Afterwards, the thickseeds had all been discarded. All the while, the frown on Aiven's face didn't let up. The bobbing of the poor bulbs as it passed over the currents of the river kept on repeat on his mind. It was a necessary sacrifice for their party's peace but it still left a sinking pang of regret to his gut that persevered all throughout their journey back to civilization.

He barely took note when they entered the quiet settlements near the mouth of the Milodas Forest.

Roughly two hundred families, Pious Point kept its name to the letter, humble, peaceful and fanatically religious to the faith of the eight gods. Instead of the normal main square at the center of the town, a vicarage towered over the houses and any respectable establishment. The people were nice enough, and it seemed to be the only requirement Simos, being the group leader, needed to settle for the night.

As he pushed open the doors to their inn, the two siblings were still actively having their argument. From start to finish, he had been silently listening to their conversation despite his mind wandering.

"And when did you start hanging out with Madame Cerylde?" Simos continued interrogating his sister. Aiven noted a touch of disapproval on Simos' tone, but the words were drowned from the bustle of night activities of the Hog Cauldron Inn.

"Hullo, can I get you meat, dearies?" a passing waitress greeted to them, balancing a two set meal on one tray and two huge mugs on the other. Her apron was smudged with sauce and stains, but there's still neatness to her whole appearance and in the way she expertly tread over the counter.

The eight lines of symbolic figures hovering over the bar's counter wasn't lost to Aiven. For an establishment that overflows of alcohol from firstlight to last embers of night, and still have a spacious venerable space for the gods of ancients was a baffling idea even to his standard.

"Yes, Miss Losa, for three please, that'll be wonderful!" Delica answered, pushing her way to an empty table, leaving Simos and Aiven to follow her lead.

"Remember what I said about my part-time work?" Delica continued when the waitress was out of earshot. Simos straightened on his seat, scowling, but Delica answered him with a smile, "I know you hate it, but hear me out. It's great for experience and I had a wonderful apotherist to teach me firsthand about the craft. See? Win-win!"

It was subtle but Simos' eyes became cold, "A dark mage? Under our father's employ? How come I am only hearing this now?" Simos replied, his words turned formal, his posture and expression began to have more weight while addressing his sister.

Delica was quick to notice the steel on his voice, and answered with her own. "Should I have asked for your permission?" unconsciously Delica placed her hands promptly on her lap, like any highborn lady.

"Would it be of much burden to my dear sister to tell me of such things?" Simos asked.

"With a detailed report you mean."

"If it suits you," Simos shrugged, his calm as he let Delica bait him was a sure sign that he was getting provoked

"Would you also require a tender and notice of everyone I got acquianted these past season and half moon?"

"You would, wouldn't you? Riddled with father as signatory, no less?"

Their passive-aggressive blows were suddenly interrupted when the two noticed Miss Losa, standing behind Aiven, the meals turning cold.

The waitress stuttered when she saw the two watching her curiously.

Simos raised his hand, "you may now serve, Miss Losa," his eyes as steady as iron.

Miss Losa instantly bowed, "uh, y-yes sire, I mean, the food," she reddened at her actions. The children wore nothing more than the armor and equipments of novices out for their quests, and yet their expressions and manners earlier spoke of higher birth that she instinctively humbled herself.

Aiven broke the atmosphere, "wow, tasty as Freyra's banquet," he said, relieving the waitress of her tray. Miss Losa seemed to have recovered and was astounded to receive the compliment and a smile from Aiven.

This was the first time she saw him in an expression aside from his silent brooding let alone heard him utter anything more than an unintelligible grumble. Aiven could already see how the bar maid melted, probably patting herself that her reclusive customer had finally opened up to her. Simple people were easy to read.

"Oi, Aiven! Don't hoarde all the meat!" Simos snatched the serving plate out of Aiven's reach and he retaliated by stealing another leg of pheasant. The three novices were once again the cheerful dream-eyed young ones that entered Hog Cauldron a fortnight ago.

Miss Losa breathed a sigh of relief and smiled apologetically, "sorry it ha’ gone cold, dearies. You talk a serious now, I could'na..."

"Don't worry much, Miss Losa. It's just my brother's way of being intolerable," Delica said to the waitress, stubbornly clinging to her resentment, "he thinks talking big would make people let him get his way," Simos glared at Delica, "by the by, thanks for the meal."

She stood up, forcefully that the utensils clattered and bowed deeper than the maid did, "excuse my presence, beloved brother. May I take my leave?" Delica said courteously and with such grace that if not for the deadly threat on her eyes, he would have been fooled it was sincere.

Without waiting for an answer, Delica stormed out of the inn.

Simos and Aiven remained in their seat and stared at the retreating figure of the only female of their party, her wand flashing underneath her cloak. Few glances were trailing over the little girl. Fewer still would dare to openly show their curiosity. The witchwood staff alone would be enough warning for anyone. If messing with any mages or potential mages isn't trouble enough, add the crest of Cessine Training Grounds on her ring, and any sinister ideas would be gone from any sane local of Alvalar

The Training Grounds had uphold a neutral stand on politics and conflicts of man, but cross any of their students or staff and you would be placed on seven pits of underworld and back as retribution. And with how almost all citizens of the settlements wore a religious relic one way or another. These people have a very vivid image of what that hell entails.

"And where is she off to?" Simos asked.

Aiven smacked his fist down Simos' head. The impact coincided with a spell breaking that Simos noticed at that moment, with it came the sound of the inn rushing back on their table.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The [Spell of Unvoice] was a minor spell in Aiven's skill list which he had indiscriminately used while the two were busy bickering. Not one of the regulars of the Cauldron had heard or even guessed what their party was talking about.

That was close, he thought, thinking of how much Miss Losa had suspected on their identities.

His knuckles were bruised. He didn't relay any pain on his face but he still spied a flash of guilt passed over Simos' eyes as the boy realized his blunder and instantly clammed shut.

They might be using their own name as novices, but no one knew of their status. If the residents of Pious Point found out their disguises and relaized that on their midst was a member of the Higher Gold Banner, let alone the heir of House Sila-ir, there would be too many complications not even Simos, and his sunshiny optimism, would be able to deal with without using the backing of his family banner.

And Simos would rather commit himself to hellhounds before he resolve to that.

["Eat,"] he suggested in a command sign they usually use when in the middle of a battle, instantly telling Simos that he was seriously pissed.

He knew the boy well enough not to expect an apology. If Simos was listening earlier, he would have known that Delica planned on returning back to Higher Districts to spend the afternoon at their family's sanctioned apotherist to continue her studies. The personal tutelage had just began last vacation as far as Aiven had gathered. He tucked the name for later. If the dark mage had anything to do with alchemistry then his mother might have an idea about the madame.

Aiven took on Delica's share on the table. He glanced up once, and the mulish streak on Simos was still there.

The two siblings had always been quiet when it comes to their banner's affair and Aiven was sensitive enough to keep out of that particular subject, though it wasn't hard to guess how strained it must be.

Once their stomach got filled, Aiven decided he would tell him where Delica had gone.

He raised the wooden spoon, ready to stuff himself with roast meat when the spoon slipped, plopping back at the plate in a clatter. His frown was back on his face in a second. He grabbed the spoon again to only found it falling out of his hands for the second time.

He stared at his trembling hands, clenching and reclenching, as he felt them go numb.

["Guess, I have no time to play mediator."]

His actions caught Simos' attention. When Aiven made a simple command on his inventory bracelet and took out a mana potion, Simos gave him a look of unease.

"Hey, Aiven, you okay?" he asked, the concern changed his voice into a seriousness that made him sound older. The leader persona really suited him.

When he took a swift swing over the flask to replenish his mana, Simos' blue eyes glinted with a light film of mana as he finished his [Appraisal] over him.

["I'm fine,"] Aiven was trying to sign to Simos when the blonde took the spoon and placed it back to the tray.

"I'm sorry," Simos said.

The apology was unexpected that his hand froze. He stared at the blonde unblinkingly. Simos might not act like one, but once he decided he was not wrong, it would be hard to convince him otherwise. The times that he did could only be counted on few rare occasions.

"You don't have to push yourself," Simos added. "We know you have a limited reserve of mana, but..." he trailed off. He handed a small mana potion to Aiven. A peace offering. By now, Simos would have seen his mana levels and knew he would need another helping.

Aiven took the flask and smiled. "Thank you," he said, slowly as he felt a small part of his mana dissipitating out of his system as if air.

He downed the second bottle, and somehow with the bitter after taste of the apothecial item, they continued their lunch. Simos, as always, took charge of their conversation, directing it away from anything short of mentioning mana.

Spontaneous Mana Node Discharge, Aiven almost laughed to himself. A bad case of mana depletion could go a long way from being useless, but losing mana on prolong period of time was not only crippling, it was considered deadly. Drinking mana potions like it was water did helped alleviate some of the symptons but other than that, his condition was a lost cause.

His friends both have been vocal in their concern for his future prospects, and with his recurring episode of mana-depletion lately, they do have a reason to be on the edge.

Healers and priests of faiths, known and obscure, had tried to cure him of his ailment since he was a babe, but all left with bewilderment and another unsolved case on their medical history that left them butting heads with one another.

They could barely had time to hypothesized and find cure to his silence either.

Another mystery left unsolved.

There was even a time when he was two and would barely utter a cry, let alone a word.

With no other options, he was brought to the temple in fear he was being possessed. The Freareans had put a lot of meaning to 'words' and the power it held to the world order to the point of reverence. The fact that he refused to talk was taken as an omen.

It was the reason why the other half of the specialists that tried to cure him were those of the faith.

If not for his almost normal upbringing as part of nobility, no matter how low it was, he would had been proclaimed an 'aberrant' and been declared accursed for not being able to speak as fluently as his other children his age.

The [Gift of Babel] is a glorious present for all those faithful, if this child could not even proclaim our gods then he is a blight! A cursed blight, I tell you," one sightless priest once said to his crib.

He doesn't even know why the memory suddenly resurfaced.

Him, eating right now on the middle of a quest, being a functional member of the society and even having passed the pre-requisites of a novice was nothing short of a miracle.

And it would take a different kind of miracle if he wanted to reach the apprentice level.

It must be the reason his friends had proposed to take this expedition in the first place.

A gift from the gods, huh? Aiven can't help but pondered on the idea.

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