Echoes of a Snowflake, Lingering

Does anyone know how much of the memory is made of the reimagined?

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Once morning combat was done and over with, the six parted ways for the afternoon. They bid Alea good day and watched her head to the Essensia markets before afternoon lecture, none of them trading a word. And once she was out of sight, Szak took everyone by surprise by saying he needed to head to the library. Curiosity made Ty follow him.

Iago, on the other hand, followed Eulylia and Sephria to the Academy Arboretum after their lunch under the tree upon the hill. He, as usual, did not eat and only enjoyed their company.

Botany was Sephria’s muse at the Academy, so this quarter held three different lectures all in the same Arboretum. The walk from the hillside to the garden that surrounded the Hospital was a long one, and while Sephria and Eulylia entertained each other in conversation, Iago’s mind wandered back to his practice with Alea, earlier.

Every time. Every single time they touched in their hand-to-hand rounds, Iago was revisited by that same woman under the moonlight, with a beautiful smile and a lavender smell. Naira.

What Iago could not put together was why, within every trade, was he not able to gather any of Alea’s memories, Alea’s thoughts.

“Can you stop it?” he had asked. “The thing you’re doing with my memories.”

“I—I’m not sure… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. If you’d like to find another partner, I—”

“Have you ever tried?”

“… I cannot say I have.”

“No worries, then, love. We’ll keep at it for today.”

By the end of the final combat hour, Alea was in tears. Before they parted ways, she had reached out for him once more, had grabbed his hand. There, Naira bloomed out in the snowy field, so magnificent and detailed and real, unlike any memory of her before this, that Iago danced with the possibility that she, living, breathing, laughing, could be embraced again.

Alea had said a long, long string of things, Iago was sure, because although he had heard none of it, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he did see Alea move her lips as her tears kept flowing. But none of it could be heard until she let go, until Naira out in the fields let go, and Iago was brought back to the arena in the Academy.

“… you, thank you, thank you,” Alea had said as she wiped her tears away.

And then she bowed and hurried off the arena. As if embarrassed.

This became the second time Iago had let slip the opportunity to ask her if those tears were for her, or for him.

When they arrived at the Arboretum, Sephria and Eulylia bid their temporary good-byes and parted ways. Iago gave Sephria a tight side hug before turning with Eulylia toward their next class. When Eulylia did not immediately start talking, he nudged at her, but she shook her head, as if to say not yet.

Iago looked away and shrugged. “You did great in the arena today.”

“That is the third time you have mentioned it since combat ended.”

“Well, it’s true,” Iago sang light-heartedly. “What a compliment, to be the talent the professor decides to show off first, this quarter.”

“Such compliments belong to Viri,” Eulylia returned in rhythm. “The focus in combat is to learn from the Drakonskars—they are the law and reason of the military.”

He glanced over at Eulylia, and opted to not correct her in that moment, to not emphasize the difference between humility and a lack of confidence. There was a distant melancholy in her answer, a tone that suggested it would not be lifted with his jest, this time.

They were silent beside each other, in the kind that was neither calm nor anxious, as they started up the stairs toward a building too white for eyes on days when no clouds hovered beneath the sun. One side had its roof pulling its weight out from the ground, while the other side held a slanted wall that ebbed into the air the way the ocean flowed when waters are thrown about by the wind. The body of the building was lined with slick streaks of white marble among blue-tinted windows, and when the roof ended, it rounded down and hung off the side of the slanted wall. Its height casted an incredible shadow as it replicated the moment a wave in the sea would come crashing down, swallowing anything that dared to get in its way as it fell.

The trek up the stairs took much longer than necessary in Iago’s opinion, but he did not mind. Each step was two feet long and elevated exactly two inches every time as it paved the way left and right, changing what would have been a tiresome hike up the side of a hill into a relaxing stroll to the top.

“I think we’re far enough now, love.”

Eulylia lifted her gaze up to the sky, and Iago watched, enjoyed, the shine in her hazel eyes and the way her skin reflected smooth and glossy beneath the afternoon sun. He wished so dearly that she could learn.

Could learn to love yourself the way I cannot help but love you.

She stayed silent all the way up the steps, and when they met the doors of the building, Iago tried again. “What upset Seph earlier, sweetheart?”

Eulylia stopped walking.

Then, as a soft whisper, “… She kept repeating that she recalls Alea’s voice—that the two had to have met before.”

Iago blinked, but did not vocally reveal how much that fact had bothered him. “Have they?”

“She does not recall ever hearing her name, but her voice was incredulously unsettling for Seph. I felt her fingers tremble upon my skin when she held onto me.” She looked up to meet Iago’s eyes, as if hopeful for a comfort from where neither could identify. “It shook anxiety within me, as well.”

A drop in temperature surrounded them before Iago could offer Eulylia an embrace. She did not take it.

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He put his hands back in his pockets. “Why didn’t Seph react until after your fight?”

“I am not sure I understand your reason for that question?” Eulylia raised a gentle brow.

“The three of you walked together, darling. To combat, earlier. She didn’t seem distressed, then.”

“I saw Alea walking without another when we were in the path among the trees. There, when I greeted her by name and introduced her to Seph, Alea had simply nodded and kept silent.”

Iago replayed this morning in his head. He looked away in thought, and turned back to Eulylia before him when he finished. “Did Seph tell you exactly when she remembered?”

“She did not.”

“Ask her.”

“And for what reason would I press upon a dear friend’s difficult memories?”

“Well, if you don’t recall Alea, then I’m assuming Seph’s not talking about those years the two of you were in the Deadly Karsts.”

Eulylia shook her head, yellow and ivory waves dancing beside her. “The memory was from before she met me.”

Iago pressed his lips together.

Sephria was in Oblivion before Eulylia had found her. That was all Iago knew. Neither of them ever revealed much about Sephria’s past—the most ever explained to Iago before, was that Sephria had also come from the Province of Glacial Rivers. Just like him. That had been the main point of introduction: Sephria had asked Iago if he had ever been to the Land of Vines within the province. It resided in the southmost point of the Glacial Rivers.

He had not. And with that, the conversation had ended, then.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if Alea’s also from Oblivion?”

Eulylia looked away, as if she regretted revealing this information to Iago, and continued her way to class.

Iago turned and followed. The doors to their next lecture stood off-center, composed of two enormous indigo agate geodes. Shades of blue and purple reflected the sun’s rays, glistening left and right as if its surface were alive and dancing with the afternoon light.

Its handles emitted a cold breath as Iago grabbed it. The towering slab of translucent stone was indifferently stubborn, making him strain as he forced it to swing open for the two of them.

“Thank you,” Eulylia whispered when she walked past him.

“For you, darling,” Iago bowed. Anything.

He followed her into the building. Inside, they were not completely immersed in darkness, but not much sunlight could reach this side of the tinted windows, and the view ahead fell exponentially dimmer once the doors closed behind them. What light that did shine through was engulfed by the walls that imitated ice too well. The calcite and aqua aura clusters that reached from floor to ceiling made the corridor relatively cold compared to the temperature just outside, and the ambience reminded Iago of the colors he could find in the glacial caves of his home.

Sounds of their soles colliding against the marble floors echoed down both directions as whispered conversations in the hallway up ahead reverberated back. To the side, Loelle was in conversation with a group of friends, not noticing Iago wave at her as they passed.

“I would rather you not keep me company if you wish to be elsewhere.”

Iago turned to Eulylia. “Only waving hello at a friend.”

Tall, obsidian doors stood open before them, welcoming students to the coming lecture. Eulylia passed through them at a quickened pace, and Iago had to jog to catch up to her.

“Eulylia—”

“Lyly.”

“Darling,” Iago tried, “We were talking about Seph.”

“Which is none of your concern,” she turned to meet him with a sharper stare. “I should not have shared such peculiarities with you.”

“Eulylia—”

“Lyly!” she corrected in a harsh whisper. Her voice rang up and vibrated the glass windows around them. Classmates scattered around the lecture hall turned their attention to the two of them. “Why do I even…”

“Why do you even what?” Iago asked, leaning his face toward her.

“Why do I even put up with you!” Eulylia burst in annoyance, pushing his face away.

Upon contact to Iago’s cheek, a wave of frigid coldness made her fingertips tighten and go numb. Joints composing her fingers became reluctant to bend against the freezing temperature, and she immediate retracted her hand with a gasp.

The surprise emitted from her lungs reached Iago’s ears and hit him, not to strike him down, but to pull his being closer to her. Lingering vibrations reverberated in his mind and erased all thoughts not focused on her. All he wanted, all he yearned for, was more of Eulylia.

Iago did not know how much time had passed when he recollected himself. It could not have been long, for class had not yet started; even so, Iago was persuaded that all of time had stopped—that the temporary moment was an immeasurable mark of eternity in itself. He blinked, as if to reset his reality, somehow, and looked over to Eulylia, who stood before him with hands clasped firm between her breasts, hazel eyes locked away in regret.

“Eulylia?” Iago rested his hand on her shoulder. His hand was not cold. “Are you alright, darling? Did I hurt you?”

“… I am not hurt,” she whispered, voice soft and shy. Iago lifted a small smile.

“You caught me by surprise. I didn’t expect you to touch me anywhere.”

“It was my fault,” she insisted, tears lining her eyes. “I should not have done such a thing.”

Iago glanced around the room. Whispers everywhere. He was not the only one strung along by her short song, just now. He pulled Eulylia into his arms.

“Iago—”

“Shh. Shut them out,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t listen to them.”

“… they are afraid. Iago, they—”

“Let them.” Iago held her tighter. “Shut it out. You’re here because Anya wants you here. And if nothing else…” he swallowed and closed his eyes. “I want you here, love.”

“Both of us. They are afraid of both of us.”

Iago felt his teeth press against each other, and he had to consciously part his jaw to release them. To Oblivion with them, he wanted to say. To Oblivion for anyone afraid of Eulylia because of her song. I am the only monster, here. He pulled her away from his chest just to look at her holding back her tears.

No, she is not a monster.

The thought came as a self-assurance, and not as the confidence Iago would have wanted for himself. For everyone around them. He hated himself in that moment.

“They are wondering how you are able to not freeze me to death,” Eulylia whispered. “One in the corner is suggesting that perhaps you are not truly a Kylmis.”

He straightened his stance. “I could freeze the entire room if I wanted.” His voice rang like an announcement.

Eulylia grabbed his shoulder. “Iago,” she hissed, but he placed a gentle, warm hand on her shoulder in return.

“But the room’s not frozen over, sweetheart,” he continued as he glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of some of their classmates this quarter. “So I obviously don’t want to turn everyone into ice, no matter how much I may be irritated by them.” A smirk, and a shrug. “Not an invitation, of course.”

“Of course not,” a voice called out, low, vibrating as if it held such power inside the body, the powers had to exude so as to avoid combusting the body that held it. “Kylmis.”

Iago’s heart sank in that moment. He turned to find their professor floating in the front of the lecture hall with half a head of violet hair, half a head of the familiar ivory. His round glasses were too big for his face, which made those copper rims protrude past the sides of his cheeks and overlap his purple eyebrows.

Their professor seemed to have been kept busy with a book until then—he kept one leg over the other, ankle upon the knee, and only snapped his book to a close in that moment. The book’s cover, though hard with metal bindings, was rusted and revealed its long life through its dusty front and lack of shine. Markings of an archaic language were etched upon the cover. Iago identified it immediately as Aunian.

In Aideyllian linguistic terms, Aunian was considered a dead language only because it was the perfected language that needed no life, no growth, no change. Aunian was the original language of the Ashenborn. The only ones that had to be fluent in it were their disciples.

Iago never considered himself to be a perceptive one—certainly not to the extent of Szak and Eulylia—but even he could tell that this professor was of a different breed. Never touching the ground, with hands soft and supple like a newborn’s skin, this professor’s talent had to be of a kinetic nature, of which he had to have perfected to every tittle. That must have been how he was able to float in the air even though he was not of a clan that should have been able to, theoretically, float. Violet hair did not belong to any air faerie, air sprite, harpy, or any other clan that usually belonged in the air. No, the color was distinctive to the clan with the most formidable and chaotic history in Aideyll.

“Professor Iya,” Iago called back with respect. His voice echoed up the now silent hall.