My Dearest Finia,
I hope this letter reaches you soon. I wrote it as soon as I finished reading yours, with your words still echoing in my mind. I wish I could give you reassurance with just this ink, but I know that, from a distance, all comfort can sound empty. Still, my sweet Finia, I want to tell you something that might make you feel a little better.
Perhaps you remember that my master, Edictus, was quite ill in his last years. You were still a teenager then, and already quite busy with your arcane studies, while the weight of the office slowly passed from his hands to mine. I never said it, but I would have preferred to assist him for many more years. Because by his side, I could act without fear, make decisions freely, without feeling the constant judgment that later came with the title of Archmage.
Being Archmage is not a position that allows you to say many "yeses." It is, instead, one that forces you to say "no" more times than one would like. After his departure, I threw myself into grand projects. A part of me did it out of ambition, yes, but another, perhaps larger part, did it out of fear: the fear of being forgotten as "just Edictus's disciple" and not as Dyan Harvest.
Edictus was a great mage, and his shadow—then heavy—now feels beside me, like company, not a burden. Fear pushed me to act, but not everyone responds the same way: some freeze. I just want you to know that your master has more weaknesses than virtues, and some still haunt me. Still, every day I try to be a little better.
That's why I want to tell you this clearly: you don't need to prove anything to anyone. I know you well, better than you think. I know what you are capable of, even if you sometimes doubt yourself. And I will be by your side, not as a shadow to weigh on you, but as a support to hold you up.
Maturing is a slow, often ungrateful process. But time helps, Finia, it helped me, and I am sure it will help you too. You have what it takes: the temperament, the heart, the intellect. And above all, the will.
I also remember your face the first time you arrived at the Tower. You were six years old with a crooked bow in your hair. That memory is one of my most precious. You were always a restless, cheerful little one. You filled my youth with smiles and a warmth I didn't know I lacked. You gave me much more than I deserved.
Although I tried to be a father figure to you, I know I was never truly a father, not in the strict sense. I always felt I occupied a place that wasn't mine. That's why, now that you call me "father," I can't help but cry... I never expected it, never asked for it. I just wanted you not to feel alone, not to grow up with the emptiness I carried for so many years. If, in some way, I managed to occupy that space in your heart—for better or worse—I have nothing but gratitude. It is an immense honor, and I cherish it with all my soul.
You know I adore you. You will always be that sweet, restless child, the stubborn teenager who scoffed while memorizing arcane treatises, the apprentice impatient to discover the world, the loyal assistant, the wise ally... and yes, the daughter I carry in my heart.
Thank you for your words, Finia.
And tell me, to whom, if not to me, could you show weakness? You knew me in my clumsiest failures, and I hope I have always offered you a safe space to lean on my arm. There is no weakness in admitting our wounds; only the brave do so with frankness. But the Tower can be harsh, sometimes cruel, silent on the upper floors. Do you know what I used to do when I felt lost? I would go down to the first floors. I would sit with the apprentices. Sometimes I would teach them, sometimes I would just observe them. In their enthusiasm, in their hunger to learn, I always found a spark that rekindled my own. In fact, that's how I met you.
The Tower is alive in its lower levels. There is laughter, energy, innocent questions, shapeless dreams. If you ever feel distant, look there. Give them what you have. They need it too.
I miss you too, very much. I hope to surprise you soon with something new: I haven't stopped creating. I feel like a young man rediscovering alchemy, as if my own hands are marveling again.
I'm sure you'll come to visit me soon. We'll fish together by the river, eat by the fire, and watch the stars, like when you were a rosy-cheeked girl, with untamable curls and a tongue too sharp for an eight-year-old.
Is it too much to say I miss you multiple times in one letter? I don't think so.
Don't hesitate to use the coin I sent you. I'm listening, always, waiting for your words.
Keep going, Finia. I'm sure great things await you.
I send you a deep hug, full of love,
my sweet Finia, daughter of my heart.
Dyan Harvest