Eleven Years Later

Folk say that no one in the present has ever seen a descendant of royal blood conjuring any mahiqa these days.

There was a reason why most of the people who once lingered in the soil of Flesperia now lived in the wasteland. Because of the conflict brought by one man’s ambition. A reason that lured High King Ciryh to unleash what once slept in the dreams of his father’s cruelty. Now succeeded by his nephew, Regh. Reasons yet unknown.

In the library, Crolis read the scripture of a once wandering scholar amidst the shelves. It was noisy outside. He couldn’t keep his focus on the words.

Placing the book down, Crolis heard laughter coming from the yard. Astrum. No one else within their household had that child’s voice of glee whenever the boy laughed.

Astrum was the mischievous one around the house, making chores harder for the helpers. He remembered the first time Caltha took the boy in. Astrum’s features unnerved him, having raven hair and crimson eyes. A similarity they—he and Sirius—shared. He almost reeled at the thought of it. Yet again, the glare in his expression pointed out his disapproval of taking Astrum in.

Caltha was firm in her decision to let Astrum stay. He already rejected Sirius once. She wouldn’t let another stray innocent roam in the wastes and grow up a man without virtue. He was but her pledged guardian. Compromising what spelled her happiness shouldn’t even bother him, but it did. He may have been wrong in those decisions. He’d forgotten that she was a woman now, capable of making decisions for herself.

Astrum calmed down the minute Caltha stepped in to interrupt. She urged him to follow her inside the house. That became Crolis’s cue to resume what he was reading. Some important words about the accounts of the mainland.

The weather was never pleasant around the city of Rastite. More often than not, the cloudy, gloomy weather was the lullaby enough to put people on lazy schedules. When it came to resupplying food, the weather didn’t help in the case of progress.

Caltha saw Astrum to his studies the minute she got him to settle down. He wouldn’t stop asking questions, a child’s nagging behavior.

“Caltha, Caltha, what makes the High King high?" Astrum’s feet swayed under the table. He flipped through the pages of an illustrated book of the empire’s history.

Caltha was in the middle of fixing his scattered toys. “Well, first the High King needs to own a type of mahiqa. Second is that they need to have those black eyes.”

“But why black? What’s with black? Why not red, or yellow, or blue? I like blue.”

Caltha smiled then lined his toys on the shelf. “Those eyes distinguish a person as being the High King, or Queen. No one in the empire has those but the highest of monarchs alone. It’s said those eyes have a power to see and create things no ordinary person could.”

Astrum paused and looked at the ceiling. “So if I saw someone with black eyes, even if he looked like a hobo, then...”

“Yes, Astrum, and I doubt the High King would dress anything that’s inappropriate for his status.”

“If he’s supposed to have black eyes, then why does the High King have green eyes?” Someone told him the current High King’s eyes were a shade of emerald.

Caltha couldn’t remember most events from her childhood of thirteen years past. But she did recall Crolis leading her far from the mainland. All to escape the rage of warfare, leaving everything behind.

She approached Astrum and opened a random chapter from the book, evading the question. “Now, why don’t you read further and tell me why. Does that sound good?”

Ever the obedient student around her, Astrum nodded. He scribbled while trying to focus on the book. Caltha watched from the door before taking her leave. She headed for her bedroom to check on the plants she was pruning earlier.

If there was one thing she fancied doing, it was gardening. She liked making the dead stems crawl back to life, but not exactly using mahiqa for that. It was too dangerous to use such a gift, especially in a land forsaken by the great names of the past.

She loved the color of foliage around the place even if the environment found it hard to raise such. Anyone can barely see vegetation around Rastite. Any source of potable water was a challenge to find too. People were still trying to search for a stable source out there. But for now, they’ve settled on trading with their sister cities in the wastes.

Standing by the work table, she was about to prune a branch off a witherose when she noticed the curtains. They were drawn back, blocking out the light from outside. Odd. She remembered drawing them to admit what little sunlight could enter earlier in the day. From the divan near the window, a figure lay sleeping.

If it was someone else, she might have given more consideration. But the problem was she knew who rested there. Someone who should be working on his Archii’s behalf right now. It was already afternoon, someone ought to knock some sense into this sleep-sack.

