Our meal concluded, and we sought the privacy of the room we shared.
It had once been my solitary space, but as the others were fully-grown men, the large room became the logical accommodation when Pelit and Rimel required housing.
Inside, the furnishings were spartan: three rather uncomfortable cots and a sizable table, which served for card games and our occasional private meals.
The boys were orphans, relics of the last brutal war that had swept their home nation. They had been perpetually shuffled between one indifferent household and the next, from foster parent to indifferent foster parent, until Captain Roche Deran discovered them.
Captain Roche Deran was a man of stark contradictions: he had spent decades fighting overseas as part of a mercenary group of renegade magic-wielders before settling in these mountains on a solitary quest for inner peace.
He was a tender soul who cherished the wilderness, the subtle scent of lavender, and left behind him a thousand broken hearts.
He was a profound skeptic who had long since withdrawn his faith in governmental bodies to protect the common public, resolving to undertake the task himself... in the most remote jurisdiction imaginable.
He embodied all of these traits, but his defining characteristic was an unshakeable benevolence.
Eventually, he ascended to the rank of Captain of the Border Control.
It was hardly a difficult promotion. No one else coveted the post; it arrived bundled with all the inherent responsibilities and a multitude of assured afflictions, I was certain.
But thanks to his sheer selflessness, I found a sanctuary here. He granted refuge to anyone who sought quietude, anyone with nowhere else to anchor themselves, or anyone simply unlucky enough to cross his path.
Inside our room, I collapsed onto my cot and waited for the others to follow suit.
I carefully removed the seal, and the projection of his voice instantly filled the room.
< Brat! ...
Listening to the man's familiar cadence was an unsettling experience.
< ...a favour, of course! Listen, I recognize that our relationship has not been conducive to harmony since... you know... but regardless, you are my only living family, just as I am yours... and what purpose does family serve if not for the asking of favours? >
My head began to throb, and I realized that hearing his voice was not merely unsettling, but profoundly irritating.
"The man is utterly insufferable," I observed.
"He is a genius," Pelit countered.
"A legend," Rimel affirmed.
Ignoring my friends, I closed my eyes and listened for the conclusion.
< ...on a far more critical note... I require your aid, kid. I'm afraid the rest must be conveyed in person. I will be arriving by the end of...>
My decision to incinerate that first letter was, it appeared, the winning choice after all.
< ...I will make certain to inform you the precise moment I have crossed the border... >
I paused, believing the message had concluded, but there was more.
< ...I know you have no sensible reason, nor any obligation, to meet with me. I was not there when you desperately required my presence... I am an old man, kid. Our mistakes assail us with greater intensity as the years pass, and I require your assistance in rectifying mine. And perhaps... it will be beneficial for you as well. Remember: Noblesse Oblige. >
At the bottom were his familiar initials: M.A.
Pelit broke the sudden silence.
"What in the hell is bobless obglide?" he asked, his eyes wide with confusion.
Rimel, observing my deep distraction, took the initiative.
"Noblesse Oblige... it is a French maxim implying that nobility..."
The phrase was one my father had often espoused.
"To aid those in need is an imperative, not a choice," he used to declare. That philosophy is all well and good until you perish fulfilling that imaginary imperative, dragging your family down with you and leaving your child to fend for himself.
I hadn't registered how long my friends had been studying me, but I was grateful they allowed me the solitude to process my thoughts.
"Will you agree to meet with him?" Pelit asked, his tone uncharacteristically solemn.
"...I am uncertain."
I spoke the truth. I was adrift in a tide of conflicting emotions and memories. I recalled the uncle of my youth. He had instructed me greatly and never exerted pressure toward anything I resisted.
Yet, he had never required anything of me, either.
I was fourteen when I departed my home, the conflict in our country finally subsiding, immediately following my father's funeral.
I jumped through that portal, fully aware that I might never see the other side again... I was fortunate to be discovered by Captain Roche and not some criminal syndicate.
My uncle had tracked me down almost instantly. I informed him I was safe and declared my intention to remain here. We maintained contact for several months, but eventually, I ceased reading his letters, and in time, they ceased arriving.
He had stirred things I had deliberately allowed to languish in memory.
"If you decide to go... we will accompany you," Rimel offered.
Pelit was quick to add his sentiment.
"Absolutely! As your most devoted companion, it is my..."
"Bla, bla, bla... I thought we had established a special, three-way 'best friend' arrangement? What transpired?"
"We merely said that to alleviate your mood. You were particularly morose in those early days," Pelit explained, taking a seat beside him.
I smiled, listening to the familiar sound of their banter.
Gazing out the window at the familiar night scene, I made my decision: I would go. I would see him and at least hear his proposition. I held no particular interest, but... a thread of nostalgia had been tugged.
After all, what is the absolute worst that could come of it?
——
The month of July is signified by a confluence of societal emblems: the ruby gemstone, pretentious floral specimens I cannot be bothered to recall, the useless zodiac symbols of Cancer and Leo... and the agonizing sensation of slowly dissolving, drip by fiery drip.
I was on my night patrol, a duty only marginally cooler than being sealed in a kiln.
Despite my previous complaint, I preferred this shift.
To walk a forest filled with deadly creatures under the cloak of night might frighten some, but sufficient repetition begets experience, which is the ultimate adversary of all conventional fears.
In the distance, I spotted a beautiful, glowing, butterfly-like object trundling ungracefully through the air toward me.
I use the term object because I knew it was not a true insect, despite it being a favored—if also the most macabre-looking—form of communication.
It was a magical message used by the Border Command.
I allowed it to float within arm's reach and crushed it, deriving immense satisfaction from the act.
"" Return immediately, there is more correspondence for you. You are becoming popular. ""
Rimel's voice shattered the night's stillness.
Indeed, I felt inordinately popular.
Perhaps my uncle was changing the date at the final moment? We were scheduled to convene in two days near a hidden town nestled within the national park at the mountain's base.
Inside The Taj, I encountered a few patrolling colleagues. They were scrutinizing me, likely assuming I was shirking my responsibilities and calling the night early.
I would be genuinely surprised if some self-appointed Justice Warrior didn't report me to the Captain by morning.
As I walked past the identical rooms that lined the corridor, the sheer volume of snoring was absolute madness! How was this level of noise tolerated?
To my surprise, both my roommates were awake.
"What is this sudden influx of correspondence?" I asked, closing the door behind me.
They were both sitting on my bed while the owl on our table regarded me with visible annoyance. Rimel was already examining the letter.
"Well... it is not your uncle. The Lyceeys utilize a distinct type of parchment, and the ink is, of course, entirely different..."
"Just give it to me," I requested, a note of weariness in my voice.
As I broke the seal, I couldn't help but think: Rimel certainly possessed an impressive volume of useless esoterica.
The letter was clearly addressed to me and was definitively not from my uncle. For one, it possessed a weak and unfamiliar magical resonance.
< Do not trust the Professor.
A friend. >
"Well, that was curiously strange," I commented as the letter crumbled to ash in my hand.
My friends looked notably agitated after hearing the contents.
"Does she... mean your uncle, mate?" Rimel asked.
"I have a superior inquiry," Pelit interjected, raising his hand. "...Can you determine if a girl is attractive merely by the sound of her voice?"
Both were excellent questions. They were truly on a roll.
"One: Yes, I mean, who else could it be? Two: My money is on... yes... though it is inherently risky," I replied, shaking my head.
"Believing the message?" Rimel questioned.
"No... the assessment of an attractive girl based solely on vocal tone," I clarified.
I walked over, waved them away, and sat down, then laid flat on my bed.
This cryptic, small liability was exactly the missing element that had been absent from my life.
"I propose we disregard it entirely. Thoughts?"
For once, Pelit uttered something astute.
"I am going to ignore it," I stated, sitting back up.
"One hundred percent," Rimel affirmed.
"I don't know, it sounds rather intriguing," Pelit mused.
With both of their approvals—such as they were—I returned to my post before tomorrow's report could possibly turn out to be accurate.