The time Sol spent with Aurelia had been some of the happiest moments in his life. Even the mundanity of ordinary life, when he was with her, transformed into moments of endless warmth, love, and joy.

Likely because of just how many years had passed, Sol had begun to forget the time he had spent with his blood family, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, reasoning that he already had a mother in Aurelia, he was still deeply saddened by the prospect of one day completely forgetting his family’s faces.

He had promised himself that one day, when he had sufficiently grown up, he would journey back to the South, and see them again.

Though, he had no idea just which territory he originally lived in, on account of his young age back then.

But for now, he would just enjoy the life he had with Aurelia.

Even still, he couldn’t escape the nagging voice in the back of his mind that the life he was living, the happiness he felt, weren’t truly his; that they could be taken from him at any point in time, and he would be powerless to stop it.

And before Sol knew it, the snow had begun to melt, the new year passed, and he celebrated his 12th birthday with Aurelia.

Not knowing when he was born, Sol, when asked by Aurelia when his birthday was, could only shrug, and so, Aurelia picked one for him, the 30th of Frosyore, though she quickly came to regret her decision.

Sol, partly because of his reasoning that he was now 75% the way to adulthood, and mostly due to the near hourly begging, managed to convince Aurelia to allow him to freely walk outside, and enjoy the three months in Frosthelm where there wasn’t snow.

Though, he very rarely actually properly enjoyed the warm weather, instead sitting on one of the bridge’s guardrails, and blankly staring up at the floating crystal structure in the middle of the city.

What thoughts he had in his mind as he did so, he didn’t know, but what Sol did know was that he enjoyed doing it, so he continued doing so.

***

“Baron Elef,” a handsome, middle aged robed man stood up from the plush red couch on which he sat, and bowed, his tied up blonde hair moving with his head.

“Mage Thalric,” the Baron raised his hand, signaling him to dispense with the pleasantries, “I assume this relates to the previous assessment of my child, and her enrollment in Celestia?”

“Of course,” Thalric smiled, “How could I dare waste the time of a former bannerman of the Blood Duchess?”

Nodding in response, the Baron sat across from him, before a maid immediately placed a tray of refreshments on the table between them.

Thalric, raising his cup to his mouth, wet his throat with the faintest bit of tea. Momentarily closing his eyes, he fully processed the tea’s fragrance, before smiling at the maid in thanks for the well made drink.

The Baron downed the tea in the span of a breath, before fixing his gaze on the mage in front of him.

Thalric, setting his cup down, began, “The view of Frosthelm from up here is truly beautiful. I can really see why you left the Blood Duchy,” he smiled.

“Mmm,” the Baron apathetically acknowledged, neither confirming nor rejecting Thalric’s statement.

“The Crystal Falls are truly an exceptional sight,” Thalric complimented, “Especially from the mountains. Once an element of stability is introduced to the region, I foresee this city’s tourism industry undergoing a truly tremendo-”

“Cease your rambling,” the Baron, in the same calm demeanor, suddenly interrupted, “and say what you came here to say.”

“What are you planning?” Thelric immediately asked, his voice, previously friendly and kind hearted in nature, distorted to become frigid and threatening, to the point the maid present in the meeting room broke out into a cold sweat, her knees beginning to buckle under the pressure she felt.

At the sight of the pitiful, trembling sub-level 1 maid, the Baron waved her out of the room, sparing her not only from the room’s pressure, but also from becoming privy to matters involving the nobility.

“I don’t see what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Thalric roared, leaping up in a rage, “You think we don’t know of the Third Army’s movements? Not only is there a risk of you and the Blood Duchess sparking another Northern War, you plan to involve Celestia as well? Be grateful the academy denied my motion to immediately send the sentinels.”

“Then tell me which Southern goatfucker sent the mage and the whore,” the Baron replied, voice dripping with venom, “And the Blood Bone tribe lives.”

“Above all else, we are a neutral party, and we exist solely to nurture those with potential in such a way so as to allow them to fully blossom, and meet their utmost potential,” Thalric, now slightly calmer, stated, ”But if you’ve forgotten that, and intend to treat us as hunting dogs at your beck and call…” not finishing his sentence, he allowed Baron Elef to process the unspoken threat.

Baron Elef sat in silence, and blankly stared ahead, gradually taking on an ambiguous air.

“I know, and I’ve never forgotten.” Breathing in deeply, he continued, “I swear, on my name, that child is completely innocent, and her application to Celestia is unrelated to the ongoing Blood Bone conflict. And if you still feel doubt, look me directly in the eye, and judge for yourself just how deep the sincerity in my words truly runs.”

Sighing in exhaustion, Thalric got up.

“I’ll be leaving at the end of the month. If you still wish for her to attend, I’ll be glad to accompany her to Celestia. I’ll see myself out.”

Opening the door to leave the waiting room, a spying white haired child was exposed. Thalric politely smiled at her, before walking out into the hallway.

Instead of exiting using the same method which he used to enter, through the octahedron’s interconnected warp circle, Thalric opened his mouth to cast spatial magic, when he suddenly noticed something.

Intently looking down at the city, Thalric briefly chanted, a small translucent blue circle momentarily forming beneath his feet, before he teleported out of the octahedron.

With the mage gone, the girl tilted her head at Baron Elef as if asking him what exactly just occurred.

Baron Elef, getting up, reached out his hand to pat the girl’s head, only for him to abruptly stop in the air.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Visibly exhausted, “Lunia, go back to your room,” Baron Elef ordered the girl.

Silently nodding in reply, the white haired girl turned heel, and walked down the hallway.

***

Sol sat on the bridge, continuing to stare up at the great floating octahedron, but hearing the sound of angered yells, he turned his head, and began to absentmindedly watch a group of slaves unloading goods off a cart on the stone brick shore of the backwards flowing river.

Five in total, the youngest looked to be about Sol’s age, while the oldest couldn’t have been any older than 21, yet he still had an intense air of sadness that severely aged him to the point one wouldn’t be remiss to assume he was an elder in the twilight years of his life who had by some unknown method, come to possess the body of a young man.

In fact, each and every one of them had expressions of such profound misery and suffering that, when combined with their dirty, unwashed, and bruised faces, only served to further pronounce the few signs of aging on their faces.

The youngest, a boy a head shorter than Sol, suddenly dropped the sack over his shoulder, and stopped unloading his owner’s cart.

Walking to the edge of the stone brick paved ground, the boy was just one step away from plunging into the river. He seemed to be in a trance, as with those empty, hazy, abyssal eyes, he stared into the deep, gaping maw under the gargantuan floating structure.

Gradually, the boy began to sway, at first side to side, then forward and back, as if at the mercy of the wind despite the air being completely still, when suddenly, his owner grabbed the collar of his torn, dirty rags masquerading as clothes, and roughly threw him away from the river, against the stone road.

Letting out less words, and more so animalistic grunts and roars, the master violently beat the boy, kicking his ribs such that Sol could hear them breaking even from where he sat on the bridge and feel the constant pain the boy would have in breathing the next few months, holding him up by the tunic, and punching his head such that Sol could see the boy’s face the next morning sporting a previously nonexistent broken nose, stomping his face against the stone brick ground such that the boys eyes had nearly popped out of his eye socket by the time the master paused, panting in exhaustion.

And when the boy lay flat, one foot already in the grave, with blood leaking out from his swollen mouth and forming a pool, the master only stopping from the eldest slave holding him and weeping for him to show mercy and spare the boy, the passing by peoples continuing on their way and not even sparing a glance for the slaves and their master, the boy, in a near-death haze, stared at Sol.

Sol could only look away, unable to hold the boy’s gaze.

Suddenly, as if coming to a decision, Sol forced his eyes up to meet the boy’s stare, only for him to have already lost consciousness, head pressed down into a puddle of his own spilt blood.

“Horrible,” a man stated.

Turning his head in the direction the voice came, Sol came face to face with a man with long, blonde hair.

“How barbaric,” the man continued, “And primitive. Humans are fleshy, and break easily. Such an inefficient labor source.”

Sol, taking into account the large number of patrolling guards nearby and that the man didn’t seem to be suffering from any especially debilitating mental illness on account of his speech being relatively coherent, reasoned the man wouldn’t do anything too extreme, so Sol stayed where he was, both because of the curiosity he felt at what else the man had to say, and the horror brought on by the slave’s beating.

But the man had nothing else to say, remaining silent as he rested his arms on the guard rails, and watched the river flow beneath the bridge.

Growing tired of waiting for the man to continue speaking, Sol returned his attention to the floating octahedron in an attempt to erase the image of the bloody slave from his mind, only to be met with little success.

“The eyes,” the handsome blonde man suddenly began, “are said to be a window to the soul. They say that one can tell a lot about a man from their eyes. From their desires, to their fears, to who they are fundamentally.”

The man pointed at the master, who had begun barking at another of the slaves to pick the beaten boy up, and put him onto the cart.

“Like that man,” the blonde man continued, “Nasty piece of work, strong in front of the weak, weak in front of the strong, and takes his anger and frustration at needing to act weak on those lower than him.”

“I think you could tell that about him from how he acted, rather than his eyes.”

“Ah!” the man exclaimed, “He speaks! And yes, that is true. But, I say this, because of your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes, I’ve taken an interest in them,” he smiled.

“If this is an attempt at using sweet nothings to lure me away to be abducted and sold … the guards are one yell away,” Sol threatened.

“No, no,” the man laughed, “The effort it would take to do that would not be commensurate with the potential profit of committing such an act. No, I say this because I see great potential in you.”

He bowed, “I am Thalric Weaver, Level 17 mage, and talent recruiter for Celestia Academy, at your service.”

Sol silently gazed at him with a look of partial skepticism at the man being a mage, and mostly ignorance on what exactly level 17, recruiter, and Celestia Academy meant.

Smiling in response, Thalric opened his palm up to the air, before briefly chanting.

“White Rose.”

An illusory, blue circle magical in nature briefly spun on the palm of his hand, before disappearing. a blooming rose bud constructed from ice taking its place.

Thalric handed the construct over to the boy.

Sol closely examined the crystal rose for any imperfections, rubbing each and everyone of its petals, and viewing it from all different angles.

The rose was truly beautiful, as it shone brightly in the sunlight.

By the time he finished inspecting it, his fingers were beginning to go numb, and the rose was beginning to melt, with water beginning to form on the surface of the rose, dripping down to his fingers, and drops falling down to join the flowing river.

“This doesn’t exactly support your saying you don’t intend to abduct me,” Sol dryly stated.

“No,” Thalric chuckled, “I suppose it doesn’t. But, I created that rose to demonstrate my ability in magic. Only a high level mage such as myself can cast a spell of such difficulty as White Rose, and with a shortened cast at that.”

“I see,” Sol thoughtfully commented, eyes outwardly unresponsive, but internally marveling at the vast world of magic and just how ignorant he was on the subject.

Thalric, after asking Sol’s age, and learning that he was 12 years of age, reached into a small leather pouch, and pulled out a crystal ball larger than his head.

Before Sol could ask how he was able to fit something so large into a bag as small as the one around his waist, Thalric began to speak, his voice becoming animated, and passionate,

“Celestia is the very best school to nurture young talent in the world. There, the world’s strongest have pooled their resources such that everyone has equal opportunity to reach their full potential. There are no fees to attend, all expenses are paid for, but a new class is only taken once every 3 years. Because the age at which one may normally begin to attend is 12-14, this may be your only chance to walk the path of ascension.”

Pausing, Tharlic let Sol process his words.

“If you do not wish to attend Celestia, that is your prerogative, and I will not force you, no matter how much I may be against it. But what I am suggesting, is that at the very least, your potential be tested on whether or not it meets Celestia’s standards. After all, is it not better to choose to stay even when met with a myriad of options, rather than staying from a lack thereof?”

Sol nodded, agreeing with Thalric’s sentiment.

Thalric directed Sol to place his two hands onto the crystal ball, and Sol jumped back onto the bridge to fulfill Thalrics orders more easily.

As Sol placed the palms of his hands onto the ball, he suddenly felt as if some part of his body, previously unseen, and known only to Sol, was laid bare before Thalric; as if the most sacred, and important part of himself had just been exposed.

Shuddering slightly in unease, Sol waited for Thalric.

Evidently in deep thought, Thalric finally raised his head, with a slightly complicated expression,

“5th star, your potential is at 5th star. Not bad, I’d even call you talented.”

Sol stayed silent.

“Celestia will accept you,” Thalric’s expression became congratulatory, “I see great potential in you. I will be leaving at the end of the month on the airship bound for Thaloria City, and if you choose to attend, I will have a seat waiting for you.”

Waving goodbye to the boy, Thalric disappeared into the passing crowd.

Sol sat back onto the bridge’s railing, gazing up at the floating Octahedron, before turning his head back to the slaves, and their master.

A strange, unexplainable feeling different from watching the octahedron engulfed Sol’s heart at the sight.