> Vacahure

>

> Vah−kuh−hyur

>

> Type: Noun

>

> Meaning: Derogatory term specifically used to refer to a woman, embodying negative stereotypes and prejudices, such as whore, bitch, slut,

Forty-four days of solitude in a cramped room had taken its toll on Yeso. His body languished in weakness, each muscle aching with the effort of the slightest movement. The irony of being trapped in such a minuscule space, guarded by a door so disproportionately large, was not lost on him. Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly; he hadn't eaten in as many days as he'd been confined. Tapwater was his only companion, apart from her.

"It won't work," she said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Startled, Yeso summoned his strength, pushing his torso up to sit on the bed. His eyes found Eura, who was seated on the floor, engrossed in her book. Her hair had grown as long as the end of her back, in contrast to himself, who just grew a few centimetres.

She was always reading, except when she etched cryptic messages on the walls. All her books were from the same author, Professor Edgar Duvencrune.

Yeso knew she was a figment of his imagination, a phantom born from isolation and despair. Yet, to him, she was as tangible and important as any flesh-and-blood person. She had become his confidante, his imaginary saviour in this unending nightmare. What other reason could she be here if not the fruit of his imagination?

"What's not going to work?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"The vault was built to contain the power of the Sun. I've tried to break it before. It doesn't work," she replied without looking up from her book.

"Maybe you're not strong enough," he challenged weakly.

She calmly turned a page. "You're funny," she remarked with an ironic smile.

"Am I?"

"I am as strong, if not stronger than you," she stated matter-of-factly.

"And why would that be?"

Closing her book with a soft thud, Eura finally turned to face him. "Because I'm the sun that burns over land, sea, and sky," she declared.

Yeso's chuckle broke the heavy atmosphere in the room. "The Sun can only have one Master, and that is me. You'll have to find another Spirit."

"Is that so?" Eura's response was casual as she redirected her attention to her book.

Driven more by a need to entertain his starving mind than by curiosity, Yeso leaned forward. "May I ask you a question? Who are your parents?"

"The Winterqueen and the Elven King!" she answered without hesitation.

"Finnegan?"

"Finnegan Berdorf, yes!" Eura confirmed.

A burst of laughter escaped Yeso. "That's how I know I'm hallucinating. Finnegan is..."

She cut him off, her tone nonchalant as she turned another page. "No need to be rude. I'm not stupid. I'm adopted."

"You're adopted?"

"Probably. My mother is as frigid as winter, and my father isn't prone to female companionship. Also, I've never seen those two together. So, I must be adopted."

"I really do have a great imagination," he muttered to himself, but Eura overheard.

She slammed the book shut and stood up, her presence suddenly commanding and larger than life. "I am the Sun that burns land, sea, and sky. While you are rotting in self-pity, I am gathering my army as we speak! As the Elven Princess, I have the support of the elves. I am betrothed to the most powerful dragon known to Menschen. People are already displaying my crest in their homes and shouting my name. I am the rightful heir and true ruler over Ormgrund, Mir-Grande-Carta, the Red Sea and even Cragua! And I will not allow you to question my sovereignty over anecdotal genealogies. I will build my own legacy with my own blood and seed!"

As Yeso's gaze returned to her, he noticed the transformation. Gone were the ragged clothes, replaced by a black robe of intricate embroidery, gold and silver. A blindfold covered her eyes but did not hide a new golden infinity symbol carved on her forehead that was not there before.

"Why are you blindfolding yourself?" Yeso asked, the realization striking him with the force of a thunderbolt. "You are a Hexe... like me."

Compelled by an unknown force, he turned towards the mirror in his room. But instead of his own reflection, it was her face he saw staring back at him. Her hair shimmered like strands of diamond, her eyes a spectrum of indescribable shades. At that moment, Yeso was Eura.

"This vault, my prison, my jail—or, as it's more commonly known, my bedroom—was built way before I was born. It wasn’t built for me," she spoke, her voice sharper and louder with each word.

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Removing the blindfold, Yeso found himself alone once more, the illusion dissipating like mist under the morning sun. The stark reality hit him: Veilla had built this chamber for him. A profound sense of betrayal washed over him, leaving him reeling.

He stared into the mirror, taking in the sight of his own reflection. His eyes were sunken, his lips dry and cracked. Golden veins blazed across his skin, their light dimming as he grappled with the crushing weight of his thoughts. If not for Noctavia, his life would be as tormented as Eura’s—if she were real. Or, perhaps, if she were ever to become real.

From the other side of the moon-shaped door, Jaer's footsteps echoed in the palace corridor, their pace mirroring the turmoil within him. The guards stationed at the massive moon-shaped door of the vault stood immovable.

He was eager to leave, to return to a semblance of normalcy. His 'home' might just be a camp of tents, but it was his place where friends awaited him.

As he paced, Jaer's mind wrestled with a daunting task. He needed to break the news to Yeso: Redfred and Muru had chosen to stay in the Capitol. The reasons behind their decision were steeped in the most horrific prejudice, so astonishing that Jaer couldn't help but feel a sense of loss—not just of companions but of the ideals they once shared.

Yet, despite this, he had dispatched a servant with a message, offering them a final chance to reconsider their stance. Deep down, Jaer clung to the hope that they still upheld the same vision as Yeso: a world where the gift of magic knowledge was a right afforded and belonged to every creature on land, sea and sky.

This gave him a blurry idea that something sinister might be brewing right under his nose, and he could not discern it. But it gnawed at him, feeding his anxiety like clouds gathering before a storm.

Forty-four days had passed—the agreed duration of Yeso's confinement—and it was time to release him. Their mission to stop the Great Exodus failed, and now they face a new goal. It was time to regroup, to gather those who wished to return to Ormgrund and assist those who chose to settle elsewhere on the Great Continent.

As Jaer halted his restless pacing, the deep echo of approaching footsteps filled the air. He turned towards the source, his gaze landing on the majestic figure of the Dame, Veilla, the arbiter of Yeso's fate. To the world, Yeso was condemned as a criminal, but Jaer and anyone who knew what was going on in the Great Continent knew the truth.

The narrative of crime and punishment was straightforward. A good man, a valiant warrior, and an honourable Commander were retaliated against for acting benevolently towards her people, which was deemed unlawful. How could one be condemned for bearing the burden of others' misdeeds?

How?

Veilla arrived, her entourage a striking vision in black robes—Magis, guards, and, intriguingly, Finnegan, the Elven King. Jaer's thoughts briefly wandered, pondering Finnegan's prolonged presence at the palace. Was the Elven King still wooing his future bride, or did deeper machinations keep him anchored here? Jaer was tired of the theatricality of court.

"Ollo, Jaer," Veilla greeted, her smile radiant, an odd juxtaposition to the solemnity of the occasion.

"Ollo, my Dame," Jaer replied, his bow respectful but quick. His gaze then subtly shifted, acknowledging Finnegan with a silent nod. He didn't feel he had anything to say.

"Well, it's time to let Yeso breathe fresh air; he must be tired of being left alone," Veilla commented, her smile unwavering, as if the gravity of a man's freedom was akin to observing the phases of the moon.

At her signal, the guards commenced their task. Their movements were a well-rehearsed dance of precision. Keys were inserted into the vault's lock, turned with a resonance that echoed through the corridors, followed by the turning of the wheel, culminating in a final metallic crack that heralded the end of Yeso's confinement.

Finally, the subtle echo of footsteps resounded across the marble stone, and Jaer found himself nearly breathless. Yeso emerged, scarce from the man a moon ago. His hair had grown but a mere span of fingers. His face bore the marks of hunger—pallid skin, eyes sunken like twilight shadows, and lips parched as if kissed by the desert wind. Most strikingly, his skin seemed to crack and fissure, revealing veins of molten gold that glinted with a life of their own.

With a purposeful stride, Yeso advanced towards Veilla, oblivious to the sea of faces surrounding them. His voice, resonant and steely, uttered but a single sharp word, "Vacahure!"

The air seemed to tremble with its utterance, every soul standing transfixed, eyes widened in a collective gasp of astonishment.

"Yeso, I believe you are tired," Veilla began, her voice quavering slightly.

"Vacahure! You are the architect of this?" Yeso gestured towards the door, his tone sharpening. "Tell me, Veilla, when? When did you build this... thing? Before or after you decided to marry me?"

"Yeso, this matter is inconsequential—"

"If you don't give me the when, at least give me the why?"

"Because you wield the Sun's power, yet remain but a mortal! You are no god!" Veilla's composure shattered her words, resonating with authority but barely.

"No, I am not a god. That much is true. And I don't plan to be or to pretend to be. But I am the Master of the Golden Dragon, the very Sun that scorches the land, sea, and sky. I am the Master! The Sun does not reign over me; it is I who command its blaze!" he retorted, the golden veins on his skin shimmering fiercely.

Some Magis began to approach, but the Dame signalled them to halt. "A single misstep from you could spell our doom. I had to safeguard my people!"

A chuckle escaped Yeso, morphing into a laugh that rang with bitter irony. "Your people? The very ones being exiled from the Great Continent? Those whose blood runs red—oh, but they don't count, do they? We call them humans, infected! Like if they are the plague! Your people, whom you've cast into dungeons to rot, forgotten because your 'Spirit' willed it? Or am I not people!"

"You tread on dangerous ground, Yeso!"

"Let me clarify this for you, Vacahure. You are not the Master of the Spider; it is the Spider that commands you. You do not govern all, only those you deign to notice. And I, Yeso Sternach, hereby renounce my allegiance to you. You are not my Dame! Not anymore! And my name will not recognise you or your crest! I renounce you, Veilla Mageschstea!"

Though not loud, these words reverberated through the Capitol, not through their volume, but through the whispers that followed, toppling convictions like a house of cards. It was this proclamation that would shape the future of the Capitol and, with it, the destiny of the world.

In losing Yeso, Veilla lost more than a formidable ally; she lost the cornerstone of her empire. And from that day, Fall crumbled, and Winter rose.

> Yeso Sternach, my father, who boldly rejected the crown of Rame, relished the relentless support of the Black Robes. His words carried a weight that transcended political divides; they were followed without question, without debate. So, when imprisoned for forty-four days, it was his public disavowal of the Fallqueen that shifted the political landscape. In that act, he set a course that led many, by necessity or conviction, to rally behind Fiona—there was no other choice. Had my father anticipated the full impact of his stand, might he have chosen a different path, a quieter rebellion? Yet, it is not for us to judge his decision to abandon those who were indifferent to the plight of others. He acted in accordance with his conscience, driven by a desire for justice, and in doing so, left an indelible mark on our history. ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune