Lord Alard Wells would arrive in a few days if everything went as explained by his father the Count in his letter. Isemberd sent his answer with a spell, burning the flames in his hands with purple flames that moved in strange shapes, full of straight lines and warped circles around him. When the spell was finished, he relaxed with sweat visible on his forehead while breathing heavily.

Gillibert asked from his roost nearby:

“Why didn't you send the letter through one of those transparent people, master?”

The mage wiped a few cinders from his clothes and his desk before replying:

“The transparent person is a spirit. It needs to accept taking the letter for me.” He hesitated a little before adding: “And most spirits, specially nature-related ones… don’t like doing much for me.”

“Why?” the owlet asked, tilting his head. “This other way seemed harder.”

“And it is.”

“Is it not tiresome too?”

Isemberd shook his head. His breathing was heavy, besides his clear effort to not show any of it.

“It doesn’t matter” he said. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, please.”

He took a peek at the drawer where the magic tome was and left it closed. Gillibert flew to his shoulder and they went down from his room to his office downstairs.

“Oh! Master-master! Isn’t today the day Joran was coming to visit us?”

“Indeed. Shall we go through the rules again?”

In a comic gesture of silence, the bird covered it’s beak with one of it’s wings.

“Of course not, master!”

They went inside the office to look for writing materials. Isemberd took a few quills, an inkwell, a few sheets of paper that were meticulously stored inside a drawer.

“You take such good care of your paper, Master. Why is that?” Gillibert asked.

“An old habit.” he replied, and since the owlet kept looking at him, he added: “Quill and paper are expensive and at some point it was very hard for me to find some.”

He sighed while gently organizing the materials.

“I had to make do with pillaging the dead.”

“Do people carry paper and quill when going to war?” Gillibert seemed confused about it.

Isemberd closed the office’s window and left the room in the dark. He took his earring off and left it on top of one of his shelves. It took him a while to reply back:

“Feathers from birds used for sending messages… among other tasks.”

Gillibert went silent and serious for a moment. The mage then went to the kitchen, where he left a kettle on the fire and opened it’s window with a magic gesture.

“Master.” the owl called, in the usually childish tone it used when thinking very hard about a question. “Are you agitated because we’re having someone coming over?”

Isemberd stopped in his tracks for a moment looking at the circular window.

“It's my first time.” He said, while preparing the leaves for his tea.

“First time you've had someone visit?”

“Yes.”

They stood quiet after it. The tea was ready at some point while Gillibert was practicing staying in silent, which took him some effort to do. Isemberd closed his eyes, lost in his thoughts. In his silence, he painfully noticed how his mind still used to wander to his previous memories of the war.

His winged companion raised it’s head at a moment, just like a dog that hears something in the distance and it’s chirp interrupted the mage’s daydreaming.

“Two people...” Gillibert said “...walking a little fast.”

“Relax.” Isemberd replied, more to himself than to the owlet. As if feeling it’s guardian tension, the owl flew to him, pecking him on the ear.

They waited a little and soon it was possible to hear the voices from the visitors. Joran’s voice was easy to recognize but there was another person talking with him. Soon, they stopped talking near the door. Isemberd found the situation funny enough and kept waiting in silence. He heard his guests whispering if they were going to call for him or knock on the door.

The mage stood nearby, waiting.

“Joran, make your mind already! We don’t have all day!” it was a girly voice.

“Whatever Maven, move aside.” while lightly knocking on the door.

“He won’t hear if you don’t knock properly! Like this!”

Toc-Toc-Toc. Someone loudly knocked on the door.

Isemberd waited a few moments before opening the door. Joran was together with a little girl that was holding his hand. Taking a good look at them the sage assumed they were brothers. The lad had a big package in his other hand, wrapped in cloth.

“Good afternoon mister Isemberd” Joran greeted with a hesitant smile.

Isemberd greeted him with a nod and looked at the girl. She shook her head negatively.

“Mister! You don’t look like an alchemist! Where is your gray beard!?”

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The disguised alchemist stopped without knowing what to say.

“I agree. Come in.” He took a step aside so they could enter his house. The little girl entered right away, half running half hopping.

“Hey is the little owlet from the fountain!” She ran towards Gillibert roost despite her brother’s protests. “Do you remember me?”

Gillibert did his best to appear surprised and flew away.

“Your sister is very energetic.” Isemberd said as he invited Joran to his dinner table. “I think I remember seeing her with the other kids the other day.”

“Yes, she was with some troublemakers that pushed another girl into the fountain.” Joran explained, clearly bothered by his sister’s behavior.

“Hey! I was not! They were being annoying again. Annabeth gets very angry when they talk about her parents so…”

Joran pulled a chair to his sister. Without his cap, he showed the same red hair that the little girl had. He left the package on the table.

“We brought this cake!” Maeven said.

“Mom wouldn’t let us come without a gift.” her brother explained.

Isemberd walked around grabbing more teacups.

“Thank you very much. Do you want tea?”

“Yuppie!” Maeven replied excited, hands raised.

“Pipe it down, Maeven!” Joran said.

