> Scheida

>

> Shy−dah

>

> Type: Interjection, Noun Meaning: An expletive used to express frustration, disappointment, or dismay. It carries the connotation of both "shit" and "fuck" in its emotional expressiveness.

Yeso's eyes flickered with suspicion as they locked onto Balenos, the centaur who had come to him desperate for help. "You're asking me to go to war? Against who?"

Balenos' chest heaved, his equine half shifting restlessly. "We're cornered, Yeso. The atrocities they're committing against our families—I can't bear to speak it. We have nowhere else to turn."

Yeso's hands moved to his temples, fingertips barely touching his skin as he digested the plea. "I've always welcomed your people to Ormgrund. Veilla Mageschstea, our Herbstdame, herself said the centaurs could have a new home! Moonbay is a Ormsaat but—"

"Moonbay is not just a Ormsaat; it's our homeland. It is a place of power we swore to protect!" Balenos' voice spiked with raw intensity, silencing Yeso. "We can't just flee. Understand that."

Taking a deep breath, Yeso calculated his next words carefully. "I've been in talks with both kings. They swore peace until they reached an agreement. I'm working for Moonbay to be an independent state! If I show up with an army, it will spark chaos, not peace. I can't jeopardise your only chance to get rid of those kings!"

"Yeso, I'm not exaggerating when I say we're at our wit's end. I'm begging you, do something, Commander."

Just then, a third voice intruded—quiet but sharp enough to cut through the thick tension. "Perhaps we don't have to fight at all." Both turned toward Mediah, the young Magi who had been standing on the periphery of their discussion unnoticed until now.

"What are you suggesting, Magi?" Yeso shifted his gaze to Mediah, intrigued but visibly annoyed by the interruption. It was a not-so-secret talent of the young Magi to appear or to speak when less expected.

He hesitated, choosing his words cautiously. "Well, the centaurs are praying to the Sun for relief, right? So, I thought—"

"You want to set Moonbay on fire?" Yeso snapped, irritation clouding his judgment for a moment.

Mediah shook his head. "No, no, think about it. What if there were no Sun at all? Who could wage war in complete darkness?"

For a moment, the atmosphere around them went silent. Yeso's eyes revealed a flicker of something unexpected—hope.

Balenos, catching on to Mediah's inference, let out a sigh so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of his entire tribe.

The Commander observed Mediah up and down before locking eyes with the young halfling once more. "You're witty."

"Yes, I am."

"But not so humble."

A ripple of pride spread across Mediah's face, brightening his eyes for a fleeting moment. "No, Commander, I’m not."

"Now go and prepare our people!"

"Yes, Commander!" Mediah's voice boomed as he spun on his heels and dashed out of the tent. His legs took him through the labyrinthine pathways of the encampment, dodging makeshift cooking fires and clumps of fighters whetting their blades or sharing tales of home.

"Listen up! Listen up!" he shouted, cutting through the background noise like a sharp knife through the fruit. "Prepare your torches! Ready your oil lamps! Darkness is about to descend upon us!"

"But we still have to clean this mess!" answered a faerie with a discontent fold of her arms.

"Well, we'll do it by candlelight! Commander's orders."

People's heads snapped in his direction. Some warriors glanced at each other in confusion, while others hurried to obey, immediately scouring their kits for flint and fuel. Whispers filled the air, but they were overshadowed by the increasingly frenetic activity as each person prepared for the unknown strategy about to unfold.

Balenos paced restlessly, his hooves thudding softly against the earth. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with hesitant optimism. "If the boy's plan works, it could save us from having to shed more blood, at least for now."

"Yes," Yeso murmured, his eyes capturing the warm glow that dotted the encampment like stars in a twilight sky. A young boy, no older than ten falls, approached Balenos cautiously, extending a lit torch toward him.

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"You'll need this for your return."

Balenos looked at the boy, then at Yeso. "I would prefer to stay and watch, if I may."

Without a word, Yeso turned and began to walk, his bare feet leaving subtle imprints on the earth as he made his way through the camp. He could feel the eyes of his people, Menschen and fae alike, following him, drawn to him like moths to a flame.

When he reached the centre of the settlement, the silence prompted those around him to kneel. They lowered their heads, assuming a posture that resembled prayer, even though Menschen didn't worship gods or believe in some omnipotent forces governing the cosmos.

Menschen were a people who believed in Spirits. Viewing them as custodians of the world's equilibrium and architects of fate—whether that be for better or worse. The greater the Spirit, the more whimsical and unpredictable it was supposed to be.

Yeso harboured the most powerful Spirit any Magi could possess: the Sun itself. It wasn't just an astral body illuminating the sky; it was a living entity. Brimming with life and energy, it coursed through his veins, granting him abilities that others could only dream of—the Golden Dragon.

Yet, it was not a gift without its burdens, especially when lives hung in the balance; he could feel the very Spirit within him yearning for balance or chaos in a world teetering on the edge of war and blood.

The Sun Spirit was not just an ally; it was a reflection of Yeso's own emotional landscape. To master it, he had to master himself. Emotions like rage, wrath, jealousy, or even the agony of loss could unlock a torrent of energy so cataclysmic it threatened not just those around him but perhaps even the world itself. This was not hyperbole; it was a grim reality he had to navigate every waking moment.

Menschen, all around the map, would often say, “When the Golden Dragon’s Master is happy, it tastes like warmth and honey. When it is sad, the sky is rainy and gloomy, and if it is mad, thunders are angry and loud they shout.”

Taking a deep breath, Yeso raised his arms, palms facing upwards. A ripple of murmured incantations began among the Menschen, their words barely louder than a whisper but resonant with collective focus.

Ra mir land, wasser e luft. Ra mir land, wasser e luft. Ra mir land, wasser e luft.

"The Sun which burns land, sea and sky," were the words his people whispered. The murmur didn’t say much but felt like a soft lullaby.

Yeso closed his eyes and felt the energy of the Sun Spirit churn within his core. Like he nestled a whole solar system deep inside him as if stirred by the devotion of his people. His skin ripped with golden veins of light, and for a brief moment, it felt as though he could touch the very fabric of the cosmos and release it’s full power like a hex that could devastate the reality as we know.

When he raised his eyes, she, Noctavia, was standing in front of him. Bringing him peace, serenity and love. Exactly the pillar of reality he needed.

Then the release.

A shadow swept across the camp like a dark tide, plunging the area into an impenetrable darkness. There were gasps, then an immediate, hushed awe. Even Balenos, who had never witnessed the Sun Spirit's power being wielded in such a manner, stood frozen, captivated by the spectacle.

It was as if the night itself held its breath, waiting for what would come next.

"In darkness, we hope to find our true selves," Yeso spoke softly, his words cutting through the black void. "Prepare yourselves. Tonight, we'll see whether the Moonbay's foe can say the same."

Balenos approached him, his hooves making soft sounds against the ground. "Do you think it will work?" The Centaur's voice was just above a hush, a slight tremor betraying his anxiety. "The darkness, I mean. Do you think it will bring us the advantage we seek?"

"Yes," Yeso said, "There isn't a greater fear than the unknown you can't see."

Just then, he felt a lightweight lean against his back, arms wrapping gently around his torso. The touch was like a balm to his seed. It was Noctavia's gentle touch, her very presence that pulled him into a state of calm.

He rested his hand atop hers, his grip gentle yet firm. "Go home, Balenos. Send me word when they leave Moonbay."

The centaur nodded, his eyes meeting Yeso's in a moment of shared understanding. With that, Balenos turned and galloped away, hooves thundering briefly before the sound faded into the distance. Around them, the encampment seemed to glow back to life, mages and settlers resuming their tasks as if the Sun had never left the sky.

"You need to rest," Noctavia whispered, her warm breath tickling the nape of his neck.

"I'm scared, my love," Yeso confessed with a vulnerability he seldom allowed himself to show.

"I know," she replied softly, her arms tightening their embrace around him. "But you're doing good."

"What would happen if I lose control?" His question was almost a murmur, a shadow of a thought that had always lurked in the corners of his mind.

"You won't," she assured him, her lips grazing his ear as she spoke, "because you're not alone."

At that moment, with Noctavia's arms around him, Yeso felt the weight of his responsibilities ease, if only just a little. Here, enveloped in darkness yet surrounded by those he loved and led, he found his fulcrum, the delicate balance between the devastating power he wielded and the emotional poise he perpetually sought.

In the persistent darkness that would lift only when Moonbay found its peace, Yeso's eyes caught the silhouette of young Prince Xendrix navigating through the shadowy labyrinth of the camp without any light to guide him.

The sight of the prince, a cypher shrouded in uncertainty, stirred a primal unease within Yeso. Yes, the unknown was a haunting spectre, its tendrils reaching out from the shadows, grasping for a hold of one's courage.

"Soon, we will have our settlement full of spiders," Noctavia's voice broke into his thoughts. "Veilla is not going to let this go easily."

"I can handle Veilla," Yeso replied, though the statement seemed more an assertion for his own benefit than a guarantee.

"What worries you then?" Noctavia inquired, her arms still wrapped around him as if she could shield him from his own uncertainties.

"I've got this feeling I can't…" He paused, searching for the right words, finding only fragments of thoughts.

"Mir fado," Noctavia finished for him, invoking the old Menschen expression meaning 'ill omen.'

"Jim," Yeso agreed. “Scheida!”

> "In a perpetual twilight, I have grown up pondering a world I have never seen—a world of sunsets and moonlit nights. This celestial absence is, ironically, the legacy of my own parents. When my father, Yeso Sternacht, passed away, it was like he took the sun with him, shrouding us in the Long Night. My mother followed him and left the sky bereft of moons and stars. I believe they did not choose this darkness as their legacy; it resulted from 'mir fado'. At young age, I could only wonder: What did the world look like bathed in sunlight?"

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> ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune