> Gut

>

> Type: Adjective

>

> Translation: Good, well

>

> Definition: An adjective used to describe something positive or satisfactory. It is also used as a suffix in compound words to denote positive qualities, such as well-being, goodness, or suitability.

Xendrix, Yeso and Noctavia rode from the outskirts of Keblurg to the opulent halls of King Ieagan's castle. The journey spanned five arduous days by horse, not accounting for the essential pit stops for resupply and rest. Xendrix was oddly quiet for Noctavia’s taste, he had just utter a few words along this days. It was somehow out of his character.

Noctavia and Yeso would expect him to make questions like—why had he been summoned back to his father's stronghold? Was his training in alchemy over before it had even truly begun? Or had it started without him even realizing it? No question, just silence.

He'd attended a few classes on elemental trials, mingling with the Magis, who could summon fire from their palms or stir a gust of wind with a mere flick of their fingers.

From what Mediah shared with them, he'd learned the theory and practices that differentiated Siphoners from Spirit Masters. He had listened to aged wise men's discussions and explanations of their rituals, like the tradition of walking barefoot to commune more closely with the elements or wearing black robes to erase distinctions of race, lineage, and magical prowess.

As the continuous nightfall cast its inky shroud over their temporary short campsite, the trio sat in a rough circle around the flickering fire. Yeso methodically poked at the glowing embers with a stick, each movement sending up a swirl of orange sparks. Noctavia, meanwhile, sprinkled an assortment of foraged herbs over a rabbit that sizzled on a spit, filling the air with an earthy aroma.

"Tomorrow, we should reach Keblurg," Yeso finally said, breaking the quiet that had settled around them like a dense fog.

Xendrix looked up, his face a mask of frustration. "Did I do something wrong?"

The question that Yeso and Noctavia were expecting was finally spoken. He glanced at Xendrix, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the words. "Why would you ask that?"

"Why would you return me to my father?" Xendrix blurted out with bitterness.

"I'm not returning you," Yeso said, locking eyes with the young man.

"I-I... I don't understand," Xendrix stammered, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"I'm using you as leverage," Yeso admitted, blunt as a hammer.

Xendrix laughed, a hollow sound devoid of mirth. "That's a stupid move. My father couldn't care less about me. I'm shit in his eyes."

"Maybe," Yeso conceded, "but you're still his heir. Kings are expected to have castles; they're also expected to have heirs. And I have reason to believe your father isn't capable of producing another... ever. At least not with his own dick."

Xendrix's laugh was short, and a tense silence settled again over the camp, thicker than the smoke drifting from the fire.

"And what if it doesn't work?" Xendrix finally asked.

"Then you die," Yeso responded, devoid of empathy and laden with a brutal sincerity that left no room for misunderstanding.

"What if I live?"

"Then you'll return with us and become an alchemist," Yeso answered, probing the rabbit with a stick to check its doneness. "I keep my promises; let's hope your father does too."

Xendrix turned his gaze toward Noctavia,who remained silent throughout the exchange. "Why doesn't she talk?"

"She doesn't like to speak human," Yeso said, slicing into the cooked meat with a copper dagger he'd unhooked from his belt.

"Why?"

"You'll need to learn Menschen to ask her yourself," Yeso quipped, offering a mischievous smile.

"Is it difficult to learn?"

"As difficult as it is for us to learn human," Yeso responded, tearing off a piece of rabbit and handing it to Xendrix.

"But you speak it fluently," Xendrix observed.

"I didn't have a choice," Yeso replied, taking a moment to savour a bite of the herb-seasoned rabbit.

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"What do you mean?"

"Words are as powerful as swords," Yeso began, his eyes meeting Xendrix's as if passing along a sacred truth. "I had to learn to wield a sword just as I had to learn to wield words. In this world, they're both tools of survival and influence. If you don't master them, they'll master you."

"How old are you? You talk like an old hermit."

The question prompted laughter from both Yeso and Noctavia, as if it had unlocked some private joke between them.

Finally, Yeso looked at Xendrix. "I stopped counting the falls a long time ago. Honestly, I'm not even sure if I was born before or after the Fall started."

Xendrix's eyes fluttered open to find that the morning was still dark as night. A persistent velvet cloak of the night that had settled one moon ago. He could hear the distant chirping of crickets intermingling with the soft hissing of embers from the dying fire.

A few feet away, Noctavia and Yeso lay entangled in each other's arms. Even the horses, tethered to a nearby tree, seemed at ease, their occasional neighs breaking the predawn quietude.

Xendrix lay there for a few more minutes, trying to absorb the moment of peace. The cold air against his face and the scent of pine and eucalyptus. Yet, even the chill couldn't help him determine the exact time. Was it an hour past midnight, or were they closer to dawn? But he was hungry, so probably breakfast time.

Just then, he felt something—something crawling up his hand. Startled, Xendrix tried to shake it off. Still, the persistent pinprick sensation continued, creeping up his wrist and making its way toward his neck. With a quick motion, as quietly as he could manage, he sat up and began swatting at his clothes, his skin, his face. Finally, an eight-legged crawler tumbled onto his lap, its legs flexing as if ready to bolt.

In an instant, devoid of any consideration for the creature, Xendrix's palm came down hard. The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot in the quiet, and when he lifted his hand, he saw the spider—now in two pieces. Half of it was squashed into the earth, its bodily fluids seeping into the ground; the other half clung to his palm, a grim trophy of the skirmish.

“Eight…” he mumbled. This was Xendrix's dirty little secret. He killed another spider.

The trio finally approached the imposing gates of King Ieagan Kaspian's castle, and Yeso immediately sensed a change in the atmosphere. The stone walls, usually austere, were teeming with guards—more than he'd seen the last time he visited.

The castle windows were festooned with flags, so many that it almost looked like preparations were underway for some grand celebration. Yet Yeso knew better; this was most likely going to be another theatrical display of court politics and intrigue, and he had neither the patience nor the stomach for it. But it was what it was.

"Tu wie mir plano es?" Noctavia whispered in Menschen as she walked beside him. Her eyes, pools of blue prepared ruse, searched his face. 'Do you have a plan?'

In response, Yeso allowed his gaze to sweep the surrounding landscape as if hoping to find an answer hidden among the crenelated walls or in the wary eyes of the guards. Finally, he replied with a question of his own: "Tu was gut es?" 'What do you recommend?'

Noctavia's lips curled into a half-smirk, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous spark. "Zeit," she said. 'Time.'

Yeso couldn't help but smile back. She was right, of course. Whatever game was about to be played out in the King's court, they had time on their side to navigate it. Humans had an insatiable appetite for drama, and drama took time to unfold—time they could use to their advantage.

As the gates creaked open before them, welcoming them into yet another arena of human complications, Yeso took a deep breath. Time, after all, was the one thing they both understood better than these mere mortals.

"Es mir ves wieder gut tu."

Xendrix, walking behind them and clearly tired of being excluded from their intimate exchanges, finally broke his silence. "What does it mean?" he asked, irritated.

Yeso turned to look at him, his eyes meeting Xendrix's in a manner that seemed to weigh the young man's entire being. "She said everything will be alright."

The opulence of the throne room was dizzying, but what struck Yeso, Noctavia, and Xendrix as they entered was not the gold-leafed and red columns or the jewel-encrusted tapestries. It was the room's atmosphere—thick as molasses, filled to the brim with envoys and representatives from every corner of the map.

Balenos from Moonbay and the King of Syilis were both present, flanked by their entourages. The room pulsated with the sound of guards' armour clinking, voices mingling like pure chaos, and the ghostly whispers of wind slipping through cracks in the stone walls. Underneath it all, footsteps seemed to tap out an anxious beat on the stone floor.

With a sidelong glance and a subtle nod to Noctavia, Yeso waited for his Hexe to conjure the eerie silence that descended upon the room. It was as quiet and profound as the void— silence that seemed to absorb sound itself. The halted time was their unique weapon of choice.

Leaving Xendrix immobilized in his tracks—like a statue cursed to eternal stillness—they started to scan the room.

"Everyone's armed," Noctavia whispered, her eyes narrowing at the blades and spears that seemed to bristle from every corner.

"Odd choice for a peace talk," Yeso replied, strolling around the perimeter, his own fingers tingling near the hilt of his sword.

As Noctavia approached the dais where the throne sat, she noticed King Ieagan with his elbow propped up on the armrest, clutching papers that bore the unmistakable seal of diplomacy. "Look," she gestured discreetly, "They do have a peace treaty on hand."

Yeso circled back to join her, casting a wary eye over the assembled guests. "I've never attended a council of peace where so many guards are ready to draw blood at a moment's notice," he grumbled.

A mischievous glint appeared in Noctavia's eyes. "Why don't we turn the tables? Scare them before they get a chance to scare us."

Yeso grinned, realizing the room had yet to awaken from the silence she'd cast. "Why not? After all, it's not every day you get to turn a den of wolves into a gathering of sheep."

"This is going to be fun."

> "Zonnestra Sternacht, my mother, was a study in contrasts. In the eyes of our tribe, she was an unassuming Menschen woman, a tailor of such remarkable skill that her name endures in hushed tones and reverent anecdotes. Yet, she was also a Hexe to my father, yet known ominously as the 'Master of the Howling Night.'

>

> The particulars of her magic remain a mystery, a subject of speculation and quiet awe. No one can define the extent or nature of her power, and this absence of clarity has led me to a sobering thought: the most fearsome forms of magic might well be those that evade our senses and elude our comprehension. Her legacy, therefore, dwells not in what is known, but in the haunting of the unknown."

>

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