Hexe - The Great Exodus

[CH. 0021] - The Little King and the Mage

Noctavia

Nok-tah-vee-ah

Type: Noun

Meaning: "Noctavia" refers to the esteemed tailors who serve the high society within Menschen culture. The title originates from the traditional nickname earned during the Fallfest, where such tailors are known to work through the night, foregoing sleep for three moons to meet the demands of the celebration. The term embodies the dedication and exceptional craftsmanship recognized by the upper echelons of society.

_________________________

The forest's edge was bathed in the glow of the encroaching night, its darkness punctuated by the soft dance of firelight from a small campsite. Above, the stars played hide and seek behind the gentle sway of treetops, and the Meerio River whispered as it caressed the banks. The smell of roasting fish mingled with the smoky air, and the fire crackled in a comforting rhythm.

Noctavia's face, illuminated in the warm hues of the flames, turned the fish over the fire, the skin crisping to a perfect golden hue. Across from her, Xendrix's eyes were alive with a childlike glee, an endless stream of words pouring from him as he recounted his day's conquest over the earth element.

She listened with half an ear, her thoughts adrift. Noctavia was craving silence, a moment of solace from his incessant chatter. The plan seemed straightforward enough—feed the boy until sleep claimed him and then bask in the sweet reprieve of quiet. Yet, the young prince was an unwitting tormentor, his energy unyielding.

The fire popped, a spark flying into the night as Xendrix, blissfully unaware of her inner plea for peace, shifted the conversation to a place she'd been avoiding. "Are you sad because he is gone, the Commander?"

She kept her gaze steady. Her reply was a cool dismissal, "I'm not sad."

"You look sad," he insisted, tilting his head, observing her.

A firm, "I'm not sad," was her answer.

"But it's okay to be," he pushed, with the persistence of idiotic youth.

Her facade cracked, just slightly. "I'm not sad. I'm tired, that's all."

He considered her words, his brow furrowing. "Would you like me to be quiet?" he asked, though his tone suggested he knew the futility of such an offer.

"I'd appreciate it, but I doubt silence suits you," she replied.

Xendrix just grinned, taking another fish bite, his response muffled by the mouthful. "You say I talk too much, but it's only because I'm usually alone. Here, people listen. And it's not because I'm a prince."

As he spoke, a sudden cough interrupted him, a fishbone caught in his throat. Noctavia's annoyance shifted to concern. "You need help?"

He waved her off, finally dislodging the bone with a cough. "I'm fine... but I've heard things," he started, then hesitated.

"Things?"

"That you have the title Magi, but you're not one," he confessed.

"Titles," she scoffed lightly.

"But is it true?"

"What do you think makes a magi?" she challenged back.

"Well, they need to complete a trial... and-and they get a Black Robe. So, are you a Magi?" he pressed.

A smirk was her answer. "Do I have a robe? No."

Confusion crept into his voice. "But you know so much."