Guildmaster [noun]: The head of one of the many guilds spread across the Guildlands. After the cataclysm of Baten, people holding this title are forbidden from directly fighting each other. Despite sharing the same rank, the strength and influence of different guildmasters differ greatly.

* What do words mean? from Ulman, the meticiolous

The first time Airianna met her immortal, he scared the shit out of her. Despite still being a child like her, there was something unsettling in his eyes. Seeking refuge behind her mother's skirt, the little girl dug her tiny hands into the fabric. Her attempt at bringing something between the strange boy must’ve been quite the funny sight, as it caused her mother to put her hand to her lips and giggle. Even the two guards standing behind the boy couldn’t help but snort. The only adult not laughing was Sir Harg, who shared the boy's dead eyes. Despite his usually more joyful nature, the middle aged man stood there, staring at the boy.

Her mother’s hand brushed over Airianna’s hair, working hard to ruin her coiffure. The woman's tone was stern but cheerful in a way only a parent's voice could be.

“Airi, my brave flower, there is nothing about him you have to fear. This boy has designated his future to protecting you.”

The girl peered out from behind her mother's dress, staring at the scarecrow of a boy. He had short black hair, his body was thin and emaciated. He wore a plain linen shirt and peasant pants. The only unordianty thing about his looks was his eyes. The iris had the green of a commoner, but the part of his eyes that was supposed to be white was black as night. She was already used to those eyes, having seen them countless times on Sir Harg, her father's bodyguard. He too was an immortal, with eyes that matched the boy’s to a tee; only his were always etched with a smile, while the boy stared at Airianna with nothing but scorn and contempt.

Before she could ponder too much about the boy’s looks, her mother’s hip nudged against her cheek. She looked up into her mother’s bright smile.

“Now, why don’t you show him how our house treats strangers?”

Airianna had hoped that she could stay away from the boy, but she picked up on the anticipation radiating from her mother. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the mother's skirt, grabbed her own, and took a step forward.

“A high lady doesn’t fear anyone, least of all a commoner,” her wet nurse liked to say, but Airianna wasn’t sure the old woman had ever met a boy that resembled a wild dog to this degree. And another sentence rang in the girl’s head. “The people expect something from royalty. Your blood is overflowing with divinity, and you have to make them aware of that.”

Determined, she took another step forward, trying to cram some authority into her appearance. She lifted her skirt a little so it didn't touch the ground while she performed a perfect curtsey.

“My name is Airianna of the house Laharl. Please be so kind as to excuse my previous behavior; it’s early in the morning, and a sight like you is not seen every day.”

“Sure,” the boy hissed. Before Airianna had enough time to feel properly offended about the sheer disrespect seeping out of the boy's response, Sir Harg’s fist already thundered onto his head. The boy strumbled a few steps forward, but remained standing. A thin thread of blood ran down his forehead. Tears welled in his eyes, but he fought them back by clenching his fist and biting his lower lip.

“Pedros, restrain yourself,” warned Airianna’s mother, the queen, her tone as thin as silk. The knight looked at her and bowed, pressing his hand against his chest.

“Apologies, Lady Laharl, but such behaviour cannot go unpunished.”

The queen's eyes narrowed, like they always did when Airianna had done something unladylike. But this time she stared at her husband's bodyguard.

“That might be true, but violence as a means of discipline is always uncalled for. Despite everything, the boy is still a child.”

Sir Harg raised his head again, his eyes meeting his queen’s.

“A child that cannot die. If he doesn’t learn proper respect for nobility now, he might become a problem rather than a blessing later.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

While the grown ups argued with each other, Airianna took a closer look at the boy. At second glance, he didn’t seem angry at all. His hands were clawing at his pants, his mouth was small, and his gaze was shooting from her mother to Sir Harg to her. She took another step towards him and whispered.

“Y-you are scared, right?” Her own voice was still shaking a bit, but she did her best to remain calm. The boy’s eyes met hers, surprise shining inside them. His mouth opened to form a question but closed again. Airianna giggled upon seeing his reaction. She pointed at his hands, the tip of her finger almost touching his skin.

