Historically speaking, magic had various ways of shaping both the world and society. Fundamentally speaking, the manipulation of mana is akin to the manipulation of nature itself. As such, no matter where in the world you go, there will always be a few set of rules. The Pull, for example, affects all living things- its what keeps us grounded, our feet planted to the loam we were blessed with. This is a universal property, present in nearly all communities that develop the notion of organized magic. But magic, as the manipulation of nature can be used to perform acts one could could consider a complete perversion of said nature. Facts can meddled with- even universal truths like the Pull can be manipulated with the right spell.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the healing magics of the Holidom. The goal of such magic is to defy the nature of death, and coerce the body to heal in spite of it's failing. Yet, in the holidom most other forms of magic are considered sacriligeous. Indeed, but most scriptures, the manipulation of the Laws is considered antithetical to the will of the gods. Such hypocrisy is necessary to maintain the illusion of power, however- for all things in nature were truly sacrosanct, they could not raise the stone required for their cathedrals, forge the metal of their buttresses. In a sense, to most priests of the Holidom, magic is sin, yet in other, it is a Holy gift. This dichotomy is what drives the wedge between Imperial Sciences and Holidom's Theologos.
Where do the lines cross? Where do they end?
~ A Letter sent by an unknown, beleagured Student of both tome and scripture
----
"You told me your child was slow."
Thouslyn's hand paused, his pen nib pressing into his parchment as he peered up from his writing. His beard, trimmed short than usual, teased up his features as he regarded the woman seated on the reclined couch, a cup of tea in her hand. Magdelyne, her hair shimmering gold despite the orange glow the lamp beside her, set her warm tea down, her eyes glancing towards the Lord of Verduryne as he finally lifted his pen and seated it in its carafe.
"I don't believe I used those exact words," the man finally said, dabbing the bleeding velum with a napkin, drying away the ink that the page had yet to sponge. "I believe I said that... he was hesitant in academic pursuits, preferring more... active engagement."
"It seems in lieu of being able to properly exercise that option, he's picked Sandevarian."
Thouslyn's brow raised. The surprise was difficult to deny. Sandevarian's works were dry, terse descriptions of what happened in the City of Andavar on specific days. His work was often considered necessary documentation, but it made for onerous reading, even for the magically inclined.
"The serialized work?" he asked. With the speed of his pen, Sandevarian's work was often the first, best resource for new developments in the field of magic.
"No, it seems he's picked up an older collection. I did not dig too deeply in- Magic seems to be a difficult subject to approach... given..."
"Dissuade him. If you can," Thouslyn's eyes turned back to the page. "The boy can find other interests. Following in his brother's footsteps is hardly a viable option any more."
"He's called me Queen."
Thouslyn's hand paused before it could lift his quill from the inkwell.
He knew Maggy. He knew her as well as his own sister. The woman had always been a balm in trying times, able to find the light in any scenario. But when she arrived with her daughter, he acted swift. The woman needed protection, for herself and her child. But to look more than twice at the girl, once could tell there was something... different about her.
Her hair seemed to float upon the wind.
Her gaze was swift, and sharp.
Even sullied, her skin still shone.
And when she spoke, there was often a magnetic tone that rang with each tone.
Worst were her eyes. Under the right light, he could see it- a ring of gold, wreathed about her pupil.
He had only seen such traits once before, at a ball he had attended far back in his youth. A mere baron he had been, a lad of fledgling talent, blessed with the rare opportunity to attend a real Imperial Ball. Dressed in his father's aging gambeson, he had been mistaken for a common soldier, and was thus relegated to the sidelines while the indolent crowds sluiced and bobbed with almost mechanical ease.
It was in the midst of a drink that he found himself handing a flagon to a man whose fingers were studded with rings, his dress liced with golden lining. He beamed with errant delight, not seeing the implied slight of a commoner handing him a goblet. Instead, the Emperor of all Sun Blessed took a deep inhalation of the wine he had received, and clapped Thouslyn upon the back.
Maggy did not need to say it. He knew, intrinsically, where the girl had come from. He did not need to know why, how such a thing had happened. He only knew she needed to be hidden. Safe. And Maggy beside her. He had never voiced his summation, never asked her about it.
Yet somehow, his son knew.
"Ballidor," the man barked, startling his old friend, her tea slipping free of its cup and lapping about her saucer. A knock resounded through the oak door, a timbre resonating through the dim office before a voice echoed through.
"My Lord?"
"Come in," Thouslyn's lips twitched at the man's hesitation. He understood why the Butler was not... keen to intrude upon his time with Magdelyne. The man understood the value he placed in the relationship he had with her, their playful escapes from life and its responsibilities characterizing many of his youthful repasts.
