> Ofius
>
> Noun
>
> Translation: Ofius (The Serpent bearer)
>
> Definition: The "Ofius" was introduced by Magi Mediah in the early Winter. It is a brand given to mages upon the successful completion of their Trial of Elements within the Menschen culture. Upon being granted their "Mantonacht," or Black Robe, mages receive this brand on their forehead. The golden infinity symbol, the Ofius, represents unyielding loyalty to the Magi's duties and their eternal commitment to their path. If a Magi ever decides to forsake their role, the Ofius is removed, leaving behind a scar as a perpetual reminder of their indelible bond to the Magi order and the powers they once served.
Redfred completed the final preparations to safely dispatch the Noitelven baby aboard the first vessel departing from Ormgrund. As he returned to his quarters, mentally steeling himself for the imminent political upheaval or perhaps even war, he was met with a scene of utter disarray. The room appeared as though ravaged by a hurricane.
"What in the world...?" he barely managed to articulate, his eyes widening at the sight of the young Magi, Muru, darting frantically from one corner to another, hastily packing his belongings.
"I'm leaving! And I'm leaving now!" Muru declared, almost shouting.
"Muru, please, I implore you, could you pause for a moment!" Redfred's plea seemed to no avail with this maelstrom of activity that had consumed the room.
Muru was a whirlwind of motion, his actions a chaotic fusion of fear and anger as he shoved his meagre possessions into a makeshift bag.
"Muru, please, just listen," Redfred insisted, his voice trying to be tranquil and soothing, attempting to pierce the young Magi's frenzied state. "If you would just take a moment to calm down, we could devise a plan and..."
Redfred's words seemed to evaporate into the charged air, utterly futile. Muru had burst into their shared quarters straight from the courtroom, carrying with him a whirl of feelings that had taken root deep in his core. "Please, son, just listen to me..."
In a flash of unbridled anger, Muru spun around to face the older Magi. "I am not your son, and you are certainly not my father! A real father would take action, not just stand by passively! This whole situation is... it's... absolute madness! Now, I finally see why Yeso chose to abandon this scheida place! Plans are useless now!"
Muru spat out, each word seething with outrage. "You were witness to this circus that unfolded in there. And I refuse to linger and watch as that... that... that Vacahure ascends to power. It's a mockery! I reject it all! I will not remain here and be part of this scheida! If death is my fate, then let it embrace me in my own fucking home!"
"Die at home?" Redfred, usually a bastion of calm, felt a rare surge of irritation. His patience was worn thin. "Magi do not surrender to fate in the safety of their homes, Muru! We stand and face our trials, wherever they may find us!"
Muru abruptly ceased his frantic movements, turning to face Redfred with eyes that were deep pools of dread. "Maybe the path of a Black Robe, of a Magi, isn't my true calling," he declared as he methodically unfastened each button of his robe.
"This place... it's no longer a Palace; it's become a damned graveyard. And that creature in the cage? It's like nobody gives a fuck! Did they slay it? Are they keeping it for some fucking purpose? Perhaps she plans to amass an army using it! I don't want any part of it. I refuse to stay and be a spectator to this madness!"
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Finally, with a surge of finality, Muru ripped off his robe and flung it to the ground. His frustration and resignation culminated in a single, defiant act. He kicked the discarded attire, sending it skittering across the floor.
Exhaustion and disillusionment suddenly washed over him; Muru paused, leaning his back against the wall. Slowly, he slid down until he was seated on the floor, his voice breaking in the precipice of tears.
"Maybe what I truly desire is to live an ordinary life, to feel safe and secure. To be like everyone else, the common folk. To abandon this nomadic lifestyle, always chasing some idealistic dream that turns out to be nothing but an illusion. A lie! It's all been in vain. Yeso is a dreamer, and we followed like clowns."
"Muru, consider the implications of your decision."
However, Muru cut him off with a swift, decisive gesture. "I'm done, Redfred. Completely done with this whole shithole. My belief in our cause and our way of life is all shattered! It's gone!"
He spoke with steadfast perseverance, "If Yeso could walk away from all this, why can't I? I'm not extraordinary. I'm just a regular person. I long for a normal life—a home, a partner, perhaps a child. I yearn for nights filled with peace, not terror. I'm tired of dealing with humans, tired of feeling outcast because of my blue blood. I just want to return to my roots, to a place where I belong!"
"So, this is your decision? You're leaving us? Abandoning your friends and comrades?" Redfred uttered in disbelief.
Muru's response was just a bitter resignation. "If Mediah were here, in the midst of this madness, he'd have been the first to bolt without a backward glance! He's as much a coward as I am, perhaps even more so!" His words, though harsh, reflected a deep-seated disillusionment not just with his circumstances but with the very ideals and bonds he had once held dear. And he was wrong. He didn’t know Mediah.
Redfred observed Muru, his heart sinking as he watched him continue to pack. "Where will you go now?"
"To the Fisherman District," Muru answered with an unexpected calmness, "That's my hometown. I really miss my mother. I can't even recall the last time I saw her."
"Will you take up your father's trade then?"
"It's an honest living," Muru replied, securing his bag, "I'll have to learn, but that doesn't seem so daunting. At least not as daunting as staying here."
"And when you tell him about your return..." Redfred started, but Muru cut in.
"He'll just be overjoyed to have his son back. I believe... no parent wishes to see their child perish for a cause that amounts to... nothing. Because that's what this all feels like now... nothing." Muru's words tinged with sadness and newfound disdain for all the causes they fought together.
"Muru, this chaos, it's just politics; it doesn't define us. You and I, we're only..." Redfred attempted to reason, but Muru was done, not allowing him the opportunity to finish.
"And what will your choice be when they call upon you to wear the white cloak?" Muru's question was pointed, his intense gaze seeking an answer that Redfred himself might not yet have. "Just as I suspected."
With those final words, Muru hefted his bag over his shoulder, leaving the room and Redfred behind.
For many of the Magis who continued to stand and fight against the tide Muru was fleeing from, his name—Ann—would now be etched with a mark of infamy in their annals. His decision to walk away and seek a different path would forever stain his legacy of being a deserter in the face of adversity.
And there will be only one who will clean that stain and raise the legacy once more—Esra Ann, Master of the Howling Night, The Noctavia and the Uncrowded King.
> It is funny to see how, nowadays, identifying those adhering to the teachings of Magi Mediah has become simpler over time. The removal of the Black Robe during Winter left many Magi without a traditional symbol of their allegiance. The origins of the Opfius emblem are unclear, but it seamlessly integrated into the identity of a Magi. A more troubling development, however, was for some forced—others not really—to the White Cloak, aligned with the Winterqueen politics, and the emergence of a divisive mentality - if you're not with us, you're against us. The era of the Winterqueen, especially in the Capitol, was tumultuous, to say the least. I can't even imagine how it was there. Men and women from all walks of life fought valiantly, using swords, words, or whatever means necessary in their resistance. When I first learned of the Opfius, it struck me as akin to cattle branding. But then I saw Zora adorned with it, and my perception shifted. In her, the Opfius seemed not just a mark but a symbol that complemented her innate beauty and fierceness. She was the living representation of a Magi, the infinity of a path that doesn't end with a Black Robe. ——The Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer