> Mir amo tu

>

> Meer ah-mo too

>

> Type: Phrase

>

> Meaning: "Mir amo tu" translates directly to "The love I give is you," which poetically means "I love you." It is a declaration of one's love being entirely directed towards the person it is being said to.

Jaer and Yeso's boat sliced through the dawn's frigid embrace, arriving as the day broke into a cold, nearly frozen morning, uncharacteristic of the usual climate. Jaer, with a steady arm, became Yeso's anchor, letting his friend lean heavily against him as they disembarked from the bustling ship.

It was no surprise to Jaer to find Noctavia and Mediah there, awaiting their arrival. However, a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes at the sight of Noctavia, enshrouded head to toe in a black shawl.

Understanding flowed through Jaer like a silent river; the bond between two Hexe was profound, an unspoken language of emotions and sensations. He knew, without a doubt, that Noctavia could feel the storm of pain, exhaustion, and humiliation raging inside Yeso.

Their eyes met—Yeso's and Noctavia's—and at that moment, Yeso's grip on Jaer loosened, a subtle but telling gesture. There stood Yeso, a man barely able to hold himself upright, awash in a sea of shame, unsure how to bridge the chasm to Noctavia.

She, in turn, took the first step forward. Jaer watched, his heart in his throat, as Noctavia approached with a gait that hinted at a repressed slap of fury, almost as though she were a tempest about to strike. Yet, the anticipated storm never broke. Instead, she enveloped Yeso in a careful embrace, burying her face in his chest while his arms encircled her in a desperate, tight hold.

In a hush barely more than a breath, Yeso's words, "Por verzculpa," quivered in the air, a tender, private admission to Noctavia. "You were right. I am so, so sorry. I’m so… por verzculpa"

Her response, gentle as a whisper of spring, flowed back, "It's fine. You're here now," soothing the raw edges of his troubled spirit.

"I've severed ties with Veilla."

"We'll find a way through this," Noctavia reassured him.

"I never wanted to let you down. I failed you..."

"No, no you haven't," she insisted, her voice a soft caress in the chill air. "You're here, and that's all that matters. Mir amo tu."

His reply, "Mir amo tu es," was a vow sealed with a kiss upon her forehead.

As they walked their path to the horses, Yeso's gaze, laden with fatigue and bewilderment, inadvertently followed the white mouse. This tiny, enigmatic creature continued its silent vigil, a ghostly sentinel in their midst. Who's spirit was that?

Upon their return to their settlement, Yeso was immediately enveloped by an air of desolation. The lively hum of the community had faded, leaving behind a ghostly quiet, as many had departed without a whisper of their whereabouts. In this eerie stillness, Noctavia led Yeso to their tent.

With a gentle touch, she helped Yeso onto their bed. Since their reunion at the docks, her words had been few, but her attention was focused, tender and completely devoted.

Carefully, she eased away his robe, her face betraying a flash of pain at the sight of his half-healed scars and his short hair. But she said nothing, choosing instead to bite her tongue and treat his wounds with herbal remedies. Throughout, the black shawl remained her constant companion, draped around her shoulders.

The silence was broken by Yeso's hesitant voice, "My Love?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you covered?"

"It's cold," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

But the cold Yeso did not feel. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," she reassured, her hands moving with gentle precision as she tended each wound on his back.

"I feel like you're keeping something from me."

"I'm not," she said firmly, her focus unwavering as she continued her care.

"My love," he implored, trying to meet her eyes, "Please, show me."

"Are you hungry?" she deflected.

"Show me."

"No," came her gentle refusal.

His eyes searched hers for an answer. "Why?"

At that moment, Howl, sensing his master's unrest, appeared from the shadows, a white mouse perched comically atop his head. "Everything is okay, Howl," Noctavia murmured, taking a deep breath before slowly unwinding the shawl, revealing a blouse stretched over a subtly rounded belly.

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"Oh... is that it? You've gained weight?" Yeso's voice was surprised and relieved.

"I'm not fat!" Noctavia's offense was clear.

Struggling, Yeso sat up. "Love, you barely eat. I'm actually happy you've gained a bit."

"I'm not fat, Yeso!"

"You're right, you're just a bit more... round," he said, instantly regretting his words.

"I'm not fat," she repeated.

Yeso's gaze shifted to Howl, who now hid his eyes with his paws, seemingly embarrassed for the both of them. Meanwhile, the mouse scurried around the tent in a state of confusion as though searching for something elusive or maybe someone. Yeso's mind flickered with recognition; he was certain he had seen this mouse before.

Turning back to Noctavia, whose usual grace and modesty in her wardrobe were well-known, he began to think he had grasped the root of her distress.

Hesitantly, he offered, "You can use my robes and shirts if you want..." His voice trailed off, unsure if he was doing another faux pas.

Howl dug his paws deeper over his eyes, a silent commentator on the awkward exchange. "Or not... you look good to me..." Yeso bit his lip, feeling utterly defeated. "I don't know what to say, love!"

His Hexe chuckled, a lightness in her voice as she insisted, "I'm not fat," her gaze intense upon him.

"You're not fat, I know that. I never said it. You're always beautiful to me, no matter if..." Yeso's words faltered. "Everyone thinks you're beautiful."

She placed his hand on her belly, repeating, "I'm not fat."

"I understand you're not fat!" He shook his head, confusion clouding his features. "I... I mean..."

"Yeso..."

"Yes?"

"I'm not fat."

