Today was a day like all of his rest: pen then sword, then lunch, then study. After lunch it wasn’t always just ink and paper, but no matter what it was, it was always, when you broke it down a little, just study. Yes, today was the same lacklustre day that Ruben’s father would say he’s privileged to have, and his mother would just expect him to do. Except it wasn’t.

Today Ruben would find out if he was accepted into Wander Academy. The best school for studying paths, the ways of magic.

He was sure he'd passed, but needed to see it to beleive it. The exam tested stuff he'd studied under different tutors when he was still ten. He was fifteen now.

Ruben was a boy of outstanding nobility, and little taste for it. He rose early, always catching the moon’s last breath, and the sun’s first kiss. He practiced his pen and sword more than a boy should when his kingdom was at peace, and there be no women for him to court. And he studied. For hours and hours, every day, he studied.

Truly, Ruben was unhappy with his life. He would look longingly towards the piano room between jabs and jives, each snuck glance always quickly tailed by a forward cut or palm strike from whoever was teaching him the blade that day. They never hurt him, obviously, it was just chiding. As if to say music didn’t matter, this did. Ruben believed them to be fools. That’s why he told no one, other than his fiddle master, that he’d even applied to Wander.

Ruben didn’t want to play the piano, that was just the excuse he’d use to be allowed to go to the music room. What he really loved, what he really wanted to play, was the fiddle his fiddle master had left behind. It was rugged and honest, everything nobility wasn’t.

It was funny, the most dangerous thing in Ruben’s life was the very thing stopping anything from ever hurting him. He was royalty. Wealthy families, their substance was just silver, but they were magnets for land, resources, and influence, and there was the king’s iron lining Ruben’s family’s pockets.

He wanted none of it, Ruben loved the freedom that music gave him, with a few notes, he could explore a world of sound. What more could learning paths give him?

This is why he never cared to study for upper society. He had more fun sneaking into the local villages in disguises, playing for scraps than going to courts to play for favours. But he'd been caught more times than he liked doing it, leading to beatings that drew blood from the only person that could do it smiling. the person sitting opposite of him. His mother, Hana, the Dutchess of Gruir.

“How was Banim?" She asked. "He is set to be the next big thing you know, his recent paper on conjectures for mathematical bijections between space and light has all the nobles talking.” She didn't care about Ruben's answer, she just wanted to showcase how grand a tutor Banim was. His mother was bitter tongued today, most likely because she'd only just returned from the courts recently. Normally she was short tempered and hot angered. But the betrayals and sly slurs of courts usually soothed her. 

“I hated him.” Ruben replied. His father, who was sat between them at the head of the table, raised his eyebrows. The nasal of her voice grated him. He was finding it harder and harder to even be civil around his mother. Ruben would obey her still- his skin couldn't candle too many beatings- but that didn’t mean he’d be noble about it. Soon she wouldn't matter anyway, he'd have his fiddle and a world to play for.

If he got into Wander, he’d gain the Sigel of freedom itself. All students of Wander gained the King’s blessing, they were allowed to roam anywhere, only answering to the the academy and king.

Ruben imagined becoming a man of the world like Jesp, his fiddle master. Gaining wild stories, ail aided bouts, lustful nights. Ruben wanted to live free of the burden's of ruling.

Jesp had even hinted that Wanderers loved art. In cities like Levenshawn they had buildings bigger than castles dedicated to paintings, compositions, sculptures, runes and potions. Money would be thrown at masterpiece after masterpiece.

She wanted him to become the king’s advisor or maybe a black star General, not a Wanderer. Everytime he told her those were lifeless jobs she ignored him, just booking him more lessons. If he got into Wander, he’d extend the king's Sigil to leverage freedom from his mother, not even the royal guards could do anything to someone with the King’s blessing. Who would be her trinket to show off then? 

The utility of a wanderer was too tumultuous, sometimes they were gold, inventing airships, and carriages powered by paths, but other times they would kill entire villages, steal from dukes, burn churches down. Some were too powerful, feared by armies and gentiles alike, but all were arcane: they knew secret deadly things.Ruben didn't like that. More wanderers should be helping villages he always thought. With even a fraction of what he heard they could do he could probably catch enough game to feed a village. What if wanderers where just like the courts he feared. Distracted by shiny things; too blinded to see those in need of help. In this, he wanted to be like his father.

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Ruben’s father, Honor, Duke of Emerald was a good man. Maybe the only one of his kind in the entire royal lines. He was a man of the people, spending most of his time, fixing as many problems as he could in his dutchey. He travelled it relentlessly. He believed a king must know his people to know their needs, and even more so for a duke like he.

But in life everything is sacrifices, to inspire the boys of gentiles, you may end up forsaking your own. Dinners where Ruben’s father could reach the table to eat with Ruben and his mother were rare.

And Ruben feared for his father's health, he'd hear of him staying with in infirmatories to see what was truly needed. 

When he was younger and his father wouldn’t return for upto weeks at a time, Ruben might have cried or waited at the window for him. Now he made sure to cherish the time he got.

“Father, I wrote a song this week, can I play it to you after dinner?” Ruben’s voice was fragile, he could never talk about his music straight.

Ruben’s Mother sneered, “Have you been slacking off with that fiddle of yours again? I asked the butler and he said he hasn’t heard the piano played in weeks.” She’d bought the piano after his father introduced him to Jesp and his fiddles, she said it would be more 'appropriate'. No doubt piano was popular in the courts now.

Ruben’s mother looked accusingly at Ruben, “If that fiddler of yours is distracting you I might have to do something about it.”

Ruben gritted his teeth. The letter would arrive at sunset and he could finally be free of this wretched women. She wasn’t even his blood mother, just an opportunistic noble who took advantage of a grieving widow. The past five years with her were unbearable. He often missed his mother. His real mother was the moon and the stars, his current one was just the darkness of the night.

“I would love to son.” Honor looked to Ruben heartily, then slid his eyes to cast a disapproving look to his wife.

“What do you say to this, I’ll only be at the castle for today and tomorrow, how about you play me the music you’ve been working on today, we have a good ol’ fence after and then go hunt some game tomorrow morning? I asked Gorman to bring Jesp too, I like to beat you both together in the field,” Ruben’s father laughed, winking to him. Gorman was their butler. Ruben’s father must have planned ahead for this day, Jesp was notorious for being near impossible to get a hold of.

Ruben’s eyes lit up. He rarely got to spend time with his father, but whenever they did, his father made sure it was special. Ruben’s father was a good man. Stuck between serving a kingdom and serving his family, he tried hard to do both. 

Ruben knew his father’s heart never burned for his Hana. Maybe once, when they met there was flickering, but she was no flame, their fires couldn’t feed off of each other. She was poison, and after five years that was becoming all too obvious.

“I’ll have Gorman bring some primeberry wine and nectum, shall we say fiddle room at sunset? One of the maids will call for you.”

                         ***

The post carrier would come to the castle first, usually around sunset before heading anywhere else. But when the carrier arrived there was more than just one mail. Both with the King’s stamp and both addressed to Mr Clearsight. The king addressed no one below him with rank, so either mail could be for him or his father.

Ruben rarely got mail so never had to deal with the issue of identifying which mail was his. He tried to weight both out and guess what kind of mail Wander would send. Would the sigil of freedom come with the mail or did you earn that later? Maybe tools of a wanderer would be in it, what kind of tools would they have? Ruben’s head started to hurt from all the thinking and in frustration more than anything else ripped one open at random.

Out fell a stain yellow paper. It was rough with texture and character. The kind you’d expect from scrolls and grandfatherly books. Ruben’s heart started to race, this must be the kind of paper a Wanderers would use. His tense hands tried to straighten the paper to read it.

To Honor Clearsight,

This is a formal court mandate and temporal suspension of all land, gold, and property owned by Honor Clearsight for acts of treason, heresy and conspiration against one’s King.

You are advised to prepare a legal defence. The king’s taxes or gold may not be used in payments until all cases are dismissed.

You have one week to reach King’s Cord, else all charges on you are defaulted to true, and your life on warrant.

It took Ruben seven seconds to realised he’d been stuck staring at the paper.

Ruben’s hands were gripping the letter so tight it was taut enough to tear. He was shaking. This couldn’t be. His father was a beloved duke and more importantly, a good man.

 He shakily remember the was yet more mail. Now the same king’s stamp struck fear into his heart.

He tentatively opened it, as if it was his prior aggression that brought forth such tragedy. When the paper was free, it looked just as textured and wise, but came in a light green, like the paper wasn’t any color at all, just a faint glow under sunlight. And the ink wasn’t black like ink, more black like the absence of things.

It was grand and mystical. Such theatrics would usually spark questions and wonder into Ruben’s mind, much like art and music. But not now. He found the green sickening. The black heartless.

The letter had 15 words.

What fate, what delight.

You have eight days to reach Wisdom Hart

So, take flight.

He’d been accepted into Wander.