> Mir-Legado

>

> Noun

>

> Translation: Legacy

>

> Definition: "Mir-Legado" often referring to the right of children to inherit an important family heirloom. A physical embodiment of one's heritage and duty. It is commonly used in the context of passing down treasured and symbolic items such as a warrior's ancestral sword, a medic's grimoire of healing formulas, or a Magi's black robe and others — each representing the continuity of the Legacy calling and craftsmanship.

The sound of spoons scooping into a bowl of warm soup created an awkward contrast with the silence that shrouded the table. No one uttered a word. Orlo's gaze shifted back and forth between Godmama and Claramae, anticipating that any moment now, one of them would broach the topic he most dreaded.

Yet, as the silence stretched on, even though part of him felt relieved, another part began to feel the mounting weight of his anxiety. He knew it was only a matter of time before the subject would be brought up.

"Orlo, can you please pass the bread?" Maddie's voice pulled him from his trance.

Startled, Orlo quickly handed over the bread basket, "Here."

While taking it over, Maddie asked, "How was school?"

And there it was, the moment he had been dreading. "Was okay," Orlo responded, masking the truth with a white lie.

"Any adventures?"

"No... no adventures, just... school," Orlo replied.

"And what did you learn... in school?" Claramae chimed into the conversation.

"Well... stuff."

"For such an eloquent boy who likes to be precise, the word 'stuff' doesn't quite fit you, don't you think, Godmother?" Claramae prodded further.

Orlo was confused; Claramae knew he had graduated. Did she tell his godmama too? Or was he expected to tell her?

At this, the piercing blue eyes of his godmama bore into him, almost as if they were trying to penetrate his very saatgut. "Well, we... um... I..." Orlo faltered, his usual eloquence failing him under her scrutinizing gaze.

Godmama gently set her spoon down next to her bowl. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, and placed her chin thoughtfully over her interlocked fingers. "What books did you read today?" she asked.

She knew.

Orlo was caught off guard and let his spoon drop into his soup with a small splash. "I read the Encyclopedia of the Universal Mir-Grande-Carta, from P to S. It was a bit boring..." he admitted, trying to sound casual. “But I read everything there is to read in that library.”

"How long have you been feeling... bored?" Godmama asked.

"I... well, it's... it's not important," Orlo deflected, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Claramae told me you received a full scholarship. Ostesh, is that right?"

Orlo nodded but added, "It's too far."

"Too far?" Godmama echoed.

"Yes, it's too far. It's a week's journey by train and... and I'm too young to be by myself. And I'm needed here," Orlo explained, his voice too clumsy to express any conviction. "I can't leave just like that!"

"Needed for what?" Godmama pressed, her eyes still fixed intently on Orlo.

"Well, I am needed... like, I could... I can teach faeries to read and do calculations and..." Orlo said, trying to justify his reluctance.

"We already have faeries doing those tasks," Godmama pointed out somewhat dismissively.

"Well, I can do other things."

"I think Regulus is a good choice for you and a good challenge," Claramae jumps back into the conversation, offering her perspective. "I can see you as a teacher. Look how you controlled the mob earlier. You used your knowledge and perspective to give them some common sense. It was really good."

"I called them stupid."

"Or a writer!" Maddie interrupted with too much enthusiasm. "You could write stories! I love stories."

Orlo hesitated. His internal conflict was evident. "I can't go... yet."

"You are not going to ask for your father's robe and do the Trial of Elements," Godmama stated with a stern and unmistakable edge of harshness. "If your father hadn't worn that bloody robe, he might still be with us."

"I wasn't... I didn't even think about doing the trial, Godmama! I don't even have the required age for that," Orlo quickly clarified, wanting to distance himself from any such intentions. "I'm only seventeen!"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"And you won't. As your elder, I forbid you!" Godmama firmly declared her decision to be final and non-negotiable.

Sensing the tension escalating in the room, Claramae interjected, hoping to offer a constructive solution. "I know someone in Ostesh, and they could provide lodging for you there."

"Who?" Orlo asked.

"The Dagurstea family, Redfred was a disciple of your father. There's no way he would turn you away," Claramae explained.

"I do have a scholarship..." Orlo replied.

"Yes, for your studies. But you need a roof and food too, and we'll all be at peace knowing you're with your own kind," Claramae reasoned.

"I'm not leaving tomorrow or any time soon," Orlo stated.

"But sooner or later, you... you need to follow your own path," Claramae gently insisted.

"Excuse me," Orlo suddenly announced, standing up briskly. He picked up his bowl and carried it to the sink. "I can't have this conversation anymore," he said, exhausted. Without waiting for a response, he walked away, heading straight to his room.

Upon entering, he closed the door behind him and immediately began to strip off his shirt. He started hastily to untangle the corset with the same clumsy rush every day at this hour, allowing his wings to unfold freely. They stretched out, sore from being restrained all day. Orlo sighed in relief as he felt the tension ease from his wings.

His room was a typical haven for a seventeen boy, yet with unique touches that spoke of his identity. The desk was overflowing with books and papers. A small closet stood in the corner with a door perpetually ajar, never quite closing properly.

The most distinctive feature of his room was his bed, a traditional faerie nest. It was an elaborate structure made of branches and silk hanging from the ceiling. Orlo gave a gentle push with his wings, propelling himself onto the mattress and cushions that formed his cosy resting place.

Lying there, surrounded by the familiar chaos of his room, Orlo sought a moment of solace away from the weighty discussions and expectations that loomed over him. He just didn't want to think about it all this.

Orlo felt the gentle patter of four tiny paws scampering across his chest. "Hey you," he greeted softly, looking at his Spirit, a small white mouse with bright red eyes.

"Bad day?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Orlo responded, rolling over his belly and burying his face in the pillow.

"I see… so no cheese?" the mouse asked.

"Dammit, I forgot," Orlo mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow, "I'm sorry, little Mouse."

"No cheese…" the mouse repeated, sounding almost disappointed.

"I'll get you some later. I just don't want to talk to anyone right now," Orlo said, still keeping his face hidden.

"You know they're right," the mouse ventured cautiously.

"You too?" Orlo turned to face his Spirit, "Should you be on my side?"

"I'm a Spirit, you are my Master, and I serve you. I don't have to agree with you on everything, especially when it's for your own good," the mouse replied with wisdom that belied its small size. "And you didn't bring me any cheese!"

"Little mouse?" Orlo's tone softened.

"Yes?"

"I'm only seventeen. I'm still a kid."

"That's not the real reason," the mouse pointed out.

"You're annoying," Orlo grumbled and turned his face away from the uncomfortable truths his Spirit was pointing out. She was so annoying when she started to do the voice of reason.

The little mouse agilely climbed over Orlo's red hair and positioned herself to face his eyes directly. "We both know why you don't want to go," she said, her tiny voice serious.

"I can't just leave her here alone, can I?" Orlo said, "You didn't see the other faeries; if I didn't intervene, they would hurt her, and she already..."

"But you can't stay here forever. We have work to do!" the mouse insisted.

Orlo sat up abruptly, causing the mouse to lose her balance and tumble into his lap. "What work?" he asked, almost demanding.

"The work!"

"What work, exactly?"

"I don't know, my friend... he is still sleeping."

"Then I'll go when he wakes up and gives some answers. It isn't that important if he is sleeping, is it?"

"Well, my friend is really sad... and you wouldn't understand... But you can't do that, you must go... and..." A knock at the door cut the little mouse's words, who disappeared behind Orlo.

"Can I come in?" asked Maggie behind the closed door.

"Of course, you can. You don't need to ask, silly," Orlo replied warmly.

The fairy flew in, gently landing on the swinging bed next to him. They both lay down, the bed gently rocking with their combined weight. "You looked mad," Maggie observed.

"It's nothing to do with you," Orlo reassured her.

"I'm not a pixie dust," Maggie said, "I'm not stupid."

"I never said that, did I?"

"I don't want you to stay because of me."

"Maggie..."

"I don't want you to see me die," she admitted.

"Maggie..." Orlo pulled her closer into a comforting hug. "I'm not going to let you die, I promise. I will find a solution," he almost whispered a vow.

Maggie nestled into his embrace but persisted with her heartfelt plea. "I don't want you to stay because of me... I'm sick, and I will get sicker. I want you to go, so when you come back, I will be a flower." She placed her hands next to her ears, mimicking leaves. "I'll be green with pink petals. I want you to meet the real Maggie. Not this sick-Maggie."

Orlo looked at her, "I like this, Maggie. She's fun, caring, and definitely not a pixie dust." His words were sincere. He was not ready to tell her goodbye.

"One day, you'll meet the real Maggie, the one everyone likes, even Maddie. And then Maddie won't look at me like... I'm...like… stale bread!"

Orlo, trying to lighten the mood and bring a smile to her face, responded playfully, "But you know, you can make delicious toast with stale bread. Especially with butter, cinnamon and sugar, just the way you like it."

Her giggle was short-lived as Maggie's dark eyes met Orlo's with a seriousness that belied her years. "I have red blood; I am ageing really quickly. I need to know that you'll be okay. And if you go, when you come back, my seed will be buried, and I'll be again a flower. Then you can say, 'Oh, Maggie, your leaves are so green! Look at those petals, such a pretty colour!'" She placed her hands again next to her ears, mimicking the shape of a plant head, balancing her head slightly before pausing somberly. "You need to let me go."

"How?" Orlo said as he grappled with the thought of losing her.

She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and rested her head on Orlo's shoulder. "I'm only seventeen, I don't know," she admitted.

In that moment of shared silence, he gently unfolded his wings, extending them above both of them, forming a protective canopy, with their veins glowing a golden light as warm and comforting as the morning sun. And they lay there with no more words, just hoping that tomorrow would be another day where they could be together.

> "The journey to become a Magi, a path walked by my father, was one I chose not to follow. Despite the glory and reputation associated with his legacy, I recognized early on that my talents lay elsewhere. Handling a sword or even a stick was not my forte. My interests were more aligned with the theoretical aspects of magic, its rules, and strategic combative techniques. Yet, in practice, I fell short of my father's remarkable skill. He was a Commander, and I am a Scholar. Often, I pondered whether my father's direct instruction might have persuaded me towards the revered Trial of Elements. Did my decision not to pursue this path disappoint him if he was alive? Among my acquaintances, especially Godmama, there was a sense of relief that I did not seek the Magi's black robe, especially as those who wore it began to face increasing challenges lurking in the shadows with each passing winter." ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer