Lost souls

11 ☾ Mission

Taken from Guide on what to know if you use magic

Eann blood is a genetic trait that allows humans to master the laws of magic. The fundamental requirement to enter the Academy and become a Druid is to possess this trait.

Anyone who is not enrolled in the Academy but practices magic on their own is defined as a Sorcerer or Witch and can be black or white depending on the chosen branch.

Remember that black magic, which originates from the abyssyl, is forbidden. Practice it at your own risk and peril.

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Gazazhel

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I'm maintaining several facades. The Habos, the Eclipse, and the royal guard, three totally different roles, and the last two involve following orders.

I've been provided with new updates from the High Druid about the ritual and the new body of Legend. Princess Crystal, unfortunately for her, will be sacrificed.

They say she boasts great temperance. It's a real shame that poor girl has to meet this end: I've always sensed a white light from her, like the north star.

The obligations and laws of this Land are drastic, to say the least. The royal family has been under the control of the Academy for generations, the silent authority that manipulates political power.

Kings and queens are puppets placed in government, called to accept its will and pretend, publicly, that the kingdom is a strong monarchy guided by magic, which acts as a counselor.

Well, Bell had the guts to stand up to the Druids.

The matter of his betrayal has caused quite a stir at court. Legend did not condemn him because he is a prince, and in the eyes of the people, executing a royal would have been excessive.

Therefore, the news remained within the castle, and they fabricated a believable story for the citizens to justify the invasion of Zandeimath.

The High Druid explained to me that Bell had learned black magic from some corrupt Druids to make everyone forget that he, when grown, would be destined to become the body of Legend; the title of heir prince was a farce.

Now, this duty has shifted to Crystal and  I have no idea how they are going to want to resolve the royal crown issue.

In the corridor, I feel Secily's agitation as she moves constantly.

"I don't understand something, Gaz..." She wrinkles her nose and looks superficially at any painting, person, and object we come across. For her tastes, they must seem like living insults. We are Yiddishet, we follow high standards and have a healthy fixation on good taste and perfectionism in fashion."

"Has there ever been a time when you understood something right away?"

"Hey! You're cruel, apologize! Now!"

"Me, apologize," I reflect. Secily should know me well enough to understand the absurdity of her expectations.

"Why all this drama over the fawn?" she continues, dismissing the previous offense. It's rare for her to stay upset for long."

"You mean the Ancestral Deer. It's been explained a million times: the body that hosts Legend is destined to die."

"Huh? Die?"

"Good heavens," I mutter. "Legend needs a host to manifest on the physical plane of Draiganteor. Unlike other Spirits, his would disintegrate, and since he loves being the cult of the human race, he ensures he has a body periodically, an honor reserved only for humans of royal blood. But the host deteriorates over many years, so he needs to change it with a new prince."

Secily is about to speak again, but we've reached the meeting room, where we meet with our guildmates.

We review the situation regarding the sword's search, and after about half an hour, the conclusion is that we have yet another dead end.

It's time to consider the possibility of secret passages within the royal castle of Ocleodathe. Surely a sword of such great importance has been well guarded, and if the Druids had displayed it in plain sight, it would have been foolish.

"The Fallen Demons believe we're looking for the sword to deliver it to them. So our stay here won't arouse their suspicions. However, it's impossible that we haven't found it yet. It must be here somewhere..." I continuously move my finger over the map.

"We're looking for a needle in a haystack, Habos," says a knight from my guild, calling me by a term typical of our native language.

It's a title given to those who profess to be a military leader and is the living metaphor of royal will.

For my companions, it's still strange to address me in these terms. I was the most rebellious royal guard of the entire corps twenty-five years ago.

The true Habos to whom we all unconditionally obeyed was... that man. Hade. My personal master who turned a young girl into a war machine.

Another thing that certainly confuses many soldiers is that the true vice shouldn't be Xirhel but Eros.

How I became the new Habos and Xirhel my right-hand man is the part I least prefer to recall. Just know that our titles are temporary: when Hade returns, he will be the leader again, and Eros will be the eternal vice.

"Retreating is not the solution," I firmly declare. "If the Fallen Demons figure out our plan, I'll bear the consequences. Every decision I make is aimed at protecting you."

I have borne the crushing weight of the titles of Habos and Eclipse for twenty-five years, imposing upon myself to be a glimmer of hope and a steadfast leader. Only by giving my all, could I ask my men to fight for me.

"We are not the privileged ones of Yinar." My harsh voice affects the expressions of my comrades. I touched the worst nerve, the one that fuels our anger. "We are the ones thrown into the flames of hell to watch over the Descended Demons. I don't believe you want to throw away twenty-five years of hard endurance."

None of these Yiddishet like to define themselves as slaves to those sluts.

We are spies, and even if it's an unjustly atrocious task, it was the true Habos who made a distinction between the expendable pawns and the untouchable ones.

My fellow soldiers' eyes burn; my provocation has provided the right charge.

"The sword awaits us," I declare. "Remember who we are doing this for."

"For our king," they respond solemnly.

The bare room empties at the end of the meeting; any risk, any sacrifice, is feasible and even acceptable if my men recall the motivation behind the mission.