> Tod es blut tu!

>

> Phrase

>

> Translation: Death is your blood!

>

> Definition: A grave proclamation or curse, implying that death is inherent in the very blood of the person addressed. It echoes the fatalistic view of human life, where the red blood signifies a predetermined path to death, marking humans as inherently doomed or cursed due to their mortality. How weak they are compared to other blood types.

The tension between Noctavia and Xendrix had been building, almost imperceptibly, over the course of their week-long journey. Xendrix had grown increasingly frustrated with their apparent lack of direction and Noctavia's deteriorating condition. Her frequent episodes of illness, coupled with her reluctance to share any information, only served to amplify his impatience.

As they settled down for the night, with the campfire crackling and casting flickering shadows around them, Xendrix's frustration reached a boiling point. Upon Noctavia's return from the bushes, looking pale and wiping her mouth, he couldn't hold back his irritation. "Maybe you need to eat to stop feeling sick!" he blurted out, his tone more accusatory than concerned. "You barely touched your food."

Noctavia, weary and on edge with the disgusting smell of cabbage stuck in her nostrils, snapped back defensively. "Maybe you need to meddle in your own affairs!" She slumped against a tree, the bark rough against her back, her face a mask of exhaustion and annoyance.

Xendrix, driven by his own need to progress in his elemental training, pressed on, oblivious to the strain in her voice. "If you're sick, you can't teach me fire and air! I need you!"

"And I'm here!"

"You look like you're dying!"

At that moment, something inside Noctavia snapped. The cumulative weight of physical ailment, the burden of responsibility as a mentor, and the frustration of dealing with a headstrong young prince converged into a moment of raw vulnerability.

Her usual composed demeanour cracked.

In a quick, almost reflexive motion, Noctavia unsheathed her copper dagger from her belt. With an agility that belied her recent illness, she leapt towards Xendrix. Her movements were swift and precise, like a blitz unleashed. Her wings unfurled behind her, a breathtaking expanse that shimmered like a celestial tapestry of stars and galaxies.

In one fluid motion, she seized Xendrix's hand, holding it firmly in her grasp. The sharp edge of the dagger glinted ominously in the firelight before she plunged it into the soft flesh of his palm.

Xendrix, caught off guard, could only watch in shock as a bead of blood welled up from the wound. With a deliberate gesture, Noctavia turned his hand towards his face, forcing him to confront the reality of his own vulnerability.

"I'm not dying. You are!" she declared with anger. "Tod es blut tu! In my veins flows the very essence of magic, a power that you and your descendants will never possess. My presence here is not for your personal gain but because my Hexe, my Yeso, took pity on your kind!"

Releasing his hand, she stood up and moved away with some parting words spoken over her shoulder, "And you should be more polite to a woman who is expecting. I believe that is common human courtesy!"

The revelation that Noctavia was pregnant left Xendrix stunned and likely reevaluating his earlier perceptions and comments.

The young prince, usually so brash and self-assured, was visibly shaken, his usual facade of confidence crumbling.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." Xendrix began, his voice trailing off.

"I'm sick because you smell like rotten cabbage... do I complain? No, I'm still here to teach you," she said, leaning back against the tree.

Xendrix could only muster a quiet apology. "I'm really sorry..." he mumbled.

Noctavia's awakening was graced with the morning sun filtering through the foliage, teasing her eyes open. The air was rich with the warm, invigorating scents of eucalyptus, assorted herbs, and a mélange of floral fragrances.

As she stirred, Noctavia noticed she was enveloped in a blanket of flowers and branches, a natural cocoon that seemed to have been carefully arranged around her as she slept. The remnants of last night's campfire were still smouldering, emitting a comforting pine scent.

Xendrix was nowhere in sight, his absence notable yet not alarming, given that his belongings remained undisturbed in the spot he had occupied the night before. Near her backpack, Noctavia discovered fresh fruit gathered in a leaf, a simple yet thoughtful offering that seemed out of character for the young prince, especially in light of their heated exchange the previous night.

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Maybe he wasn't that bad as a foul cabbage scent.

As Noctavia savoured the fruit, meticulously peeling the clementines and enjoying the simple pleasure of removing the white strands, she was momentarily startled by a hand appearing in front of her. She turned to find Xendrix, his hair drenched and his appearance slightly dishevelled. "Do I still smell like shit?" he asked a hint of self-consciousness in his voice.

Testing the air around him, Noctavia inhaled deeply. "Sweetwater and pine," she responded, finding his scent now pleasantly natural.

Xendrix, shaking his head and causing droplets of water to scatter around, sat beside her. "You have a really good olfact. I can't smell a thing unless it's right up against my nose," he remarked, a faint smile touching his lips.

Noctavia offered him a clementine, but he declined. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday... I was an ass. I know Yeso and others took pity on me. But the truth is, you and your kind will eventually leave, and we humans... The truth is you guys... You will be gone soon, and we humans like to play war. We only understand power. Power speaks to power, and that is power. Can't remember who taught me that. But I don't need to be super strong; I need to show off and to know the right people. I want people to have a roof and food. I want to wake up in the morning and not expect that someone will give me a list of names of people I don't even know who died. Because if I do get that list, I want to be able to care. Because... at this time, I don't! I don't care. I don’t know what is wrong with me."

"Xendrix..."

He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Please, let me finish. Your kind has always been kind to me. You've never made me feel less for being human. And your words yesterday... they made me realise how we might seem like a disease to you. That scares me. It scares me to be like a pig about to go to slaughter and not even realise it."

Noctavia listened, absorbing the raw honesty in his words. Her hand rested gently on his knee as she spoke. "It scares us too," she began. "We live long enough to witness generations come and go, but the fleeting nature of human existence is something else entirely. It's terrifying."

Her hand moved to pat his knee gently. "Yeso doesn't just pity humans; his compassion extends to all beings. He believes in giving everyone equal opportunities. To him, humans represent some of the most tragic stories imaginable."

She paused, measuring her own words. "I sometimes struggle to see the world through his eyes. Don't misunderstand me; I agree with his teachings, but the extent of his efforts and energy towards humans baffles me. Sometimes, it seems like humans are like children quarrelling over the largest slice of cake instead of sharing it evenly. And when I asked Yeso about it, do you know what he said?"

"What?"

“He said, ‘They are scared... time flies so fast. Who wouldn't be scared?’”

Xendrix gave a nervous chuckle in response. "Yeah, who wouldn't be?"

Noctavia continued, "But then, humans do things no other creatures can. You reproduce rapidly, one, two, three, even ten children from the same mother; you're creative, and you build solutions, bridges, roads, irrigation systems and medicines. We didn't have medicines or concoctions before humans came along. Your kind is a miraculous, fleeting spark. And we... we are trying to understand and... preserve what we can."

"Oh, that... that is a lot."

"It is..."

"So what now?" he asked.

"I need to teach you fire and air, and I have no idea how."

"How would you teach me if I wasn't human?" Xendrix's question was more curious than a challenge.

"I would tell you to make a fire."

Xendrix arched an eyebrow, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That is easy."

"Oh, it is?" Noctavia countered with scepticism and a pinch of amusement.

"Making a fire with tools is easy. Usually, we would use pebbles and twigs..." Xendrix explained, his gaze shifting to the ground as if he could picture the process in his mind's eye.

"So?" Noctavia prompted a gentle nudge to bring his thoughts back to the present.

"So... how would you teach me air?" Xendrix looked up, his question hanging between them like a challenge.

Noctavia paused, considering. The concept of teaching air, an element as elusive as it was vital, seemed daunting. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"Teaching air... it's about understanding the unseen, feeling the flow, the currents. It's not something you grasp with your hands but with your senses, your intuition. It has the weight of value like a..."

"Like a coin!" Xendrix interrupted, his voice tinged with a sudden realization. "That is my biggest issue. I don't understand the coin!"

"Hold your breath." Noctavia's instruction was simple.

Xendrix inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. Without warning, Noctavia moved swiftly, holding his nose and placing a hand over his mouth. Xendrix's eyes widened in surprise, his body tensing. He held still initially, but it wasn't long before his face turned a shade of deep red.

He tried to shove Noctavia away, but she held him firm, her grip unyielding. His struggles grew more frantic as his face darkened further. Finally, just when it seemed he could bear no more, she released him.

Gasping, Xendrix inhaled deeply, the air rushing into his lungs like a lifesaving elixir. He was still panting heavily when Noctavia posed her question.

"How much?"

"It changes... it is motion. I would have given everything to breathe, but once I have it back, it's like... worthless." Xendrix's voice was a mutter, more to himself, as he grappled with the lesson. "A coin. It all depends on the intention. Just like air... it can destroy as a storm or... be gentle like a breeze."

"How much?" Noctavia repeated, her gaze piercing.

"A breath," Xendrix replied. His understanding was dawning clearer now.

"Make a fire," she ordered.

The shift in her command was abrupt, but Xendrix was ready. He understood now. With a daring smile, he asked Noctavia, “What is your real name?”

She chose to ignore him and repeated, “Make a fire!”

> While Winter invaded the Great Continent, an unprecedented migration of Merefolks from the Red Sea has surged, seeking refuge from the unforgiving cold. However, the conditions they encounter in their new homeland prove to be no less challenging than those they left behind. As the icy grip of winter tightens its hold, whispers of rumours begin to circulate among the desperate and hungry populace, yearning for a change. They pine for the return of summer, fervently wishing for its warmth and abundance to rise once more and ease the burden of their frigid existence. But so far the Winterqueen as been bare. ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune