> Custa

>

> Koos-tah

>

> Type: Noun

>

> Meaning: "Custa" is used in a literal sense to refer to coins and money in economic transactions. Metaphorically, it extends to the value attributed to an individual's existence or actions. The term embodies the idea that worth is both assigned and inherent, and like currency, it can be exchanged, saved, or invested in the potential of oneself or others.

The objects before Xendrix lay silently on the table, each one a symbol, a riddle, a piece of a larger puzzle that he seemed desperately trying to solve. His gaze focused, then moved from one to the other, seeking the connection, the deeper meaning that eluded him.

The cup, a vessel of water, was clear to him. He explained it back to Mediah with no problem. It was more than just an element; it symbolised life, the nurturing and healing essence that flowed through all things. Water was the mother, the giver and the sustainer of life. He understood its significance, its place in the grand scheme of the elements.

Next, his eyes lingered on the dry branch. And once again, he was able, with his own words, to describe to the Magi. It was the personification of transformation. Something that illustrated a body which was once whole but now severed, yet still potent. A branch could become fuel for fire, a destructive force, yet it was a force that could never exist in isolation. The fire needed other elements and other allies to realise its true potential. The branch was a reminder that if in separation, there was no strength, it was a dormant power awaiting to be ignited.

The sword, forged in fire, was the antithesis of the branch. It was solitary strength, a weapon that could attack, destroy, but also, when wielded with intent, protect. The metal, shaped by flame, hammer and water, was a testament to the natural diversity of earth—destructive, yet capable of crafting defences, of guarding as fiercely as it ravaged.

But the coin... the coin seemed to be an enigma to Xendrix's mind. The prince was trying to grasp its connection to air and its significance in this array of elements. He turned it, seeking an angle he hadn't considered, a perspective that would shed light on its mysterious role.

Finally, he surrendered to the riddle, his voice defeated. "I'm sorry, Mediah... I don't get it," he admitted, his gaze lifting to meet the Magi seated across from him.

"The coin," Mediah continued, "is a vessel for value, much like the cup is for water. It's not about the physical form but about what it represents and what it carries. Value, like air, is everywhere and nowhere. It's what we breathe into things that gives them worth. A coin can be spent, saved, or given away. It's mutable, always in motion, like the air around us."

Xendrix's brow furrowed. He grasped the coin and held it tighter as if, by sheer will, he could transmute its meaning into something he could comprehend.

"And when you give something value, you charge it with energy," Mediah said, watching Xendrix closely. "That energy can build like a gentle breeze into a gust, or it can stir up a tempest. The coin, therefore, is not just currency. It's potential. It's the breath behind the words, the force behind the movement, the intention behind the action. It is as powerful as a storm and as gentle as a breeze."

Xendrix's gaze remained fixed on Mediah, eyes wide, the way a child gazes upon the world.

The young Magi leaned forward, "As I told you before, forget the objects; they are just temporary forms and shapes. They don't matter. The meaning does.”

The Prince's fingers fidgeted with the coin, "I don't see it like this. I'm trying, Mediah, but what I can see inside my head is how these objects can be used. I can visualise the cup, the branch, and the sword. But the coin is a coin. I can't see it travelling through the wind or causing storms... it's just a coin that allows me to buy something. And not much."

Mediah, sensing his struggle, buried his face in his hands, elbows planted firmly on the table. "I'm failing you," he simply confessed.

"You?"

"Yes, Xendrix. You are like a blind man that I'm trying to guide through the forest and back, but alone. You don't have magic. You cannot see the flow of magic or feel it... and I'm trying to make you understand, to help you see, and I don't know how."

"Maybe it is impossible," Xendrix murmured, fidgeting the coin in the air.

Mediah lifted his head, his eyes meeting Xendrix's. "Yeso wouldn't promise if it was," he said firmly, "Let's keep on trying, please."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Brought some snacks!"

The tent flap billowed as Ulencia entered, her presence a sudden but welcome interruption. She carried with her the humble offerings of dry biscuits and fresh water, which she placed on the table.

"Thank you!" Xendrix's attention immediately shifted. The biscuits, though a welcome distraction, paled in comparison to Ulencia's presence. Mediah noticed Xendrix's gaze away from anything else besides Ulencia.

Each day, Xendrix showed a liking to the girl that was growing into something deeper, something Mediah found himself increasingly unable to ignore.

Ulencia's smile was an echo of warmth as she watched Xendrix eagerly devour the food. She then turned to Mediah, her expression shifting to one of concern. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she broached the subject that seemed to linger in the air around them like a silent fog. "Do you know where Noctavia went?"

"She said she would go hunting. Why?" Mediah's response was casual, the question seemingly innocuous.

"She has acted strangely the last couple of days," Ulencia confided, her brow creased with worry.

"Can you blame her? We haven't heard of Yeso for half a moon," Mediah replied.

"I don't know... I'm worried," Ulencia admitted.

"I think hunting will get her mind off... everything." Mediah said, trying to offer some reassurance.

"Do you know where she hunts?"

Mediah's response was to gently disengage her hand from his shoulder and hold it in his own. "Noctavia is powerful; it's not some boars that will intimidate her. It's more the other way around. If I were you, I would be worried for those poor piglets."

"What are Noctavia's powers?" Xendrix interrupted with his mouth full, his voice garbled as he quickly gulped down the water, breaking the pesky ambience that had been forming between Mediah and Ulencia.

Despite this interruption, the Magi maintained a gentle hold on her hands.

Ulencia, perched next to Mediah with their shoulders nearly brushing, tilted her head thoughtfully and answered, "That's a bit of a mystery as far as I know. Only Yeso really understands the full extent of her abilities, maybe Jaer too."

Mediah, lost in thought, added, "She's renowned as the Master of the Howling Night; it has to be something intertwined with the essence of Night, the stars... or something with the moons."

Xendrix chimed in. "I've heard tales that the Howling Night could weave time itself, bending it at will." His eyes sparkled with the thrill of the legend. "It is one of the few Spirits that can breech the very veil between Dream and Nightmare. Is called Veilla, right?"

"It is," replied the Magi, arching his brow.

Mediah regarded Xendrix from a new perspective, a shift from the usual playful banter. This insight into the Spirit world wasn't common among humans, especially for those like Xendrix, who struggled with the simple concept of air. But there was a chance Xendrix had been fed these stories by someone else, maybe another Magi? Mediah realised that perhaps he was making drama where there was none. Still, it was intriguing. How did he know?

Suddenly, like a war cry, Mediah echoed, "Time! You place importance on Time, right, Xendrix?"

"Uh, what?" Xendrix blinked, caught off guard.

"Time," Mediah repeated, his voice steady. "Do you value it?"

Xendrix hesitated, grappling with the question. "I guess I do, in a way," he finally said.

"The less time one has, the more precious it becomes," Mediah observed. "Time comes and goes and is everywhere and nowhere. People pay for your Time, or you pay them for their Time. Like if you want me to do something... a... a... work! It will take me Time; I value my Time, and you pay me... in coins! Right?"

"Well, sure," Xendrix shrugged. "No time means no life, right? Kinda like being dead."

"That's it! That's the essence of the coin!" Mediah declared, his smile widening as he sensed a breakthrough in Xendrix's grasp of the coin's deeper meaning.

Yet Xendrix remained entrenched in his ignorance, his face etched with lines of perplexity. "I'm still in the dark here," he confessed, rubbing his temples in bewilderment.

Ulencia, inching ever closer to Mediah, cast a concerned glance towards Xendrix. "Has he been acting like this the whole day?" she whispered.

But Mediah, absorbed in his thoughts, missed her question, his attention fixated on the unusual shadow of contemplation that had settled over Xendrix's features. What just happened? Was he pretending?

"Alright, let's pivot our approach," Mediah suggested, adopting a more contemplative tone. "Imagine you're bestowed with infinite Time—eternity at your fingertips. No constraints, no end. What would you do? What path would you tread?"

Nibbling thoughtfully on another biscuit, Xendrix chewed slowly, his eyes distant. After a moment, he replied with uncharacteristic simplicity, "Honestly? I have no clue."

"And if the scales tipped the other way?" Mediah pressed on. "What if you had but a fleeting moment, less than an hour left? What then?"

Xendrix's gaze, intense and probing, flitted between Mediah's azure eyes and Ulencia's expectant look. His voice, now subdued and tinged with an unspoken gravity, carried his fake uncertainty. "I don't know."

In that instant, Mediah discerned a veiled depth in Xendrix, a reservoir of tacit thoughts and secrets. He couldn't shake off the feeling that Xendrix was guarding knowledge he was reluctant to divulge. The question lingered in the air—was it Mediah who was wasting Time, or was it, in fact, Xendrix?

> During the Reign of Winter, a revelation that would forever alter the course of medical science came to light. As investigators delved into the human body's mysteries, they uncovered a shocking truth: Red Blood was contagious. It was a discovery that sent ripples of fear and fascination worldwide. But one medical case, in particular, would etch itself into the annals of history. The story of Esmeralda, an Elf born with green blood, would become a legend. Tragically, Esmeralda fell victim to the insidious contagion, transforming her once-vibrant emerald-hued lifeblood into the crimson flow of humans - the blood of Death. No scholar could understand how she got it since she lived isolated from any Human. But there it was he blood red. Her struggle to survive and the ongoing investigation into this enigmatic phenomenon continue to captivate the medical community today, a testament to the ever-unfolding mysteries of our own biology. How and when did it start? Are we all condemned to die as swiftly as humans? Is the time of Menschen really over? ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune