> Eu

>

> Ew

>

> Type: Pronoun

>

> Meaning: In the Menschen language, "Eu" signifies the self, used to reference the speaker directly. It conveys a sense of personal assertion and identity. When combined with "mir," it becomes a gesture of offering or informing, transforming the statement into one of sharing or declaring a personal action or state.

After the exhaustive lessons, Xendrix sat hunched over a bench table outdoors, his gaze drifting across the expanse to where the Meerio reflected the nine moons. A frown creased his brow. Noctavia observed him from afar. She had already noticed that the young Prince would be moody each time he saw Ulencia slipping discreetly into Mediah's tent. Noctavia didn't need to be a seer to grasp the budding closeness between the two halflings and the growing jealousy of the human. Ulencia, with her gentle beauty and kindness, seemed naturally drawn to Mediah's steady presence. And why not? The man had the stature of a dream, the serene countenance of a sage, and hair that fell in a cascade of hazel locks.

Mediah reminded her of Yeso when she first met him. And like Yeso, the young halfling always seemed to possess the right words for every moment, a gift that Xendrix didn't show to possess. Xendrix reminded Noctavia, a court jester in his own tragic play. Shorter, rounder, and lacking the effortless intellect of his peers. He compensated with a silver tongue that could deceive others into seeing a wisdom she feared he didn't own.

It was hard for Noctavia to imagine how he could contribute anything to the kingdom of Keblurg or even to her people, among whom he now lived. Was he just another mouth to feed, depleting their already scant resources?

She couldn't see anything besides a sad, fat kid.

"You think too much," Noctavia's voice sliced through the night as she walked closer, startling Xendrix from his brooding. He turned to see her approaching, wrapped in a black robe, her presence commanding even in such simple attire. He blinked in surprise; he had been under the impression that she didn't speak human language, as Yeso had once mentioned.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he stammered, unsure of how to address her unexpected fluency.

"You are apologizing for thinking?" she quipped, climbing to sit beside him on the bench, the robe enveloping her like a shroud of night. "You are silly. You need to articulate better and choose your words with care. You use your silver tongue to trick others into believing what is not, and when you actually have something to say… there is nought."

"Oh, I..." Xendrix struggled for a moment, words failing him.

"Knowing your words and wielding them appropriately is as crucial as choosing the right weapon for battle. You wouldn't bring a bow to a melee, not unless you can outpace the wind, and even then, success isn't guaranteed," she said, her words rapid and incisive.

"I'll try," he managed to respond, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

"Trying isn't enough, not when you're reaching for the impossible. To achieve the impossible, you must do the impossible," Noctavia declared, her blue gaze piercing.

"Sounds like… impossible," he joked weakly, attempting to lighten the mood.

Noctavia ignored the attempt at humour. "What do you know about alchemy? Enlighten me, your highness."

Xendrix hesitated, then began, "It's a form… that imbues magic into objects, turning them into… magical items." His voice faltered, and he doubted his own understanding.

"Let's pivot for a moment," she said, steering the conversation in a new direction. "What is the most powerful word you've ever used?"

He pondered briefly before answering, "Powerful... would be... 'I want.'"

"That's an assertive choice. It's commanding; it calls forth what you desire, summoning your wishes into reality," she explained with a nod.

"Well, it's easy to say when you've been born into everything you want," he said, a touch of bitterness in his tone.

"Nonetheless, 'I want' is a potent incantation. It's the root of creation, yet so often overlooked," she mused, offering him a rare smile.

Emboldened, he met her gaze. The blue of her eyes was mesmerizing, laced with streaks of gold like dawn's first light. "I want to learn alchemy," he said earnestly.

"Try better. Seek out the precise words, the incantation that will craft your spell," she challenged him, prompting him to delve deeper, to find the words that would unlock the door to the impossible.

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"Teach me!" Xendrix's plea cut through the stillness of the night.

Noctavia raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the abrupt intensity in his voice. "Teach you?" she echoed.

"I want you to teach me!" he insisted, his voice resonating with a commanding edge that seemed to borrow strength from the very stars above. "It has to be you!"

"Teach you what, exactly?" Noctavia pressed, her curiosity piqued. "How to bake a pie? How to cut fabric and stitch it into a skirt? Maybe you want me to teach you Menschen? What do you want? Your words are still weak!"

"Teach me the impossible!" The words tumbled out of Xendrix as a bold declaration.

Noctavia stood, her movements graceful as she wrapped the black robe tighter around her shoulders. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable in the moonlight. "Go sleep. At dawn, we leave."

"We leave? To where?" Xendrix was confused.

"You said you want to learn the impossible. To do that, we don't just walk the Trial of Elements," she explained with a mysterious glint in her eye. "We embark on the Trial of the Impossible!"

"And what is that, exactly?"

"I don't know. I'm making it up as I go!" And with those words, Noctavia vanished beneath the flap of her tent, leaving Xendrix alone.

> Here it started. The real unknown version of the myth, later known as "The Little King and the Mage." — "Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III" by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.

They had walked for hours that morning until Xendrix complained, halting their progress to lean against the trunk of a tree. "I don't understand why I have to be barefoot!" He brushed away the tiny stones and dry twigs under his feet, "We'd move much faster if I had my boots on!"

"I didn't realize you were in such a hurry," Noctavia replied with a hint of amusement, guiding her horse to pivot back toward him.

"It's easy for you to say, perched on your mount, while I'm down here barefoot, helpless to every venomous bug or sharp stone! I could die from this!"

"And yet you live." Noctavia chuckled, the sound light and teasing. Her golden hair caught the sun's rays. "We certainly don't want that," she said, stilling jesting. "And yet you walk through the impossible."

Xendrix glared up at her, tilting his chin defiantly. "I don't get it... Is there a purpose to this?"

"What purpose do you think it serves?" she countered, turning her horse once more and setting off at a pace that allowed Xendrix to follow.

"To endure hardship?" he guessed.

"You have such a way with words," she quipped with sarcasm, her horse ambling forward as Xendrix trailed, placing each foot with care upon the forest floor.

"And where exactly are we going?" he asked again, exasperation creeping into his question.

"To the forest's heart," Noctavia responded, rolling her eyes as though the answer should have been obvious. "I've told you already, three times."

"Is it much further?" he asked.

"The more you ask, the further it will be," she replied cryptically, the corner of her mouth turning up in a slight, knowing smirk.

Xendrix's feet ached; they were tender and raw from the unforgiving forest floor. They had been on this odd trek for nearly three days, and Noctavia, in her role as his unlikely mentor, had proven to be an enigma. Her first decree had been for him to walk barefoot, a practice he knew the Menschen adopted to harmonize with the elements and to show reverence. But his city-bred feet were not accustomed to such trials, and every step felt like a trial by fire, slowing their progress. Noctavia, however, remained indifferent to his discomfort.

Then there were her sudden, unexplained departures. She would leap from her horse and vanish into the forest, only to return with a visage marred by puffy eyes and a complexion that had lost its lustre. Xendrix's inquiries into her well-being were met with silence or deflection. Despite this, he couldn't dismiss the respect Yeso had for her, having named her a Magi several times in his speech, even though she didn't don the traditional Black Robe or bear the title amongst her peers.

"We stop here," Noctavia declared abruptly, interrupting his ruminations.

Xendrix surveyed their surroundings, finding nothing but a swamp exuding the pungent aroma of sulfur and decay. "Here? Are y—" His words were cut short as time itself seemed to halt, the world around them suspended in a silent tableau.

"Oh boy, he talks so much," Noctavia's muttering was lost in the stillness of the world around her, a world held captive in the palm of her hand as time stood obediently at bay. The forest was eerily silent, devoid of life's usual symphony; no birds sang, no breeze whispered through the leaves, no twigs snapped underfoot—only the silence that comes with the suspension of time.

From her horse's backpack, she retrieved a sword, its blade marred with dents, its surface adorned with gibberish runes and an array of colourful beads. The weapon could have been mistaken for a child's botched attempt at craft.

Holding the sword aloft, she waded towards the swamp's edge, her voice smooth and coaxing, "Ollo, ollo! Vem raus, vem raus! Hear me, hear me, sweetest Treant of the forest," she called out, her tone dripping with allure. "Come now, I know you're eager to greet me."

She watched the stagnant water, her plea hanging in the suspended air. "Ollo! Won't you come? Come on, it's me, the Noctavia!"

Impatience crept into her actions; she tapped her foot against the squelching mire, urging the creature forth. "Really? From all days, you choose today to play hard to get?"

Then, breaking the stillness, the swamp water began to churn, and a crown of colossal black branches thrust through the surface, reaching skyward. A pair of deep and knowing emerald eyes peeked in her direction from amidst the living tangle. "How dare you!"

> Spirits in our world are an enigmatic phenomenon. Their origins and composition remain a mystery, yet they are irresistibly drawn to our realm. These beings manifest in a myriad of forms, ranging from the peculiar to the wondrous. Consider, for instance, the dual-headed fish, a topic I am forbidden to detail in my writings - a specific Spirit can't stand them and never answers me why. It is a mystery that I still want to resolve. Then there's the Wind Eagle, with feathers crafted from the breeze itself, the Flaming Ram that feasts on flames, and the little temperamental mouse with the ability to traverse various realms. She is very temperamental. The diversity of Spirits is boundless, each with a distinct mission: to seek their destined Master. The rationale behind their selection of a Master is as perplexing as their existence. Why does a Spirit choose to serve a particular individual? The closest I've encountered to this question is a simple yet profound, "Why not?" And I tried, dear reader, I gave her all the cheese I could buy, but she still won't tell me why. — "Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III" by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.