“I also hold onto something when I’m afraid,” she revealed to him. “Do you want to know a trick that will help you when you are afraid?”

After a moment of hesitation, the boy nodded. Airianna pressed both hands against her chest and drew the air in slowly.

“You breathe in for five seconds and out for five seconds. Come on, try it.”

The boy followed her instructions and placed his hands on his chest. Together, they took a few deep breaths until the boy’s hands stopped shaking.

“Well done,” Airianna praised the boy, whose face turned red as an apple upon hearing her words. He stared at the ground and reched out his hand to her. Seeing that, Sir Harg raised his hand for another punch, but a demanding cough from Airianna’s mother froze him in his place. The young boy mumbled something.

“Pardon me,” the girl said, ignoring her mother and Sir Harg. The boy drew another slow breath, then raised his head and stared her in the eye.

“My name is Gael,” he shouted, earning a grunt from the old knight and a giggle from Lady Laharl. Airianna gave him a bright grin, grabbed his hand with both of hers, and shook it as hard as she could.

“My name is Airianna of the house Laharl. It's a pleasure to meet you, Gael.” Her wet nurse would scold her if she heard Airianna introducing herself twice, because it was apparently beneath the dignity of a noble woman, but the girl didn’t care. After she let go, the boy’s hands jerked back and vanished inside his pockets.

Lady Laharl nudged her fist against Sir Harg’s shoulder. “He reminds me of your early days, Pedors.” The knight shot a stern look at his queen, causing her to giggle.

“Just don’t be too harsh with the boy. Children need freedom to grow.”

Sir Harg nodded his head. “If the queen wishes it so.”

“She does”

“Then this soldier will try to restrain himself.” Upon hearing his answer, Airianna’s mother stared at her husband's bodyguard until the knight gave in. “Then I will restrain myself,” he corrected himself, placing his hand on Gael’s shoulder. "Come, boy, the instructor should be waiting for you.”

Gael shot Airianna a quick glance, that she returned with a warm smile. Then he let the hand on his shoulder drag him towards the entrance. For a moment, the girl pondered whether she should wave him goodbye but ultimately decided against it. Something like a future queen's hand motion had to be earned, something she had no doubt this boy would do. Maybe if she played her cards right, she wouldn’t just be her bodyguard but her friend as well. Sadly, she had only very few of those, none of whom shared her age. Time would tell. Her mother's hand caressed her black hair, stopping her from losing herself to her thoughts further.

“That was amazing. I am so proud of you, my little flower.” Hearing her mother sing her praises made Airianna blush. The queen wasn’t shy about expressing her affection; she had rarely given her such effusive praise. She looked up.

“Sir Harg won’t hurt him, right?” Her mother’s eyes darkened a little, not enough for anyone but her daughter to notice.

“He will try. But a warrior's training needs pain as much as your education needs books.”

“Trying doesn’t mean doing something, but that you don’t want someone else to know you do something. Thus the very word trying is a shackle that holds one back from achieving the possibilities of ownership of one's action." Airianna cited.

Her mother stared at her, the words sounding like familiar nonsense to her. “Where did you get that from?”

"Father.” Her mother rolled her eyes, but her curled up lips made her thoughts clear. “Of course you got that from Roman. Apparently your mother has to remind her husband not to play the big philosopher when his daughter is around.” She gently ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair and pressed a kiss on her forehead, her lipstick leaving a red mark. “Now go; your teachers are waiting as well.” Airianna nodded and left the room while tidying her hair.

Latenna Laharl gazed after her daughter as she vanished through the entrance door. The kid was kind and smart, willingly engaged with others, and was ready to take their point of view into account. She was like a younger female version of her father, and just like him, she would certainly grow into an amazing human one day. Airianna even looked like Roman when Latenna first met him, all those years ago at the tournament of Isthael. His slightly crooked nose, his blue eyes, and his freckles were all part of her daughter's face. She had even inherited his pitch black hair instead of the wild, golden mane the house Laharl was known for and that she, as well as her mother and her mother's mother, wore. Sometimes Latenna doubted that she had contributed anything to this amazing girl, seeing her father in every facet of her. The thought hurt every time it crossed her mind. The queen sighed and turned to her other duties.