"You're not fat..." he echoed awkwardly, his hands gingerly resting against her belly.

"Because..."

"Because... no... no way!" Realization dawned in his wide eyes as they flicked back to the frenetic mouse. "That... little mouse... it's a spirit." He pointed. "It's... not my spirit, it's not your spirit, so it's..."

Noctavia nodded gently. "She has been around for a while because I..."

"No... really?" Yeso's hands now fully embraced her belly. "I can't feel it. Shouldn't I feel something?"

"It's still just a bean, a tiny saatgut..." Noctavia's hand covered his.

"No... no way, I'm a... I'm going to be..."

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Of course, you're sure! What am I talking about... I'm going to be a..."

"A dad," she finished for him. “You are going to be a papavida!”

Yeso awoke the next morning, his world momentarily obscured by a cascade of golden dreadlocks that tumbled across his face. He brushed them aside with his fingers, only for one to rebelliously swing back into his view. He brushed them away once more, and stubbornly, they fell again. Rising, he felt the weight of the braids sweeping over his shoulders.

Yeso, with his curiosity, teased, picked up a mirror from a nearby table; he observed his reflection: from diamond roots sprouted golden braids and dreadlocks, each interwoven with meticulous care.

His brow furrowed in confusion. "My love?"

Turning to his Hexe, still ensconced in sleep, he noticed her hair barely brushed her shoulders. She had sheared her own locks to craft his elaborate dreadlocks. Once again, this woman rendered him utterly speechless with her selflessness.

Yeso returned to the bed, gently enfolding her in his arms.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Sleep, it's early."

"But I'm hungry."

"What do you want, my love?"

"Apple pie."

"Apple pie? But you don't even like it," he chuckled softly, knowing that while Noctavia had no particular fondness for apple pie, it was his own favourite. "Are you trying to spoil me?"

"It's not for you, it's for the baby."

"Well, then, it is no doubt my daughter," he teased lightly.

Noctavia lifted her head to look at him. "It's not a girl."

"It is. I saw her in my dreams. Her name is Eura," Yeso said with a warm smile.

"Eura? I won't call her that; it's far too pretentious," she chuckled, settling her head once more against his chest. "It's a boy, and we'll name him Orlo."

"But if it's a girl, her name will be Eura."

"Why?"

"Because she told it to me... in a dream. I think it suits her."

Noctavia, with a soft groan, propped herself up against the pillows, the back of her hand rubbing her face. "I'm thirsty... and bloated. I don't want to leave the bed!"

"Then stay," Yeso replied with a tender smile. "Just whisper your wish, and I shall fetch anything you ask for."

"Like a servant?" she teased.

"Like the most devoted servant," he quipped back, lifting her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"But duty calls." She sighed. "Xendrix's ceremony won't prepare itself, and I still have to complete his robe."

"He conquered his trials then?"

"Well, in a sense. He's woven his understanding through the four elements, yet the Trial remains to confirm his mastery. He's planning a surprise for us, some kind of recompense for the ordeal you endured. That boy, he's a relentless torrent of words and energy," she laughed lightly despite the hint of weariness in her voice. "He's utterly exhausting but endearingly so."

As she spoke, Yeso's gaze lingered on her, filled with admiration and affection that only a Hexe could have, his love for her evident in the softness of his eyes sliding down her cleavage.

As they spoke, from seemingly nowhere, a cascade of golden lilies began to materialize, their delicate petals unfurling like whispers of sunlight. They seemed to dance on an unseen breeze, gradually coating the interior of the tent in a tapestry of gold. A sweet, heady scent lingered like a tender caress of warm honey, transforming the tent into a sanctuary of serene beauty and magic.

"What is this?" Noctavia asked, oblivious to the fact that her clothing was more revealing than usual.

Yeso’s gaze lingered on Noctavia's chest, his face flushing – a rare occurrence for him these days. He seemed transfixed.

Realizing where his focus lay, Noctavia sat up, a playful edge in her voice. "I tell you you’re going to be a father, and it is the size of my breasts that makes you happy?"

"They are... you know..."

"Bigger?"

"I wouldn't say it quite like that..." Yeso replied, his voice soft as he leaned in to kiss her, gently easing her back onto the pillow covered in flowers, his hands wandering beneath her shirt with a tender touch. "But they did catch my attention."

Just as Noctavia's blouse began its ascent, and Yeso's own garments neared their union with hers upon the tent's floor, before his lips could even touch the skin of her breath, their intimate moment was abruptly shattered.

The sudden, jubilant exclamation, "Good morning!" from Mediah, pierced the air. The young Magi entered with the homely offerings of a warm apple pie and steaming tea for breakfast, unknowingly fracturing the spell of their tender interlude.

"I did it again, didn't I?"

> Appearances can be deceptive, especially when it comes to the Menschen. At first glance, they may seem modest in comparison to the extravagance of other species, with their unadorned attire and bare feet. Yet, this simplicity belies a profound cultural preoccupation with the length and style of their hair. It is within this filamentous tapestry that the Menschen encode their social hierarchies. For the male Menschen, braided hair is not merely a personal choice but a public declaration of rank. The complexity of a braid can articulate one's position within the societal ladder, much like the ornate regalia of a monarch. Moreover, the venerable length of one's hair is a chronicle of age and wisdom. To cut the hair of a Magi, the Menschen's revered figures, is to mete out a punishment of severe social and personal consequence, akin to the gravest penalties known to the world. ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune