I sat at the edge of the cot, mesmerized.

Aixel, alight with the flaming hearth, stood on Milea’s bed, brush and palette in hand. I watched as he dipped the tiny brush in the paint, and delicately touched up the glowing hair around Illes’ somber face as his dark brows furrowed over voided eyes.

Milea and Ciro were on the floor, huddled over an ancient ink-splotted map, quiet in discussion. Ciro seemed to be completely recovered now, yet he still sat so close to the roaring flames of the fireplace. He scratched his now full beard as Milea bit her nails beside him.

It was a strange moment of peace before the unknown battle that awaited us the next day. Scouts and fliers alike confirmed that the Selphene armies would be arriving by tomorrow, some time in the early morning by their estimation. Although I was grateful for the training I received from Milea, I couldn’t help but feel hopeless as I polished the Halmore armor by firelight, each tiny scuff and scratch a reminder of another mistake and misstep.

I looked up again to see Aixel still diligently painting Illes’ face, lost in his work. Since I had first met him, he seemed to only wear the same dirty white linen shirt and dark trousers and was seldom seen wearing shoes. And with him practically being raised by such a masterful armorer, curiosity got the better of me.

“Aixel,” I started, “Why don’t you wear armor?”

It was quiet for a moment, and I watched as Aixel slowly lifted the brush from the wall, frowning.

“Metal doesn’t void,” he said flatly, not bothering to turn around. “At least, not easily. It slows me down.”

Milea looked up from the map on the floor and sighed.

“I tried to make him some wooden armor… and just what happened to it?” she asked, seemingly already knowing the answer.

“Left it in the bog too long. Got moldy,” stated Aixel flatly, still too concentrated on his work to look away.

Milea gave a dry laugh then got up off the ground, offering an arm to Ciro to do the same.

“Well now, we’ve been over the plans about a thousand times now. Everyone with two hands and can stand will be out with us tomorrow with blade in hand. I think it’s finally time we all tried to get some sleep,” said Milea.

Aixel dotted the face a final time then jumped off the bed, stretching long arms above him with a yawn.

I nodded, placing the armor on the floor beside me, then pulled the covers over my bare feet. Aixel looked at me, blinking slowly.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh… did you want the cot tonight? I can sleep on the floor,” I said, jumping up.

But Aixel’s eyes only narrowed. I then watched as he shook his head and made his way out of the curtained door.

I looked at Ciro, confused.

“I… You go on ahead, Milea. I’ll explain,” he said, then cleared his throat.

Before large battles and fights, it was blood mage tradition to spend the prior night in the catacombs amongst the dead. It was meant to be a time of reflection, meditation, and solemn acceptance of fates unknown. Each soldier was assigned a, thankfully, empty stone-walled tomb to rest their head for the night, myself included.

As I stood on the cold ground, dirt ceiling low overhead, before my stone bed for the night, I felt sick. The catacombs were massive, with long rows of plainly decorated stone boxes, filled wall to wall and stretching deep into the darkness. We were joined by a mass of around a hundred or so other residents of the underground, some very old and using long spears as walking sticks, and some who looked even younger than I.

Despite the crowd, it was quiet, with only some chatter and small talk scattered about the group. And, in contrast to the anticipated horrors of the next morning, the atmosphere seemed serene, with some of the older soldiers even cracking jokes. They seemed hauntingly well practiced in this ritual, giving each other pats on the back before shoving the heavy stone covers to the side, with the younger residents helping the older with the high step inside.

Thankfully, my lovely tomb was far away from the commodore of the catacombs, so I was able to dwell in my anxiety in peace.

Ciro was to my left, grumbling about his back as he leaned against the side of his bed for the night, struggling to take off his boot. His heavy fur coat swaddled him, and I wasn’t quite sure he would fit with so many covers. Milea was beside him, quiet but smiling as she watched him, arms crossed and long black braids hanging almost down to her elbows. Aixel was to my right, already sitting in his stone box, with long arms wrapped around his knees. He was making private small talk with Doris, who was perched and squeaking in the palm of his hand.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He seemed so comfortable in such a melancholy situation, and it made me wonder just how many times he had slept down here before. He couldn’t have been much older than I, but I couldn’t imagine he had aged gracefully judging by the little I knew about his life. And, watching him now, smiling at his little mouse friend, I couldn’t help but laugh at how afraid of him I was when our paths first crossed in the fields.

I crossed my arms over my bed clothes, thankful of Lumo’s magic as it kept me warm even now in the damp and chilled underground air, and turned to the messy haired void mage.

“Aixel, how old are you?”

Aixel looked up from his conversation, pushing a mop of red hair from his eyes.

“Huh?”

“How old are you?” I asked again.

He shrugged, then returned to his conversation with Doris.

“... Do you not know?”

He turned to me, annoyed now from my interruption.

“How would I know, Mira?”

“I… I don’t know,” I shook my head. “Do you not have a birthday?”

Aixel’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you daft? What part of this do you not understand?” he said, shaking his head. Doris gave a squeak.

I paused, thinking.

“Do you want it to be today?” I asked.

Even though the black of his eyes remained, I could tell he was rolling his eyes. He then shook his head before slowly sinking down, lowering himself and Doris beneath the walls of the stone box, hiding from me.

I turned, scanning my surroundings for any small trinket or anything of note that I could give him. I then proceeded to make my way through the narrow rows, searching the long-pressed dirt for anything dropped long ago by long dead soldiers.

I snuck between chatting mages and already snoring men, carefully making my way through the narrow pathway. Thankfully, my newly golden eyes seemed to help me stare through the dark, but after the first dozen or so rows, I found nothing more than pebbles.

By about the thirtieth row, I was stopped by an old woman wearing what looked to be a lantern on her head. Her misty eyes were covered in thick glasses, and she looked up from some sort of scarf she was knitting to ask what I was doing. She looked quite small underneath the mass of blankets she had stuffed into her bed for the night, and I couldn’t help but wonder the last time she had had any magic. Yet, with eyes as misted as hers, she had definitely taken some in her long life, although it was hard to picture now as I saw her, as fragile as she was.

“Lost something? Or perhaps you can’t sleep either?” she smiled.

“No, I…” I sighed, “I’m looking for something to give a friend. A birthday present.”

I waited for harsh words. It sounded so silly to be doing something so trivial on a night like tonight.

“A nameday? And today of all days. Poor dear,” she said, giving a small smile. “But I suppose we must find the little joys, especially on nights like these.”

It was then when I finally recognised her. Although her thick lenses changed her appearance quite dramatically, there was no mistaking that she was the root seller that I first spotted on my first day in the underground.

“One moment, dear. I think I have something…” she smiled.

I then watched as she adjusted in her thick furred jacket, piling blankets forward, and pulled out a little large canvas bag on a chain. Thin but nimble fingers then unwound string around a small button, and I watched as she peered a misty magnified eye inside before plucking out a lumpy brown object.

“I… you don’t have to give me anything… I don’t have anything to repay you with,” I stammered.

The old woman shushed me as she grabbed my right hand, still veined black from the day before. She then carefully placed a strange misshapen root in the palm of my hand. I carefully brought it to my face, trying to hide my confusion.

“A Tawney Root. Only grows in the Barrens. Keeps you warm,”the woman smiled through her remaining teeth.

“Oh… Thank you,” I smiled, unsure but grateful.

I had never heard of such a thing.

“No need to repay me,” she waved me away with a dismissive hand, “Just have my back if you see me out there,” she winked.

I nodded, lost for words as I watched her resume knitting.

Admittedly, I did feel embarrassed as I stood in front of Aixel, arms stretched out with the brown lump near his face. He looked up, brows furrowed in confusion, where he still sat inside of the stone box. He slowly reached out and grabbed the lump, turning it over in the dim light, obviously perplexed.

“Happy birthday,” I smiled through gritted teeth.

“What is it?” he asked, brows still furrowed. Doris joined in the confusion, hopping to his shoulder and taking a curious sniff at the object.

“‘A Tawney Root. Only grows in the Barrens. Keeps you warm’,” I quoted.

“Oh,” he nodded politely. “A potato. I thought that’s what it was, but I wasn’t sure.”

I sighed, feeling my face grow red.

“Where did you find a potato down here?” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“So, yeah,” I nodded awkwardly, “Enjoy.”

I turned towards my assigned stone tomb, but then heard a loud snap. I looked to see that Aixel had split the root in two, feeding one half to Doris. A pungent but sweet aroma filled the thick air. He looked up at me.

“Want some?” he asked, expression flat as he stretched a long arm towards me.

“No, that’s okay,” I smiled before taking a high step inside, “All yours.”

“Is that a root I smell?” suddenly interjected Ciro from beside me.

“Sorry, old man. All mine,” said Aixel, “It’s my birthday, you know.”

“Right, little boy,” grumbled Ciro before sticking an arm in the air, palm facing Aixel.

Then, to my surprise, a piece of the prized Tawney Root soared above me, caught with ease by Ciro’s outstretched hand. I sat up and looked at Aixel.

He was smiling.