In a second, the clear sky filled her entire vision. Finia would have fallen backward into the water if not for a pair of strong yet gentle arms that held her with care.
Surprised, she looked up. The reflection of the river trembled on silver hair that she knew too well.
"Be careful, my little one."
Dyan's smile was simple, sincere. Before, as a child, she had felt it like a warm hug at the end of the day, like a sunset that shielded her from everything. Now it shone differently: warm like a spring morning that melts the night's frost.
"Dad... how...?" she stammered, unable to contain the trembling in her voice.
Cadin ran toward him and clung to his leg, holding on with all her might, as the hem of her skirt got wet.
"Uncle Mage! Cadin knew you were coming."
Dyan lovingly ruffled the little girl's hair.
"I couldn't refuse the invitation of my most important assistant."
Finia slowly straightened up, still holding on to his arm. She felt her chest fill suddenly, occupying that void that had so often accompanied her.
"I thought you weren't coming..." she whispered.
The mage gently caressed her cheek.
"Magic is important, yes. But this moment is much more so."
That day they played by the river, ate under the sun, and let the hours slip by without names or clocks. There were no kingdoms, no orders, no studies, no duties. Only laughter, the coolness of the water, the warmth of the roasted meat, and the certainty of being together. A moment stolen from eternity.
When they finally returned, night was slowly falling over Glavendell, bringing with it a cooler breeze. Finia opened the house door with a new lightness in her body, as Dyan followed her. The wood creaked as it moved, and the runes engraved on the stone began to glow with a faint light, as if recognizing them.
Finia stopped dead in her tracks, gaping.
"Is that how you appeared out of thin air?"
"I wanted to surprise you," Dyan replied with a half-smile, "though I didn't expect you to do it by falling into my arms."
The archmage blushed and looked away.
"I did it on purpose." She went into the house, fascinated by the glyphs dancing on the walls.
"Edictus carved them at some point, perhaps during my travels, before the illness took hold of him." Dyan walked to the center of the living room and took Finia's hand. "Without his work, none of this would have been possible."
She squeezed his fingers tightly.
"Do you think he knew you'd come here... someday?"
Dyan looked down. The memory of his master in the final moments of his life weighed on his soul.
"It's possible. He was strict, even harsh, but he also knew how to see his own shortcomings. Not all mages of his caliber were capable of that. Until the end, he sought to improve what limited him." A brief silence, full of longing. "It was his burden... and also his legacy."
"Come with me."
The air vibrated. In a blink, they disappeared from the living room, leaving behind a trail of silver threads that vanished like smoke in the gloom...
As they vanished, the past took a journey through their memories...
"Stay still, little one. Your hair is a mess." Sister Soledad's harsh voice echoed in the room, as she slid a stiff comb through the little girl's rebellious strands.
Each tug brought a sob that Finia suppressed by biting her lips. Her little hands gripped the folds of her threadbare dress to keep from crying. She knew that if she did, the sister would only comb more roughly.
"What am I going to do with you? It's the same thing every day," Soledad grumbled, giving her another tug.
The little girl's eyes filled with tears. The pain persisted even as the comb moved on. It was a daily torture that never quite ended.
"Today you have to behave. No running around like a little animal in the yard. The mages from Scabia are coming, do you understand? If they recognize talent in you, you could be adopted." The words fell like commandments meant to be etched into her mind. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Sister Soledad..." she whispered in a tight voice, pouting.
The woman took a ribbon from her apron and used it to tie a tight ponytail.
"Now at least you look presentable." She roughly brushed off her dress, little more than a patched sack. "Smile, put on your best face. Do you want real food? A warm bed?"
Finia lowered her head, unable to answer.
Soledad forced her to look at her, holding her chin with a harsh gesture.
"You can't stay here. We barely have enough bread for everyone. With the mages, you'll learn things, you'll have a better life." She squeezed her soft cheek harshly. "Now, smile and stay calm, can you do that?"
The little girl nodded in silence, bringing her small hands to her still-sore head.
"Good. Go wash your face and then go to the yard."
She obeyed.
