer.

Then, they stand up from their chair for the first time since they sat down.

How idiotic they must have looked with their counterfeit confidence, thinking they could wriggle out of this mess!

It seems as though only one has been exploited in the end.

Because although they wish above all else not to play into the Chancellor’s hand, although they want nothing to do with whatever ulterior motive he has in mind, although they’re perfectly aware of the danger this poses to their student…

His offer is one they cannot ignore.

Cornered, they say the only thing they can.

“I’ll think about it. But if I go, it’s only for the flame, and then we come straight back. No detours, no tangents, none at all. Promise me that, and I’ll consider taking Kelsi out to 'train.'”

“Deal.”

Fior stares at Mailo's outstretched palm, wondering whether or not shaking it will dirty their own. Despite this, they do so anyways, their smooth, slim fingers engulfed by a brawny grasp. As the shake ends, one thought fills their head more than any other.

No, it’s not.

They turn around and start toward the exit, their loose robe flitting through the air at the sudden movement. Their perfectly stable step makes them appear as a formless phantom drifting away.

Before they leave, they stop and give a hollow snicker at the trickster everyone else calls the Chancellor.

“…And you called me a smartass.”

Mailo’s smile returns as if it never left, flashing at the little figure with one last shameless remark.

“’How’dya think I got ‘ere?”

The shutting door separates the two before another word can pass between them. Yet, in the moment, they both know the decision has already been made.

----------------------------------------

The living room door opens with a slow creak.

As Fior walks inside, the voice begins to replay in their head.

It always does when they come back here.

Hear me, ye lord of old

The door closes behind them, but they don’t notice. Somehow, whether or not the moonlight shines in, this place is always pitch-black without their aid.

With a wave of a small hand, the fireplace roars to life, bathing the wooden room in its steady glow. The light bends to follow them as they move, afraid of being left alone.

The one of blood and kin fortold

Everything here is unreasonably tidy. The floors are shiny, the fabrics clean, and the tables orderly. Every piece of the den down to the last speck is like new, so much so that none of it may have been used at all – the frames hanging from the walls are all empty, as are the shelves, drawers, and cupboards.

It’s as if time has been stopped within these walls.

Fior strides past a deserted vase on their way to the stairs, their steps soundless against the floor.

Grant us once that amethyst flower

As they ascend the twisted flight, they don’t pay heed to the way in which the wood decays, splintering and softening under their feet. They’ve gotten used to it all, even the rotten stench that grows more unbearable the higher they climb.

They arrive at a door that should have fallen apart long ago, softly gripping the handle before pushing the whole slab aside.

And bless or burden an equal power.

A curse. A cure.

At its end, they come to this bedroom, looking upon its sad state. Here, the rot is worst of all – dark mold oozes off every moldered surface, punching cavernous holes anywhere they fester. In the far corner, a shabby bed depresses the damp planks beneath it, its rusty frame ready to snap at any given moment.

On it, a grotesque being lie shrouded in sheets.

The shape of his body is grossly contorted in a way none can reasonably consider human, lumps and growths pulsating from underneath the stained fabric. Is that a knee, or his head? His neck, or his wrist? Does he have two arms, or two too many? Who knows – he’s just a crumpled, tangled mess of parts, one twisted such that it is impossible to tell where any of him begins or ends.

Fior, too, would not be able to recognize him if not for the copper hair matching their own. It spills aimlessly onto the floor in tendrils, the only remaining trace of what he had once been.

A low, sickly gargle of a moan wails from the bed.

Fior’s brow furrows into an expression they can’t describe before they approach its source.

They run their hand over him, trying to sense something – anything, with their gentle touch. But his skin is cold, his mind desolate. They summon their glow to him, but as always, it’s no use.

…

They know he can’t answer them, but they speak anyway. They speak because despite this grisly sight, there’s some surviving hope within them – now more than ever – that he will wake up, warm and lively, ready for a late start.

It’s a lousy hope.

A comforting hope.

A hope everything will go back to normal, and a hope that their journey will make it so.

In this hope, they say the only thing they can.

“I’m home.”