Upon leaving the police station, she was taken to a room in an inn where Priscila had been staying. The sorceress had been there temporarily, having come from a trip from Santus after attending to some matters in Idonia. As the guardian close to María's incident, she was asked to act as an expert.
In a moment of carelessness while Priscila was in the bathroom, María escaped. Filled with sadness, she sprinted through the streets under the gentle snowfall. Initially, she thought of returning to the apartment where she lived, an idea clouded by the reason that prevailed over hysteria.
Her mother would not be there; she would never see her again after returning from school, never feel her warmth, and never hear her lullaby when she put her to bed. Before going to work a double shift at the meatpacking factory, somehow she found time to spend with María, reading and cooking together.
She would never taste homemade food, and she feared that over time her mother's face would become blurred until she forgot her completely. Elven longevity waned, even with half-human blood; they easily forgot, just as they did with their old names and who they were. María feared that fate.
Chilled to the bone, her legs gave in halfway across a bridge suspended several meters above the river. A sudden vertigo consumed her as she looked down, and she had to hold on tightly to the railings to avoid slipping. Her legs trembled, close to losing their firmness. In the desire to end the pain through a collision rather than living, anguish brought a dark thought to her mind: jump.
—Is this how you want it?— Priscila appeared from the other side of the platform. María couldn't say anything else—. I read about your background; records are kept in the archive in the large cube when people from abroad enter... or rather, every individual. I know where your mother comes from... your father... what they went through to get to Trisary. What will you tell them on the other side? What will be the fruit of their sacrifice?
—No... I don't want to...—Her face filled with a moist layer, she cried inconsolably, and her voice trembled. When she realized it, Priscila was already standing in front of her, with her coat and hair tousled by the cold wind.
—Then live. —She concluded seriously, wiping away the frozen tears with her leather-gloved fingers on María's cheeks, caressed by the brown strands of the girl's hair, swirling in the wind in an expression worthy of a broken mirror, an innocent fractured soul. —Live to become something much greater, for a life better than they had, and don't let yourself fall. You are a sorceress, you are power, passion, and freedom... you are life, a gift from nature. Make your gift burn for them, live for them, and above all... live for yourself; seek your own happiness.
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A lump formed in her throat, unable to form words, and with a trembling jaw, María ended up wiping her teary eyes and threw herself into Priscila's arms. In maternal mercy, Priscila stroked her head, releasing words of comfort, promising that everything would be okay.
María's mother, Ivanadriel Laury, affectionately called —Ivana— in the community where she lived, was buried in the cemetery of Villa Avellana. She wasn't a woman of war, but her dedication to her daughter made her worthy of being considered one. True to the old ways of the elves, her body was burned on a raft pushed into the sea, ignited by an arrow shot.
The firstborn or lover was supposed to perform such an act, but María had never touched a weapon in her life, so Priscila, the so-called shining star, fulfilled that task.
This gesture garnered curious and disapproving looks from the community, thinking that the guardian would fit the second title. She offered no explanation; Priscila took María by the hand, leaving the village once they packed up the belongings from the small rented room where she had once lived.
María was supposed to be sent to the dark fortress days later, but fate created complications. Priscila intended to train her in the basics, seeing her too green in all aspects, and the uncontrollability of magical power made her a time bomb within the academy.
Due to the trauma of losing her mother, María clung to Priscila, making it difficult for them to go separate ways. The veteran requested in the report sent to the academy that she be given a year of preparation.
There were no repercussions; the guardian held great influence and contacts in high ranks, so she could take her time, allocating what was necessary in the training of a new recruit who would join the mercenary militia, the country's main product along with the export of beef.
They moved into a comfortable house in Roca Mojada, very close to the coast of Nemea. The place was located in the middle of a forest, private land, and in the center of that estate stood stoic and firm, a house supported by the largest tree in that land, so tall it reached the sky.
The treehouse, that's what María named it. Every child always wanted to have a similar hideout, and the apprentice was no exception. Part of her harbored elven blood, and they were accustomed to living in hidden forest ghettos. She had never lived in one, tied to her father's way of life in a Templar culture, even if it lacked, her mother already acted more like a human than an elf.