But that was the past, and both were adults. Too splintered to complete each other as they once had. He had his love, and she had... her daughter. He dared not broach the subject.
Perhaps to the aging Butler who slipped between the crack of the door, cautious in his approach, they were akin to children.
Alas, there was little he could do to change the old man's mind. Balidor approached, and gave Maggy a curt bow, his eyes unable to meet her own. Then, he turned to face the Master he was sworn to serve. With another bow, his traditional greetings were complete. "How may I be of service?"
"I need you to revisit my previous request. Imperial Gold, but in lieu of that, unnecessary... riches. Should any servant possess these, I need to be informed. Urgently."
He still refused to trust any one with his suspicion. So where had the boy so daft as to burn his own veins with unproven techniques learned of her... engagement?
"What were his exact words?" Thouslyn asked of the healer. Magdelyne's eyes were still set upon her teacup.
"He called me... Queen Magdelyn after a fit. That much was clear. If there was more to his words, I would have been quicker to report it," the woman's teacup slid back down upon the saucer. "To be safe, I've made sure to keep Ore away from him- I doubt she would let it slip herself."
Yes, the girl was sharp that way. She was, perhaps subconsciously, aware that she was different. Careful, cautious, a mask constantly on. He could not help but compare mother and daughter- the two reflected each other nearly perfectly now, and perhaps more than a little part of him panged with pain at the thought.
The Maggy of the past was open, bright and welcoming. He still saw bits of her crack through the mask she put on. Such radiance was difficult to smother out. If her daughter was even remotely the same...
---
If any had bothered to ask him about the things he missed most in adulthood, the man known as Touslaine Verduryne would have suggested the warm glow of a proper light. In the dead of the night, the boy could spark the light anew and bask in the radiance of that warm, if a bit red, glow. When he left these creature comforts behind, he had tried to sneak one of these tools away with him. Alas, he had not the capicity to keep the lamp charged. Additionally, on the battle field, the warm light would have been an immediate indicator to the enemy.
Now, beneath its homey red glow, Touslaine was ready to admit that this was, indeed, one of the few things that felt... real.
The pain was real, of course. He could practically feel the way his skin stretched, as if spread and then spread once more, each breath make it feel as though the skin of his chest would tear. His weight certainly did not help- his stomach took with each step, his thighs jiggling with uncontrolled motions caused his flesh to grind against his clothing.
But those pangs of pain, that constant discomfort only served to remind him that he had died.
It was only here, traversing his books and beneath the ornate mana-infused lamp where he could really start to feel this was a reality.
If only his subject of study were not so rooted in the source of his struggles a lifetime ago.
"Wha'cha reading?"
Touslaine jolted, a visceral reaction to an unexpected interruption that ended with him jammed his head upon the bottom of the lamp he had so favorably considered till just that moment.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
He could have marveled at how it didn't burn. For the power of magic, a simple light was quite efficient- there was hardly any real heat to the light source, even as the sharped edge of the metal chasis dug into his skull.
The boy rubbed his head as he turned the source of the surprise. It was her.
His eyes scrunched, the boy thankful his skin was so fresh. It looked as though he were always flushed, red as the lobster his brother insisted existed. "What are you doing here?" he averted his eyes to the page.
At the age of 10, the girl he would one day called Princess, and beyond that Empress, was not as striking a figure. She did not have the height, her hair was not as long, her voice was cheery, and her eyes were constantly curled at the edges as though her entire existence was a prank she was pulling off miraculously. In fact, her hair was lighter than it would be in the future, swaying as it bobbed about her features rendered straight by her caring mother's hand. He had forgotten there someone who could properly tame the waves of the Princess' hair. No, the only thing that remained consistent between the Empress in his memories and the precocious brat that so lightly crept into his room were her eyes. The golden glow of her amber gaze drew him in all the same, the eyes brown beneath the red light as they scanned his face.
"Bored," was her simple answer, as she planted herself upon the bed side seat normally reserved for her mother.
It was not that Touslaine couldn't sympathize with her mindset. But she had legs with which should could move, and she wasn't restricted to the sickbed the way he was. He understood why he was sequestered to a farflung wing of the house- with his body the way it was, it would have been easy to catch a foul disease.
Ah wait, this had been his father's order.
He was doing this to prevent rumors from leaking out.
"Not sure if I can help you there," the boy answered, hesitant as he was to interact with this spectre of the past. Her presence was the one thing that made him wish the most this was a dream. A broken, boiled body was bearable, but seeing her?
"Well, wha'cha reading?" she reiterated her question again. Touslaine's eyes drifted towards her, before he handed her the book in his and. It was the wrong year anyway.
"Do you anything about magic?" he asked, a bit too late as she took the book from his hand.
"You're reading a magic book."
"Oh it is so much worse," the boy felt a laugh bubble up from within.
The face she made only added to the coming tragedy. The confusion, the consternation in her gaze as she began to part open the book. Her brow furrowed as she attempted to parse the opening lines of the writer's recollection. The boy remembered reading the opening paragraph of a Sandevarian record for the first time.
The unceasing torrent of mysterious words. The mispellings of words that would only enter the lexicon of the Empire in coming years. The bizarre attempts to describe the new and curious concepts that the author barely understood themselves.
"What... is this?" the girl finally asked. To her credit she made it to page two.
The boy felt obligated to give her a proper, workable answer.
"Every year," the boy was more than delighted to share, "in the city of Andavar, they hold this Symposium. All the mages in the city just gather up and listen to bunch of lectures given by their peers or outside parties. Its not just about magic too- sometimes, the lectures are about foreign diseases, strange monsters, even plants you can't begin to imagine. And these books," the boy gestured to the pile on his bedside table, "are recountings of each and every one of them."
The girl looked at the books, and then the one in her hand. It was old... she turned to the first page, finding the penned date of the record. "So... why are you reading them? I thought you had a whole library of books. There's gotta be something more..."
"Interesting?" the boy immediately rebuffed her attempts to be polite. She was ten, after all. "I like history," the boy answered her scowl. "More importantly... I like reading about how... the past viewed the world. If you check, there's a few pages where they describe Chimeras as if they were giant ants," the boy gestured to the pages. They were ear marked with folded pages, inviting the girl to take a look deeper within. "It's wrong. Truly, horribly wrong. But look at how they describe it-" he began to bend towards her, finger ready to drag along the page.
It was then he hesitated. He began to rescind his extended digit as doubt reared up its ugly head.
This was just a girl. He understood that, logically. She was not the same Empress he opposed in the past. The one he had clung to in the depths of his desperation. He had seen that woman grow up. He had known her as a sister, a friend, an enemy and something... more. But she was not the one before him. He knew that... and yet his spine crawled all the same, his skin still itched about the back of his neck, he still... saw her in those eyes.
The boy began to push himself back into his covers.
"I don't get it," the girl finally said, laying the book open beside him. "If you like history, you can read a history book."
He knew this argument well. His older brother once used the same line of logic on him. But Touslaine did love history... even now, he could not resist the urge to discuss it, to drown in it. To see the past for the series of mistakes and triumphs that it was.
"I mean, a textbook is just a series of events," he struggled ot explain. "Like, the Barrastian Massacre- a book will just tell you that the Rebels of Prasht skewered thousands of civilians in the city they occupied on spears," he paused, realizing he may have chosen the worng example... but then again, he had her attention.
Surely she oould handle a story or two about horrifying events.
"But they'll explain why it happened the way it did. Who threw the first spear, why they did it, hell, scholars can't even agree why the Rebels from Prasht murdered the people they were supposed to protect. When you just... study history, you memorize events and dates, but the connecting tissue? The actual meat of history? There's no way to catch that.
"For example- three weeks before the massacre, Count Barraster had actually dammed the Tenvyus River. Because the river fed directly into city's wells, there was a massive reduction of drinking water available to the residents. Then, one week before the massacre, merchants stopped appearing in the city, as Soldiers began to inspect buy out all the food they were supposed to sell at inflated prices."
"So the city of Barraster had no water... no food... no supplies."
"The perfect poweder keg. And all a textbook would tell you is that one thousand people died at the hands of the rebels who took over their city to fight an unfair levy."
"Then how do you know?"
"It's earmarked- a lecture on the spread of cholera in limited spaces," he gestured to the tome. "The speaker was a healer in Barraster's employ."
"It doesn't mention the city once," the girl said, thumbing through the pages.
"It doesn't need to- where else can such a study on the spread of a waterborn illness be conducted without rousing a mob?"
The girl paused, her brow furrowed. The boy could feel the shift set in. One moment, she was attentive, curious, and then the next... withdrawn. In his youth, Touslaine had grown frustrated with those episodes, insisting the girl be more like herself. But time had proven the fool- the girl he found sitting by his bed, staring at the page as her eyes sparked with a unknowable rage... this was her at her rawest.
And worst of all- he understood now.
There was a reason he loved to talk about the people behind these histories. Each of them were just as hungry, desperate and maddened as any person he met. History was written by the victors, but very rarely did said victors reveal their minds. How could they do the things they did? How could Barraster live knowing how many of his people he damned to starvation and disease just to eliminate a pitiful group of insurgents.
"How could he just let them die?"
"Lord Barraster?"
"No, the healer." The boy blinked, looking to the girl... even after a lifetime, her mind was a mystery to Touslaine. "He had all this access- he could observe all these symptoms, catalogue these treatments, and yet he just... let them all die. There was a solution right there- undam the river, and they'd have the water they needed."
"He probably couldn't do that with Lord Barraster around," the boy lead the conversation in a different direaction.
"Why?" the girl's question was simple. But the depths of it were... complex. It was strange- he had known another form of her for years, and yet this was the first he had ever seen of her... confused. She always seemed so driven... magnetic. Like purpose drove each of her steps, and the rest of the world aligned. But in that moment... she was different.
And if she was different... who was to say he would be the same?
"Well, let's say you were the healer. Your lord managed to convince his entire army to dam a river, just to force a group of poorly equipped insurgents into a desperate situation. You're just a healer. How do you convince him to provide them with the water they need?"
She thought on that a moment. Her finger curled, her lips pressed, her eyes scanning over the pages. "He has an army. Filled with soldiers. Soldiers who can easily step in too. They could have averted the disaster- a good number amongst them probably have friends and family amongst those trapped in the city. All they would need to do is knock a few logs down. So I suppose I could enlist a few of them."
Was she actually 10? For a moment he questioned it- questioned whether or not she too had been flung into this strange revision of the past.
"Ok, so you try to drag more people into it... what happens if their fear drives them to reveal your sedition to the lord?"
The girl looked at him, brow furrowed. As if he betrayed her expectations. But the boy didn't care much for how she felt any more. If anything, the corners of his lips started to curl as she paused to genuine consider the options.
"Why was the river dammed?" she asked after a moment. "You said it was three weeks before, right?" She pivoted, a new angle to explore set before her.
The boy had to admit, it was a good question to ask. But there was a way to infer it.
"When did the first case of the disease occur?"
And then he saw it. The girl's eyes alight, shimmering a gleam of gold, as her whole face shifted, as if burning with the sense of excitement only a child could possess. She began to flip throug the pages, eyes scanning the text. It was dense prose, no doubt, filled with strange and ancillary vocabulary, delivered in an ornate, orchestrated speech intended for the healer's peers more than the eyes of a child. Yet still, it filled with such interest.
She actually passed the page that mentioned the "initial contact" of the disease, but he did not wish to rob her the joy of discovery. He allowed his eyes to close, feeling as though, for the first time in two lives, he had actually given her food for thought.
"Why'd you call my mom a queen?"
The boy froze. He looked ot the girl, her eyes boring into his own.
Now this was more familiar. The feeling that she was tearing through him with a glance. The shivers ran up his spine as he found his eyes arrested. Every twitch, every motion, it was all visible to her eyes. The truth bubbled ot his lips, as if compelled by a geas of some fashion. Not a god by her side, not a knight behind her and still managed to terrify him so.
"D-Did I?" the boy managed to choke out a response.
"You called her 'Queen Magdelyn.' Your words. Exact."
"W-When did I say tha-"
"After you hurled on me."
"... I'm sorry about that b-"
"Why'd you call her queen?" she doggedly stuck to the point. Touslaine felt the sweat upon his grow slide down his features. How was he supposed to answer this? How was he even going to try and communicate his intention? He owed his first life entirely to the Lady. But why had he called her queen?
"I don't know?" he tried to answer honestly.
Her glower grew harder. But the longer he stared back, the more obvious it was she was just... a kid. Yes, she was smart, and horrifyingly aware of the world she lived in... but she still had her mother. She still had some semblance of normality. She still had a place she could run to, find comfort.
And she fiercely wished to defend it.
Could she be aware of how easy it was to lose it?
"Seriously. I don't know," the boy finally insisted.
"Well, mom's freaking out about it. Won't let me leave the room."
"I mean... wait, why are you her-"
"I'm stuck in this manor, because you might get sick. And I'm not wasting away with nothing to do."
"And you can't leave because they wouldn't let you come back," the boy voiced his thoughts aloud as he attempted to piece the situation together. He had forgotten most of the daily affairs of the Verduryne manor, considering how far his path had taken from home. "But she still meets my dad right? No, she'd likely use an aura before she gets back..." the boy continued to reason beneath his breath.
He turned back to find the girl's eyes boring into him again.
"W-What now?" the boy asked.
The girl said nothing. She rose instead, taking the book in her hands with her. And as she sank into the darkness, Touslaine Verduryne finally breathed, a proper heavy breath for what felt like the first time that night. His lungs swelling with fresh air, the boy felt her presence drift away.
"What now...?" he wondered aloud again... before turning back to his books.