Nadia woke up even earlier than normal. On her way out, she encountered Tina doing her round. “Did I spy an early rising nerd going out for exercise? I thought your race extinct.” She smiled. “Just kidding, with that physique you’ve got to be someone’s bodyguard.”

She didn’t know the word, but it sounded synonymous with weakling... Which she had to admit, did apply to most student. “I’m Milady’s bodyguard. A Warrior as you can see, and a student.”

“You’re with that thick bodied nerd? The rich barbarian chick; I’m sure she’ll get this year weirdo’s award... I’m betting on it.”

Every word out of that woman’s mouth was an insult, yet she couldn’t find in herself to get angry at her. “Aren’t you a weirdo yourself?”

“Held the title three years straight when staff isn’t even supposed to be game!” If you want to exercise, do you mind if we train together? I’m fed up fighting the same idiots over and over.” Tina was (according to herself) super nice and sexy and couldn’t fathom why she had so much trouble keeping her training partners for more than one or two sessions.

“Yes, please!” What luck! To find a sparring partner out of the blue without even looking... Even if it was such a foul mouthed one.

They started slowly, to get a feel of each other’s ability, then went increasingly faster until the space between them became a blur.

It lasted for who know how many beats, until Tina suddenly jumped back to ask for a break. “You’re insane, girl.” Beamed the older woman with a wide grin. “I thought I was going to die.”

Even if Nadia was stronger and faster, her opponent was no push over. The dorm guardian interpersonal combat techniques were better developed and finely honed by years of experience.

“Funny hearing this from you... I get why my mistress told me not to underestimate the people from central.” She’d walked in with a sense of superiority but wasn’t so assured anymore.

“I get you’re used fighting with a weapon, right? Your unarmed form is messy and full of hesitations. Still, if you’re this strong without one... What kind of crazy monster did you fight over there?”

“Mostly ones that prey after livestock, some shadow wolves, great apes, and the occasional wyvern.” Her eyes became vacant as she remembered something tragic. “There was a stone ape once.”

Tina whistled, visibly impressed. “Don’t tell me you won?”

Bitterly. “I barely survived, but I can’t tell as much for my friends.”

“That’s as good as a win. I wouldn’t face one, not for all the gold in the world. Can't spend it if you’re dead.”

Nadia acquiesced. “I... We should have run away.” They’d been foolish enough to believe they could slow the beast until reinforcements arrived. She knew better now, even with her new equipment she wouldn’t stand a chance alone.

“You know you’re weirdly rational for a Warrior? I think we’ll get along just fine!” Cheered the lady.

“Is that why you’re working here?” Inquired Nadia. The woman was clearly too strong for the job.

“Sure is! The pay is good, the food is great and there’s a plenty of thirsty young men. The lack of challenge is weary sometime, but nothing plenty of money and love can’t deal with.”

“That’s cow…” The word trailed on. “Sorry, I have no right judging you.”

“Sensible and tactful?! I’m liking you more and more. Want to meet tomorrow too?”

“I’d be thankful, I have no one else to train with.”

“I feel you. All the good ones are out hunting, joining some army or dead. Mostly the last one. It’s like there are only newborn babies and Failures left.”

Failures was the name given to people who were born with greater strength than normal but none of the senses and instincts displayed by the real deal. Their heightened aggressivity combined with a lack of opportunity often drove them toward illegal jobs.

Nadia’s excused herself and headed to the commoner’s refectory. The taste was just as great, albeit with limited choice and portion. The food and accommodation alone made Tina’s choice worthy of consideration.

When the two young women reached their classroom, they were met with the sight of their fellow talking angrily among themselves. The source of their ire was an unofficial notice glued at their door.

‘A institution of learning is no place for commoner and beast. Get back to your field and forest where you came. Signed: A prideful Ravealian.’

Varisa read the notice twice, then took an ink pen out of her pooch with a wide grin on her face. Her edit looked like this:

‘An institution of learning is no place for commoners and beasts. Get back Return to the fields and or forests where whence you came. Signed: A prideful (accurate but wrong) Hopeless Ravealian who should learn how to write their own language.’

This elicited a good laugh from the crowd. Even the teacher shirked his duty and left it there for all to see. To most teachers, noble included, they were waste of school resources and an embarrassment. Sadly, as living standards increased, it could not be helped that their numbers grew.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

With a few written words Varisa had gone from unknown entity to class hero, pun intended. It was said that for the next few days, commoner students could be seen smirking at their noble counterpart.