She seemed embarrassed and sat properly, hands together over the table. Gillibert came flying to it’s master’s shoulder while the sage was serving tea to it’s guests. He left a metal jar with milk, a small plate with sugar cubes and a spoon.

“So...” he started, sitting down and gently moving the owlet from his shoulder to the table. “let’s start from the beginning.”

“A love poem to miss cook in Mr. Louis's tavern!” Maeven said, giggling.

“Maeven!”

“What!? I’m not lying.”

“All right, all right” Isemberd interrupted the siblings.

He seemed to ponder for a moment.

“Could you try writing a little bit so I can take a look at how you’re doing it?”

He pushed a sheet of paper to the lad together with a pencil. Quills and an empty inkwell were lying nearby.

“and you…” he looked at the little girl.

Maeven didn’t even tried to pretend she didn’t want to do it too so Isemberd gave her a paper sheet as well.

“No need to rush it, just remember it is a good idea to head back before dark.” he said.

The siblings started writing while the sage looked for a plate big enough to put the cake on. He then cut it in small pieces so everyone could eat it easily. Maeven and Joran wrote their respective poems and Isemberd took them to read.

After a while, he adjusted his glasses when he was done reading.

“Is not as bad as I was expecting,” he complimented.

“Poetry is not my forte, but you two have a knack for it.” said Isemberg.

He then spent some time reading their texts out loud, which led to some embarrassed protests, then he helped them fix a few easy mistakes before having them rewrite it again. At some point, Joran asked Isemberd for an example.

Gillibert was on Isemberd's shoulder. The sage hesitated a little, before gently refusing his request as he tried change topics. He convinced the siblings to write another piece. While Maeven was focused on it, the owlet cuddled up to her shoulder, goggling at the girl’s pencil while the words were written on the sheet of paper.

Isemberd caught himself watching Joran’s hands while the lad was finishing his last poem with a focused expression. He was a few good years younger than the alchemist and that made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the idea of being in any kind of influence and when he looked at his own hands his scars made him breathe and force himself to not think about it.

With light conversations and some strophes drafted here and there on sheets of paper, soon the Sun was setting down and the kitchen got too dark for them to keep writing.

Isemberd got Joran's last piece to read while the siblings started playing with a friendly Gillibert.

“Way better.” he said, taking his glasses out. “I think you can make do by yourself now, right?”

Joran once more shook Isemberd’s hand with more enthusiasm and gratitude than the sage expected.

“About yours, miss…”

“Maeven, mister alchemist.”

He nodded.

“About yours, miss Maeven” she offered him the sheet and he took a glance at it. “Hold old are you again?”

“I’m ten!”

“You're very clever for your age.” he complimented. “To be honest, you two should practice together.”

Joran asked a bit hesitant:

“Can we do it only one more time? I’m not exactly confident in it still…”

Gillibert flew around the two guests before landing near the window. The sage agreed.

“We can decide on another day, all right? I’ll be busy this week.” As he stood up “Let’s go, I’ll take you to the village.”

“There is no need, sir” Joran said “the trail is safe and I don’t want to bother you any more than we already have.”

Isemberd shook his head.

“Nonsense.” He briefly left the room, leaving Gillibert on Maeven’s lap. “Never trust this talk of safe pathways in the woods at night.”

He grabbed his staff and an oil lamp. The small group left with Gillibert flying ahead of them. The siblings were happily chatting about the widest variety of trivialities while the disguised mage guided them through the poorly lit path and kept to himself as usual.

They stopped near the outskirts of the woods, where it was possible to see the center of the town, which was better lit than the path they come from.

He waved his farewell and only started his way back when he saw the siblings near the first building of the town.

On his way back, Gillibert landed on his shoulder.

“Is something bothering you, master?”

“A few things, yes.” he replied. “Can you do me a favor?”

Gillibert eyes widened open as he waved his wings, excited.

“Sure! Sure! Really sure!”

“Can you go check on them?”

“Yes, master! I’ll be right back!”

The magic bird quickly took off accelerating almost instantly, flying away with such power that it turned into a black blur as it left a potent gust of wind around the mage.

When at home, Isemberd left his lamp over a hook near the entrance and waited for Gillibert. He quietly stood there while gazing towards the dark woods. At some moment of his wait, his eyes glowed faintly in a purple light before he raised his arm to receive the bird that came silently from over the trees. It moved so fast that before slowing down to not hurt it’s master it was a blurry black figure flying in the dark.

“Everything is all right. They’re both at home!” The owlet reported, with a funny pose, chest puffed up.

With one gesture of it’s master, the lamp’s flame was snuffed by magic.

“Master, don’t you like writing?”

Another gesture with magic sign and the kitchen started to tidy itself up. Candles came flying and lit themselves, paper sheets gently piled themselves and windows opened while chairs moved forward. Isemberd closed his door behind him, sat at his table and sighed.

“Not poetry though.”

“Having guests is so fun! When can they come again?” Gillibert hopped around the table. “I swear I’ll get really good at staying quiet just like today!”

The mage let out a rare and short laugh and didn’t say anything, despite agreeing with his small fluffy friend.