"I am not certain of what she saw, but I showed a fragment. I showed her the top student of the school: Eulalia Fortunatorum, the girl whom the young Forsaken has been with. The girl who disappeared many years ago, the one who is suspected to be the first victim.""Why did you show her Eulalia?" The king asks. "Sheila."
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"I believe she is her master." Sheila says in a voice filled with certainty. "The Council believes that Eulalia is dead, but no. I do not. Jonathan—that Forsaken, I believe that such treasure is far too important for him to lose."
"Eulalia Fortunatorum. A woman... I forgot how she even looked. But praises about her outstanding performance reached even the castle."
"Everyone knew Eulalia. At least the scholars, and the Council, who will always set her example as the first victim. To set a meaningless campaign of never-ending wordsays regarding the capture of that Warlock." Sheila says, as if to recollect bitter memories, her voice laced with annoyance.
The king sat motionless, like an unmoving paint: tethered and glued. His gaze wandered into nothing, mind lost in deep thought. "Nightmare," he exclaims softly, "the disease—or rather—the curse he inflicted, or no, the curse inflicted by the Ancient Warlock."
"The Nightmare of Zuerst." Sheila says; a mutter to only herself. "The Nightmare... a Heilen... I wonder,"
**
Faustina found herself trying to understand and study various contexts and concepts that have been nothing but foreign matters that perhaps out of her reach—things that she never thought she"d have to learn, or experience back when she was at Eula"s care. She sat by the chair, her elbow prompting over the table as she study. Pile of books were at the side, stacked up neatly by her schedule for the week. A thick book of theology, philosophy, and history were arranged next to each other, whilst books like biology, literature and of course—magic—was opened in front of her.
It was raining outside, and the night was at its peak. The soft sounds of raindrops trickling down the leaves and vines enveloping the castle walls outside her windows let out a murmuring rustle. The crickets whispered along with winds cooing her into comfort.
She stopped studying for a while, and pulled her journal from the bottom of the books. She wrote in a beautiful, intricate way—like telling something tentatively over someone—similar to writing a very thoughtful letter; she wrote in cursive:
????,
?? ℎ?? ???? ???? ? ????ℎ ???? ????? ? ??????? "????????," ?? ? ???ℎ ?? ???? ??. ?? ???????? ?? ?ℎ???? ???ℎ ?? ?????????, ?ℎ??????ℎ?, ?ℎ??????, ???????, ??? ?? ??????—?????. ???, ? ℎ??? ???? ???????? ?????. ??? ?? ?ℎ??? ???? ????ℎ? ?? ??????, ?????? ????? ?? ???????-?????, ???? ?? ??????, ???ℎ ?ℎ? ????????? ?? ?????????. ? ???? ?????? ? ??? ?? ?????????? ??? ?????, ???ℎ???ℎ ? ??? ??? ?ℎ? ????????"? ???? ? ??? ???ℎ??. ? ?????? ?? ????? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ???? ??, ????? ??? ???ℎ? ???? ?? ???? ?? ℎ??? ???ℎ ???????????.
??? ???? ??? ?? ????? ?? ? ???? ??? ?ℎ?? ? ???????? ????? ??? ???????? ?????ℎ??? ???, ??? ?? ?????? ????? ????? ?ℎ?? ?? ?? ??? ?ℎ? ?????????? ?? ?? ??????. ?ℎ? ????ℎ??? ?ℎ?? ?ℎ? ????, ???ℎ, ?????? ??? ?? ???? ?????? ????, ??? ???ℎ?? ???????????. ? ??? ????? ??? ???? ?????????—??? ??? ?ℎ?? ????? ?? ??????????? ?? ?????? ???????????????. ? ??????? ?ℎ?? ?ℎ? ???? ?????? ? ???? ??? ?? ??????, ??? ?ℎ?? ???? ?? ???? ?ℎ?? ??? ????? ??.
?ℎ? ????ℎ?? ??? ?ℎ?????? ??? ?ℎ????. ?ℎ? ??? ? ???? ??????????: ?????, ???????, ??? ???? ????????. ??? ????ℎ??, ?ℎ? ??? ???ℎ?? ???? ????; ??????, ?? ?? ??? ????. ? ???????? ? ????? ???? ?ℎ? ???? ???ℎ??????, "???????? ????? ?????? ?ℎ?? ???ℎ? ?????." ? ??? ???????? ℎ?? ? ?????? ?? ????????? ?ℎ?? ?ℎ?? ?????, ??? ℎ?? ?ℎ? ???ℎ?? ?? ????????? ??? ????????????. ??? ???????? ??????? ?? ??? ??? ??????? ???? ?ℎ? ?????? ?? ????? ?? ℎ??? ???? ?????ℎ??. ? ???? ?? ?? ??????? ???ℎ ℎ??, ?? ?ℎ?? ?? ????????.
? ℎ??? ?????? ?? ???ℎ ???? ???? ????????, ?? ????ℎ?? ??? ?????????, ????? ??????????? ???? ???ℎ ??????, ℎ?? ? ???? ?? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ?? ? ????? ????, ???? ?? ?????? ?? ? ??? ???. ??? ???? ?? ? ?? ???, ? ℎ??? ????? ℎ?? ????? ?? ℎ???? ?? ????. ?ℎ? ??? ? ?????? ??????????, ??? ???? ??? ??? ?ℎ??????.
?ℎ?? ????? ????, ?? ????? ????ℎ?? ??? ???????? ?????????, ? ??? ????? ??????, ? ??ℎ???? ?? ?ℎ? ???????. ?? ??? ???? ?? ?????????? ??? ??????? ??? ?ℎ??????ℎ?. ?ℎ??? ???????? ???? ?? ??? ?ℎ? ???? ????????? ????. ??. ?????? ℎ?? ???? ?ℎ? ??? ???ℎ ?ℎ? ??????? ??? ?? ? ??, ??? ?ℎ??????? ????????????? ???ℎ ℎ?? ??? ???ℎ?? ?????? ???? ?ℎ?? ?ℎ???? ?? ?????? ????. ??????????, ℎ? ??? ??? ?ℎ?? ???????????. ???ℎ??? ℎ? ????????? ?? ???????? ?????.
---
Faustina smiled as she closed the leather of her journal. She adjusted the dimly-lit lamp and then repositioning her book in front of her, she slowly turned it to the next page, revealing a certain picture embedded on the book.
A dragonfly emblem.
The book was the property of Orwell, a book from the academy that he managed to sneak out. She scanned its contents.
???????????.
???? 1102. ?????? 9. ?????? ?? ?????.
Magierstadt, page 1102, volume 9; SCHOOL OF MAGIC.
Faustina read it carefully. It summed up into how it is a school for magicians from Zuerst and Zweite alike—and most importantly, how it shall give the highest form of education for the "blessed" and "chosen ones". Faustina found herself engrossed in reading, not noticing the knock in her door.
The next page was a picture of a beautiful man, hair of silver and eyes... eyes a beautiful color of purple. The distinct color of the highest form of magic, as Orwell said.
??? ????????????.
The schoolmaster. It was a picture dating back into year 409, where the academy was founded. It was the year 1000 now. The image was preserved through magic and replicated to many books. Faustina stared in sheer fascination, that she noticed little of the man behind her.
"Studying so late?" The king asks.
"Noah?"