As the one who wrote the note, Isabella von Ostschwalwald, was quiite obviously outraged. As her family territory was modest and her likelihood of inheriting almost nil; she didn’t have much cause to sustain her pride to begin with.

No need to say, she wasn’t reflecting on her mistake. As far as she was concerned, she rather she couldn’t make any since rightness was her birthright.

Like many traditionalists noble, her view of the world was simple; there were the pure blooded on one side, and the plebe whose only role was to sustain their masters. The fact the world had not been this way for decades had yet to register with them and their insistence on purity had brought nothing but troubles, beginning with birth defects and sicknesses,

Many nobles had realized the problem early and married with prominent Warriors of lesser birth, but a privileged mentality wasn’t so easily vanquished. Isabella considered everything wrong that ever happened to her was pure pettiness born from her brothers’ inadequacies.

“How dare this low-born filth! What is the staffs even for?! This calls for retribution!” They were there to enforce regulation obviously, many of which clearly stated against privileges.

“Your name’s being tarnished; you should ask your father for help.” Stella von Lettia was one of the few nobles who’d enlisted of her own will to further her aptitude with earth and water and better benefit the domain.

“Yes, father will know what to do. You know, your ancestry may be dime, but you still think like a noble.”

“Although, you might want to hold out some information, or he might say you brought it upon yourself.” Urged Stella, knowing full well it’d have the opposite effect.

“I did no such thing. The school... No, the country is at fault for allowing this filth to stand...” She shivered. “...as though they’re our equals.”

“You are right, this is unacceptable.” Beneath the kind and understanding mask, was a burning hatred. Unlike the ‘pure’ moron before her, Stella properly understood who the stain was, and how it’d be removed.

“Blood doesn’t lie, even if it’s only half.” Isabella had meant it as a compliment.

But it was fully taken as an insult. “You’re too kind.” Answered the mixed blood amiably, barely containing her desire to strangle the girl in front of her.

In A-3, Auer, started the first class of the year: an introduction to the spirit’s language. In central, everyone was familiar with the characters as they often appeared on old buildings and official texts... But this was barely the first step. “Let’s start with something easy, shall we? Can one of you the name of the tenses?”

“Me!” Shouted a girl with her arm extended.

“Ravaeas?” He sighed, visibly put off by her all-too-eager-to-please enthusiasm. “Again? Someone else? Anyone? Go figure…” He sighed even louder. “Proceed please.”

“Yes, sir. There are three basic tenses, present, past and future like in Ravealian. Each tense has two modes and two stances. The modes are continuous and discontinuous, the stances are direct and indirect.”

“Hmm, that’s right. Please explain and illustrate their use with some examples.”

“Continuous is exactly what it sounds, ‘It has rained for three hours straight’ is a continuous mode since a duration is given but ‘It started raining.’ Is not.” She looked at the teacher for confirmation.

“That’s right. It can be confusing in this context since Raining is never instantaneous but remember this simple rule: it is continuous when a duration is stated and discontinuous when there’s none. As simple as that. Explain the stances, please.”

“Yes! Um, both simply relate to whether the speaker is involved with the action. Direct if they are, indirect if they aren’t. ‘We’ve been tackling this problem with the clerk for hours.’ Is present, direct and continuous while ‘The clerk will work on solving the problem with the client.’ Is future indirect and discontinuous.”

“In the second example, there’s is no indication of time, and the speaker isn’t involved in the resolution. Simple as that! Can I also get you to explain the nominal modifiers?”

“Um… If we take the previous examples… “I’ve been this problem with the clerk for hours’ translates to ‘The-problem-solving-clerk-and-me-are-in-the-process-of-working-out-a-solution…’” Her voice trailed, as she became increasingly unsure.

“You made one big mistake; the subject always come first and if involved in any way then the speaker is always the subject. ‘Me-and-the-clerk-for-an-undisclosed-number-of-hour-have-been-working-out-a-solution-to-the-problem-that-plague-us-both. You had the right idea, though. Unlike with our modern langue every word beside the subject is a nominal modifier. Something as simple as it’s raining can become sentence like ‘Water-from-the-sky-falling-down.’ or if you’re under the rain ‘Me-water-droplet-from-the-sky-falling-down-on.’”