In the front yard of the hospice of the Sisters of the Merciful Mother Earth, about twenty children waited in a line. The sun was just climbing the sky and its rays illuminated the restless eyes of the little ones, who would have preferred to run, climb trees, or play tag. But the orders were clear: they had to stand firm, in silence.
The sound of hooves on hard ground cut through the air. A cart pulled by two draft horses appeared on the main road. Each metallic clang of the horseshoes caused tension to grip the children.
"Stand still, in order!" the sister in charge warned, shooting sharp glances at the line while gesturing to the cart's driver.
The children's murmur swept through the yard like a gust of wind, as the cart stopped a few yards away, raising a cloud of dust. Sister Soledad stepped forward to greet the visitors: three mages descended one after another, their heavy tunics falling onto the dry ground.
Finia looked up. Her head still ached from the tugs of the hairdo and, not knowing what she should do, she tightly gripped the edge of her dress between her fingers. At the end of the line, the younger children nervously pushed each other, tired of holding a straight posture for so long.
The mages walked toward the line.
"Look at them closely, please. I'm sure one of them has talent," the sister said with a tired, almost pleading smile.
The three slowly surveyed the little ones, their calculating eyes stopping for barely an instant on each face. Then the coachman revealed himself: he pulled back his hood and revealed long, silver hair that fell like a living river of moonlight.
Finia was startled. She felt a strange impulse, a premonition, but immediately lowered her head, obedient, so as not to fail Sister Soledad. The mages passed in front of her without stopping. Her heart beat strongly in her chest; her cheeks burned and her ears turned hot with shame.
They walked away to the end of the line.
"My lord, there is no one worthwhile," one of them declared.
Finia closed her eyes tightly, as if she could disappear. Inside, she prayed to the Merciful Mother Earth that they would choose her. Would that make Sister Soledad happy? She no longer wanted to have her hair pulled when it was combed or to bear the annoyance she thought she caused.
"Please, look at them again, I beg you," the sister intervened, her voice trembling. "I'm sure one of them will serve you."
The mage brought a hand to his chin, incredulous.
"What do you think, my lord Dyan?"
The one with silver hair took a step forward. His eyes were clear, deep, and for an instant everything fell silent.
"Take the older ones. We will send them to the palace. Her Majesty always needs apprentices... or pawns."
The sister almost bowed to the ground.
"Thank you, my lord. Truly, thank you."
"Don't worry, sister," Dyan replied calmly, placing some silver coins in her hand. "Take care of the others until I return."
The older children were loaded onto the cart amid nervous laughter and clumsy steps. The sound of the boards creaking chilled Finia. What if she wasn't chosen? What if Sister Soledad was disappointed? Perhaps, she thought sadly, it just meant more years of being a nuisance.
Her legs were trembling, but she gripped her dress tightly and took a step forward, breaking the line.
"Sir... sir," she raised her voice with a trembling thread.
The mage stared at her. Their eyes met, and Finia thought she saw in him the same sadness that gnawed at her from within.
"Finia, go back to your place, please," the sister pleaded, advancing toward her. "Wait until the visitors have left."
But the little girl didn't hear her. She took another step.
"Sir... don't be sad."
A silence fell over everyone. Dyan barely arched his eyebrows and gave a weary smile. In the little girl's eyes, a contained weeping shone.
"What are you saying, little one?" he whispered.
The sister tried to cover her mouth, embarrassed.
"Don't mind her, my lord. She is... special."
Dyan bent down to her height.
"Do you want to come with me?" he asked in a low voice. "You seem sad too."
Finia brought her hands to her head.
"It hurts... it always hurts," her pout broke and tears burst out. "And also... I'm always sad."
Something in those words pierced the mage like a knife. Without thinking, he put his arms around her.
"Don't be afraid."
She cried silently against his shoulder, clinging to his tunic as if it were the only safe thing in the world. It was then, in that contact, that Dyan felt a subtle echo: a rare affinity, a healing vibration that few could cultivate, the gift of healing.
When the cart left the orphanage, Finia was still sobbing, but for the first time she was doing so with the certainty that someone was listening to her. Dyan stroked her hair, wet with tears.
"Cry as much as you want, little one. Cry and forget your sorrow..."