She decided to draw the curtains, admitting daylight’s glare inside. That gave less consideration to the lump taking a break in her room.

Sirius groaned. His reaction told her that he wasn’t a fan of being sun blasted on the face. He turned to the other side, covering his eyes with an arm. His black hair, the length of which ran around his neck, spilled on one side.

Caltha went back to her plants, herbs, and heard him shuffle. She had to prepare before taking them to the Gardener’s Patch tomorrow, the shop where she worked.

She started moving some of them to the bay by the window, but paused midway. Sirius was staring at her, lying down still. “You know, if you keep sneaking here like that Crolis might catch you one day.”

Sirius blinked, but that was it. It was the trance after waking up and you can’t get over a bad dream. Or simply weirded out by a new day wondering why you’re still alive after opening your eyes.

The streaks of maturity were evident in his eyes rendering him to adulthood. His voice was no longer the adolescent pitch but grew a mature bass. “I doubt. He doesn’t come here. Not without good reason. Besides, you offered that I could stay the night if I got nowhere to go.”

Caltha resisted a smile and stared right back at the slacker. “You know, you can’t always use that excuse when you just want to sleep in. You have a place in Dyie’s to go home to.”

Sirius remained put at exchanging a glance without flinching.

Feeling the defeat in awkwardness, Caltha broke out of the stare. She placed the pot over Sirius’s head on the bay window as an excuse to get out of the contest. “Stop staring, Rius.”

“Hm,” Sirius paused. A thought occurred to him. “Wouldn’t wonder why those guys keep throwing themselves at you the first chance they get.”

Caltha stepped away from the window when he finally decided to get up. “What do you mean?”

Sirius started to stretch without bothering to answer her. To her mischief, he just smiled. He went to the door, peering, observing people who could be roaming the hallway. “Where’s Astrum?”

“In his study. Reading.” Caltha said while filling soil into a new pot then took some plants to the solarium this time. “Don’t you have something you need to do?”

Sirius closed the door and turned towards her. He decided to assist in carrying the rest of the potted witheroses. “I do.”

“It isn’t as important as Blaze, Llone, or Genon’s then?” Caltha was not close to Sirius’s other companions or his Archii, Dyie. But she knew he didn’t work alone anymore unlike in recent years.

The Archii was the governing body in every city in the wasteland. They were put to power through blind authoritarianism. A desperate choice born of frantic situations, all because of the war. People were against the idea of passing those positions to themselves. And their loyal rats—servants.

“Important. Not important. What difference does it make? We’re not exactly welcome, and that’s that.” Sirius’s tone was bland.

Locals would call them errand boys, but a more unlikely term would be rogues. Relying on cunning and versatility, they could blend into the crowd whenever. But when they decide to be open, people didn’t really see their presence as acceptable. It was due to the goings behind their line of work.

“Don’t say that. They just couldn’t see what you are. But do mind me prying about that business.” Caltha didn’t believe Sirius was in the wrong, at least when it came to doing something right. But she knew he still had his hands soiled. With blood. And the worst part of it was, he seemed to relish those chances.

Yet for the most part whenever she was with him, things were different. She could tell that he was dangerous, yet he was also gentle. As if two sides of him tugged between the worlds of empathy and malice. She feared going down to the darker side of him, but she wanted to understand him despite the doubts.

She noticed Sirius fell silent. He was gazing through the window, drawing his attention off from her. She disliked that about him whenever something caught his observant eyes.

He withdrew from the window. He started fastening the bracer on his left arm. Then wrapped a crimson scarf around his neck, his alternative to wearing a mask when on duty. It had the same shade as his eyes, a blend of warning that glowed under the moonlight’s strict ascendance.

“Gotta go, tell you some other time,” was his excuse to obviously avoid answering.

Caltha couldn’t help but smile when she saw him wear the scarf. “Take care. And come back in one piece.”

Before Sirius left, he picked a witherose in full bloom, then tucked it behind Caltha’s ear. The petals of such umber flora were an uplifting match to her silken hair the luscious shade of burgundy. If she read that right, it was another one of his be back before you know it gestures.

Then he was gone.