Chapter 30. Homecoming
Poet and I remained awake through the entire night, gazing at the starlit sky, lost in silence amidst wonderful company. A few clouds drifted lazily by, while stars twinkled as if attempting to captivate anyone watching. My mind replayed the image of Siera striving to save me. I began to feel a tugging sensation in my chest, recalling the sorrow in her eyes as she watched my head fall, the way she dashed forward and dropped her staff, doing everything in her power to mend a wound that was beyond healing. I reached out, mimicking the gesture of wiping her tears. I had resolved it in my mind after my visit to the academy, I would go find her.
“Poet,” I whispered. I know, my lady, I glanced over at him. You know me well, as I lifted him and placed him on the edge of my conical hat. Morning had arrived, with the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, and I believed I could never tire of this view, what do you think, Poet? Never, but it’s infinitely better being by your side. I smiled broadly at his compliment, my cheeks aching. Such a charmer, as I tousled the feathers atop his head. No, my lady, merely stating the truth.
The alley began to awaken; merchants were setting up their tables and stalls, the creaking of wood echoing, bells ringing from doors being opened, and the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air, accompanied by the sound of anvils ringing, as crafters created their art. Children stirred, already scheming for a day filled with mischief and wonder.
“Alright, my little friend, let’s head to the Academy; I don't want to keep the professor waiting.” I tapped my chin while walking along the edge of the tower. “What if we make a grand entrance?” A playful grin crept across my lips. “Whatever you have in mind, My Lady, I’m all for it,” Poet murmured. I glanced down at the people below and noticed someone looking up. “AYE..AYE..DON'T JUMP!” With his shouting, he grabbed everyone’s attention, causing others to glance up as well. “SOMEONE HELP HER!! GET THE WARDEN!” I merely smiled as I took a final step, my foot hanging off the edge; swoosh, I dove down, and chaos erupted, everyone shouting in panic until just before I hit the ground. My wings flared out, arching into the air. “If attention was what you wanted, my lady, you thoroughly achieved it,” Poet exclaimed excitedly. My laughter filled the sky as everyone gazed up in awe, some applauding and others cheering.
As we approached the tower, many children noticed us as they entered, whispers and rumors already bubbling up. “Who is she? Wow, she is beautiful, look at her robes she must be a royal arcanist.” “Perhaps she’s a friend of the headmaster. A new professor, maybe.” As I slowed my descent, my wings folded at my sides before disappearing, allowing me to walk through the archway. “Excuse me, children,” I said, and they quietly parted.
The moment I stepped through the grand archway, old memories stirred within me. The Academy of Magick looked much like I remembered, though years had softened its edges with reminiscence. Towering marble columns, veined with silver, reached toward vaulted ceilings painted with shifting constellations, as if mirroring the heavens. Crystal lanterns floated above, casting a warm, ethereal light throughout the halls, while streams of mana flowed through delicate channels etched into the floor, pulsing like veins beneath the polished stone. Students in robes of various colors hurried between classrooms, their laughter mingling with the distant crackle of spells being practiced. Shelves filled with ancient tomes lined the walls, and portraits of illustrious wizards watched over them from their gilded frames. The air was imbued with the scent of parchment, candle wax, and alchemical ingredients, stirring memories of sleepless nights spent studying, hard-earned victories, and friendships that had once meant everything to me. For a brief moment, it felt as though no time had passed, and I was once more the student wandering these halls.
“There you are,” I heard as I turned my head.
It was Professor Chalkin.
“What a grand entrance, I must say,” he chuckled, adjusting his spectacles. “You must teach me how you achieved that once we have some free time.”
“Of course,” I replied with a smile.
“Well then, let’s not keep him waiting. The Headmaster is already aware of your arrival and wishes to speak with you.”
Professor Chalkin gestured for me to follow. Together we ventured deeper into the academy. We climbed a wide staircase of polished white stone, its banisters decorated with carvings of owls, dragons, and legendary magi from ages long past. Students paused to bow respectfully to the professor as we passed, their curious gazes lingering on me before they returned to their studies.
The higher we ascended, the quieter the academy grew. The vibrant noise of apprentices and distant sounds of spellcasting gradually faded, replaced by a tranquil silence, broken only by the occasional flutter of enchanted parchment and the soft ticking of ancient clocks mounted on the walls.
At last, we entered the Hall of Rectors, a corridor lined with portraits of former headmasters whose painted eyes seemed almost alive. At the end stood a pair of imposing oak doors, reinforced with silver runes and crowned by the academy's crest a staff entwined with seven stars.
Professor Chalkin straightened his robes and smiled. “I still get a little nervous.”
I could only chuckle softly.
Without another word, he raised his hand and knocked three times.
“Headmaster,” he announced, “Lady Veil has arrived.”
Almost instantly, a warm voice responded from within.
“Send her in.”
As we entered, the room was cluttered with tomes, ink, and parchment. Lanterns floated, providing a dim light, while the sun peeked through the stained glass. At the desk sat the headmaster, his hair a mix of black and silver, and a beard that exuded elegance, trimmed impeccably. Wisdom shone in his gaze, years of trials and experience etched into his stature, tall and wide from a lifetime of lifting his head high.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Lady Veil. I am Headmaster Gavin, though you may call me Gavin if you prefer. Please, take a seat,” he gestured. I walked over and crossed my legs, as the split in my robe rose, revealing more intentionally, I smiled, for he was more than merely staring; he was gazing. “So, Gavin, what can I assist you with?” He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “That was rather villainous,” Poet echoed in my mind. I chuckled at the thought.
“Well, Professor Chalkin speaks highly of you. Word has spread about your spar with Victor; he is no pushover by any means. Yet you simply tapped him on the head, and that ended the match. It requires immense strength and experience to counter someone like that. So, just for today, I was hoping you would be a guest here and share your knowledge with some of our students. Professor Chalkin has already offered his class, as he teaches magical theory. Of course, you can decline, but I do hope you accept.”
I pondered the proposition for a moment. I could show a bit; it would help redirect magic onto the right course. I nodded, “Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Wonderful!” he clapped his hands. “I will be in attendance as well, alongside a few other professors.”
“That's perfectly fine. The more, the merrier.” I stood from my seat, saying, “Professor Chalkin, if you could be so kind as to show me the way?” He held the door open as we made our way through the corridors toward his classroom. The moment he entered, noise fell into silence. “Alright, children, we have a guest, so she will need your attention,” he announced. As I stepped through the threshold, I could hear gasps and whispers: “That’s her from this morning, the one who was flying! I told you she’d become a professor here. I wonder if she possesses a beautification spell; she’s so beautiful.” I couldn’t help but smile as the other professors began to arrive, including the headmaster.
“Good morning, class. I would like to start by expressing my gratitude to Professor Chalkin for allowing me to use his class and to the Headmaster for the invitation. Now, let’s begin, shall we? Let’s start with a question: How many elemental alignments can one possess?” The entire room raised their hands. “How about the cute young lady in the front with the pink hair?”
“One,” she answered, “but there can also be two or three, though that is very rare.”
I clapped my hands together. “You are correct, but also incorrect. What if I told you that you can wield all of them?” That statement sent the class into an uproar, eliciting doubt even from the professor. The headmaster raised a hand. “Are you saying we can wield all elements: earth, fire, air, water?”
“Absolutely," I declared. I extended my hand and conjured an orb of each element, swirling around me. That hushed the class. “That’s impossible,” one stammered.
“Why is it impossible?” I asked. “You see, the way you verify someone’s alignment is through elemental stones; you channel your magic into it to provoke a reaction. If it doesn't respond, you move on to the next, but how do you strengthen yourself with the element that actually reacted to you?” A child in the back spoke up, “You have to keep using that element.”
“That’s right; you must continue engaging with it. Sense it, feel it, be in its presence. But what if you persistently channeled magic into the element that you weren’t aligned with?” As I paced the room, I answered, “You will awaken it. The reason it didn’t react to you is that your senses were weak towards it.”
“Come, Professor,” I beckoned, pointing to one. “What’s your name?”
“Professor Taylor,” he replied.
“Alright, Professor, what is your element?”
“It’s air.” I tapped my staff against the floor and handed it to him. “I want you to try and feed my staff with your magic; visualize it, feel the texture of the bark, the grooves, the scent of the earth.” As he closed his eyes, searching, a purple petal unfurled onto the staff. When he opened his eyes, he exclaimed, “I don’t think I can!”
I pointed, directing his gaze. “Look right above your hand, the purple petal blossomed even more.” His expression turned to shock as the entire classroom fell silent. “See, you were able to connect with nature because you held nature itself. The same principle applies to all other elements: if you want to grow stronger lets say using ice incantation, surround yourself with water; if you want to grow stronger with nature, it’s all around you.”
“Is that why you walk barefoot?” someone asked from the back. All heads turned to me. “You really ought to get some shoes, my lady,” another voice chimed in. Everyone gasped. “Did... did that raven just speak? She has a summon!” Poet flapped his wings and glided to one of the children. “Poet, at your service.” Their eyes lit with excitement. “Can... can I pet it?” Poet bowed slightly, and she patted the top of his head. I shook my head at the spoiled creature.
The bell rang, and Professor Chalkin stood up. “Alright, children, ensure you absorb everything taught today; class dismissed.” The headmaster approached me. “Here I thought there was nothing more to learn, and yet you've given me something to look forward to.”
“Knowledge is boundless, Headmaster,” I noted.
“Indeed it is,” he affirmed. “Thank you for your teachings. We shall have to explore this further to potentially transform our methods of teaching.”
“Well, Headmaster, I am open to any questions you may have for me.” He nodded and was about to leave when I added, “Headmaster, I... I hope you don’t mind, I am searching for someone.” He turned back. “May I have their name?”
“It’s Alexia Margrave.”
He sighed. “Yes, she was an exceptional student, her theoretical studies surpassing many professors, and her alchemical skills could rank above most scholars.” I gazed at him. “Was?” He shook his head. “I’m sure you’ve heard; ever since the incident involving her brother, let’s say things took a very grave turn. She was such a happy child, always early for class, consistently upholding her studies; she wanted to demonstrate that someone of low birth could keep pace with nobles and she did. Even though she wasn’t magically inclined, she always tried her best.”
“Is it possible for me to see her? Please?” I implored, and he could see the desperation in my eyes.
“Yes... yes, of course. I will lead you to her dorm.”
We made our way to the female dormitory, ascending the stairs to the sixth floor. “Her door is the second one on the right; this is as far as I go. I believe whatever you two need to discuss should remain between you.” As he stepped away, I approached the door and took a deep breath. “Everything will be fine, my lady.” I merely nodded, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears.
Knock... knock... knock... silence.
Knock... knock... “GO AWAY!! I’M BUSY!”
I placed my hand on the door. “Lexia, my name is Veil. I... I actually requested the headmaster’s permission to speak with you.”
“I don’t know anyone named Veil; please just go away.”
I couldn’t stop the tears; I struggled, trying to brush them away. My hand slid against the door. “LEXIA, PLEASE… Please... I need to see you.” I wiped my tears with my hand.
“It’s okay, my lady, be patient.” Poet suggested.
The door cracked open, revealing her disheveled appearance, hair tousled as if she had just crawled out of bed, still clad in a nightgown and robe.
“I don’t know you, so why did you ask for me personally?”
“Please, Lexia… if you let me come inside, I can explain more.” She scrutinized me, gauging. “Fine,” she relented, opening the door to let me in. The room was a disaster zone, books and parchment strewn everywhere, the academy uniform tossed carelessly on the floor.
“I apologize for the mess; if you find a seat, be my guest.” I couldn’t find anywhere to sit, so I perched on the edge of her bed. She stood there, arms crossed. “So what is it you wanted to discuss?”
“Its time, my lady,” Poet echoed in my mind.
I inhaled deeply, "I had a sister once."
The words left me quietly, but they carried everything. "She was the world to me. My real family the only one that ever truly felt like one. We did everything together. Every scraped knee, every stolen laugh, every night we fell asleep hungry and still somehow found something to smile about."
"What does that have to do with me?" she murmured, arms still folded, voice guarded.
I lifted a finger. "Please. Please, Lexia just listen."
She said nothing. So I continued.
"Our parents gave us the bare minimum. Whatever they had left over after themselves that was ours. Scraps, mostly. They fought constantly loud, ugly arguments that rattled the walls and followed us into sleep. Our mother said we were the reason for her misery. Our father said we were why he never had any coin." I paused, steadying myself. "I remember stealing bread from the market stalls just so we'd have something to eat before bed. I was maybe twelve years old, heart hammering the whole way home, bread tucked under my shirt and she looked at me like I'd hung the moon."
A quiet laugh slipped out of me despite myself.
"I made her a promise back then. I told her when I'm older, I'll become a great adventurer. I'll see the whole world. And when I do, I'll make sure she never goes without again. The finest schools. The best clothes. Everything she deserved and never got." My voice softened. "I meant every word of it. She was the reason I pushed myself. Every mission, every scar, every sleepless night on the road it was all for her."
I smiled at the memory, fragile as glass.
"The very first gift I ever bought her, the first time I had coin of my own to spend "
"A necklace," she finished.
The word fell between us like a stone dropped into still water.
I nodded once, slowly. "Her favorite color was green."
For a moment she simply stared at me. Then something cracked open behind her eyes a recognition too deep and too terrifying to name all at once. She moved without thinking, crossing to her chester drawer, throwing clothes aside with shaking hands, digging until her fingers closed around something small.
She held it up.
A rough green crystal on a simple cord. The color of new leaves. The color of everything I had promised her.
The tears came before she could stop them before she even understood why streaming freely down her face as her hands trembled around that small, familiar stone.
"How." Her voice broke on the single word. "How do you know any of this?"
I looked at her across the small space between us this girl I had carried in my heart through two thousand years of darkness. I felt something in my chest finally, finally come loose.
"Hi, little sister."
The sound that left her wasn't quite a word. It was something older than language something that lives only in the space between loss and return. She launched herself across the room and crashed into me with everything she had, her arms locking around my neck, her tears soaking into my shoulder before I even had time to catch her properly.
"I'm sorry, Lexia." I held her as tightly as I could. "I am so sorry."
She lifted her head and began hitting me both small fists against my chest, over and over, each blow carrying three years of grief and silence and waiting.
"WHY??" Her voice shattered on the word. "WHY?? WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?? WHY DIDN'T YOU COME BACK?? WHY DID YOU MAKE ME WAIT ALONE??"
Every blow landed. I let them all.
Then I caught her hands gently, carefully and pulled her back into me. She fought it for a moment, then collapsed entirely, folding against my chest the way she used to when she was small and the world felt too big and I was the only steady thing in it.
I held her the way our mother never had. Both arms around her, my chin resting on top of her head, rocking just slightly an old rhythm, something the body remembers even when the mind forgets.
"I know," I whispered into her hair. "I know. I'm here now. I've got you."
Her crying eventually shifted from the sharp, desperate kind that tears itself out of you, into something slower and deeper. The kind that isn't only grief. The kind that comes when something you had given up hoping for finally walks back through the door.
We stayed like that for a long time. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us needed to.
Poet sat quietly on the desk across the room, watching over us both with ancient, patient eyes still as a painting, soft as a held breath.
We cried together through the better part of that night. Not entirely from sorrow. Not entirely from joy.
From longing the particular ache of time that cannot be returned, and the extraordinary grace of being given something back anyway.