Hexe - The Great Exodus

[CH. 0008] - Moonbay

Gut

Type: Adjective

Translation: Good, well

Definition: An adjective used to describe something positive or satisfactory. It is also used as a suffix in compound words to denote positive qualities, such as well-being, goodness, or suitability.

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Xendrix, Yeso and Noctavia rode from the outskirts of Keblurg to the opulent halls of King Ieagan's castle. The journey spanned five arduous days by horse, not accounting for the essential pit stops for resupply and rest. Xendrix was oddly quiet for Noctavia's taste, he had just utter a few words along this days. It was somehow out of his character.

Noctavia and Yeso would expect him to make questions like—why had he been summoned back to his father's stronghold? Was his training in alchemy over before it had even truly begun? Or had it started without him even realizing it? No question, just silence.

He'd attended a few classes on elemental trials, mingling with the Magis, who could summon fire from their palms or stir a gust of wind with a mere flick of their fingers.

From what Mediah shared with them, he'd learned the theory and practices that differentiated Siphoners from Spirit Masters. He had listened to aged wise men's discussions and explanations of their rituals, like the tradition of walking barefoot to commune more closely with the elements or wearing black robes to erase distinctions of race, lineage, and magical prowess.

As the continuous nightfall cast its inky shroud over their temporary short campsite, the trio sat in a rough circle around the flickering fire. Yeso methodically poked at the glowing embers with a stick, each movement sending up a swirl of orange sparks. Noctavia, meanwhile, sprinkled an assortment of foraged herbs over a rabbit that sizzled on a spit, filling the air with an earthy aroma.

"Tomorrow, we should reach Keblurg," Yeso finally said, breaking the quiet that had settled around them like a dense fog.

Xendrix looked up, his face a mask of frustration. "Did I do something wrong?"

The question that Yeso and Noctavia were expecting was finally spoken. He glanced at Xendrix, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the words. "Why would you ask that?"

"Why would you return me to my father?" Xendrix blurted out with bitterness.

"I'm not returning you," Yeso said, locking eyes with the young man.

"I-I... I don't understand," Xendrix stammered, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"I'm using you as leverage," Yeso admitted, blunt as a hammer.

Xendrix laughed, a hollow sound devoid of mirth. "That's a stupid move. My father couldn't care less about me. I'm shit in his eyes."

"Maybe," Yeso conceded, "but you're still his heir. Kings are expected to have castles; they're also expected to have heirs. And I have reason to believe your father isn't capable of producing another... ever. At least not with his own dick."

Xendrix's laugh was short, and a tense silence settled again over the camp, thicker than the smoke drifting from the fire.

"And what if it doesn't work?" Xendrix finally asked.

"Then you die," Yeso responded, devoid of empathy and laden with a brutal sincerity that left no room for misunderstanding.

"What if I live?"