The small flames crackled as Midhir squeezed his fist over them. The blood hissed as it dripped onto the burning wood, and an unpleasant scent fille his nostrils.
“I call thee, Crismon Witch.” Arwen’s voice echoed in the empty chamber. “I call thee, Elder Circe, to the broken mountain of the obsidian throne.”
The flames sparked as Arwen’s voice faded. She breathed out a shaky sigh, then straightened her back and lifted her chin as her gaze turned to Midhir. “She will come at some point. I can heal that cut,” she reached for her staff put up against the wall.
“No need,” Midhir’s words stopped her. “You needn’t tire yourself anymore, I’ll drop by the hospital and have them heal it.” His gaze lingered on her tired eyes. The dark circles under them were quite obvious over her pale skin. “Thank you, Arwen.”
She shook her head with a forced smile. “I’m surprised,” she said with a meek tone as she took her weapon. They walked out of the chamber together. “After everything… I didn’t expect you to even want to see her again.”
Midhir raised his eyebrows. “What made you think that?”
Arwen shrugged. “We’ve hid a lot from all of you.”
“You’ve both also saved my life,” Midhir breathed out. “And I really don’t have the right to complain about any secrets, do I?”
Arwen chuckled at his words.
“Why the fire and the blood though?” He asked the question that had been scratching the back of his head. “I understand witchcraft isn’t like resonance casting, but… why specifically my blood, for example?”
Arwen pursed her lips as her gaze drifted off. “How can I explain it…” she muttered mostly to herself. “Resonance casting is weird – you’ve got a crystal that specifically allows you to do certain few things. Like, control fire, but not too far from yourself, or to control water, but you have to find the water from somewhere first.” She made a vague gesture pointing at their surroundings. “Then you need to have spiritual power around you. You use your own power to guide the power naturally existing around the world.”
In theory, that was how it was supposed to work.
“Witchcraft doesn’t work like that, there aren’t too many rules like in resonance casting.” She shrugged. “The more powerful a witch or warlock is, the more they can do that defy logic.”
Midhir scowled. That explanation only created more questions and answered none. “So why my blood?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Your blood holds a great deal of power.” Arwen said as if she was stating something obvious.
“Right…” he hesitated. “Why though?”
She shrugged. “Well, first off, you’ve seen one of the Old Gods.” She tapped beneath her left eye. “And your eye isn’t your own, according to Circe. The more of the other side is in you, the more of unnatural and eldritch you experience, the more power your body holds.” She pointed at a vase they were passing by as they walked down the wide, empty hallway. “Like that – your body is a vessel, and it keeps catching drops of the otherworld.” She then chuckled. “I haven’t seen much – so my power as a witch is weak, but I know the chants and the rituals.”
“… right.” He let out a sigh. “I think I understand somewhat.” Once again, he simply had too many questions, but little time for all of them. He escorted Arwen to her chambers, then stopped by the infirmary to have his hand healed. Afterwards, he made his way back to the Obsidian Halls.
“Is it done?” Alistair asked. He was still waiting for the scouts and handing their reports to Captain Marr.
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Is my father still in his study?”
Alistair nodded. “Along with Captain Marr and Instructor Soraya.”
“Excuse me for a moment then,” Midhir marched around the throne, and once he reached the door of his father’s study, he knocked. The response came quickly, so he stepped inside.
“Sire,” Instructor Soraya’s voice was cold and respectful, though her clenched fists she hid behind her back showed her real thoughts. “I must disagree with sending students to the Wall. It’s dangerous enough with the Veil constantly being torn in places, but to send them to the border is simply too dangerous.”
The Emperor glanced at Midhir before turning his attention back to Instructor Soraya. “Your concerns are noted. My orders still stand. The damage done by the tears must be cleaned before it causes even further damage. The students will not see combat – they will aid in the cleaning. Now, prepare them for departure tomorrow at dawn.”
She hesitated for a split second. Her lips parted as if she was about to protest more.
“Father,” Midhir stepped forward before she could speak. “It is done. Alistair reports no further scouts have returned yet.”
“Good.” His father nodded. “You and your classmates are to accompany Lady Valien and the other Solus students to the Northern Wall. You are tasked with cleansing the area of the damage done by the tears. Your instructor will fill you in on the details. All of you, dismissed.”
“Of course,” Midhir bowed, turned around and walked out of the room. Captain Marr walked past him only slowing down to gently squeeze his shoulder. Instructor Soraya was the last to leave. Her fists still clenched, she shot an angry look towards the door she closed behind her.
“He doesn’t have the luxury of worrying about us.” Midhir spoke up. He noticed Alistair rushing over with the corner of his eye. “We leave at dawn, don’t we?”
Instructor Soraya’s lips formed a thin line. “It’s wrong.” She stated.
“The four of us survived much worse than some cleanup, Instructor, and it wasn’t even the Emperor who sent us there.” Seeing the annoyed glance she shot him, he chuckled. “I’m not wrong, we battled the mist in Lohssa, we battled cultists in Bareon and much worse in An’Larion.”
“It was never meant to be so.” Instructor Soraya glared at him. “You know that.”
“And the veil was never meant to be weakened so much.” Alistair interrupted them. “And the students were sent to Olisar before as well. What’s our mission now that you are so against it, Instructor? How much worse can it be from what happened before?”