Nadia and a few others were already looking desperate. This was hardly a language and more of a linguistical torture device.

“‘Sun-the-sky-lets-shine-unobscured.’ Is the shortest translation I know for ‘A sunny day’” Explained the teacher with a smirk upon his face. “Also keep in mind that the declination for articles and adjectives depend on the tense, gender and position relative to the verb.”

Varisa, who already learned some and consumed quite a few of Agner’s book explained. “It’s quite likely it was never intended to communicate with human, or orally for that matter. Many believe it is mostly a human construct to help us put our thoughts into words, same with the written form.”

“An accurate observation! Varisa, was it? If the spirits are immortal and can read thoughts directly, why do they need a spoken language at all? They don’t, but we do.” He tapped his head with his index. “The human mind work by association, we need the framework to stop it from straying.”

“Some unconvinced students protested while other who already had some practice nodded emphatically.

“Close your eyes and picture a flame.” Ordered Auer

They did as was asked.

“Wood or charcoal?” Suddenly exclaimed the teacher.

Voices of “Charcoal.” “Wood.” and “Ah!” answered his questions.

His point proven, he sneered. “I think we illustrated our problem perfectly.”

--------------------------------

Many days later, Baron Veigh Von Ostschwalwald raged alone in his office. “You useless moron of a daughter.” The cause was his correspondence, more specifically a notice of expulsion from the Royal school of Spiritualism and a direct explanation by his worthless daughter of the how she managed to get herself expelled on the very first day.

The door opened suddenly to let two young men in. “Father?! Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright. This is this stupid daughter of mine! Again! I ordered her to keep a low profile, I’ve explained, I’ve pleaded so many times... but to no avail. Two years, a mere couple of years and I could have married to some other idiot... Was it really too much to ask?”

“Are you recalling her?” Asked the eldest with anticipation. Arnold never had much love for Isabella, but ever since she’d taken upon calling his wife and son ‘the bitch and the mongrel’, he’d wanted nothing more than to end her himself. A sentiment his wife abundantly shared.

“She’s always been a traditionalist.” Commented Erwin nonchalantly. Unlike his brother, his approach toward was one of indifference.

“Call it what it is; freaking laziness.” From the baron point of view, tradition was but the recourse by which the indolent justified their continued existence and undeserved position. People like her called tradition their castle and blood its foundation, to which he usually answered by pointing the many ruins scattered across the land. ‘A mud castle built on a shifty base.’ He’d tell them.

“What of Lucia?” Unlike the eldest, the youngest sister was well loved, and not only by her own family. The girl was so endearing that despite a lack of invaluable talent (although this could be considered a talent), she still received engagement proposals by the dozen. Friends, family, even servant and villagers doted on the girl as though she were a most beloved pet.

“I'll tell her as it is. The girl is too meek, she needs to grow up.” As the head of the family the final says was his.

“If you say so.” Their tone still let enough of their feeling that their father raised an eyebrow.

“How does a hunting incident sound to you?” Proposed Arnold. Isabella was a terrible huntress, but she enjoyed it inordinately. “You can leave the execution to me…”

“No! I’ll do it myself” Interrupted the aging man. “She’s still my daughter. I won’t let anyone make a mockery of her death.”

“She made one of her life, though.” Pointed Erwin jokingly.

The elder man turned his scowling head slowly and deliberately “Son, do you have anything constructive to bring to the conversation?”

“Sorry, father.” Then he then quickly remembered some recent occurrence. “Weren’t there some bandits operating down south three or four weeks ago?” It was a stretch, but given the proper narrative, they could make it work.

“I don’t like it! I’d never make that kind of mistake.” Shot the elder brother.

“That’ll do. No one care anyway.” This was the sad truth, so called incident were common, and it was in no one’s interest to investigate them.

A few days later, it was declared that Isabella died in a bandit raid and that the bandits bore marks of her valiant defense. They were quickly identified as remnants of a group who’d been away during the attack a few weeks ago; a group of barbarian mercenaries gone rogue.

According to the grapevine, very few came to the funeral, and then again only in deference to her father. According to yet another rumor, so distraught was sweet Lucia that she uncharacteristically lashed out at her bereaved father in the middle of the wake.