99 AC / 54 HA
Hermione
"Father?"
"Yes Hermione"
I looked into the eyes of the man that was my father. A man of multitudes, in a moment he would show me tenderness the same as a mother to her hatchling whilst in another he would be a storm that rages from high heavens. It was a very monumental task trying to understand the man he was. Octavian knew things, moments that he would not share with me telling me to find out for myself.
Not to say that I had not tried. I had. But Father was an unyielding mountain that refused to let my river of concern carve a path through him. He was always there for us when we needed him, yet we never knew a single moment when he needed us. Growing up in the insulated halls of the Imperial Palace only skewed my perception further. It was only when I began to wander through the streets of Ctesiphon that I learned children are meant to care for their parents in their old age, to eventually shoulder their heavy burdens. Yet, Father never showed any signs of passing on the reins. He was always the grand architect; we were simply the instruments of his execution.
"Are you not afraid?" I asked hesitantly.
"Afraid of what?" he replied nonchalantly, casually stoking the campfire before adding a pinch of spices to our boiling iron pot.
"Of finding out whatever truly lies within the mist. What if it is a demon, and we are unable to fight it on equal ground? Or what if, just as the grim stories claim, we become trapped within the fog, wandering aimlessly until we starve? Does it not scare you? The uncertainty of what lies ahead on this path?" I ranted, finally unburdening myself. It was always incredibly easy to speak my deepest concerns to him.
Father continued to stir the broth for a long moment before taking a deep breath and letting out a heavy sigh. "Of course I am. I am terrified of what we might encounter in those mists. Every so often, I tremble at the thought of something horrific happening to you simply because I selfishly decided to bring you along on this journey. I deeply fear that I may fail to protect you."
"What about yourself, Father? Are you not concerned for your own well-being?" I asked softly.
He offered a faint smile, holding my gaze. I could see the absolute sincerity in his eyes, but the smile carried a crushing sadness. "Ever since I arrived in this world, I have been fully prepared to die. It would not be entirely inaccurate to say that I came here actively searching for death."
His brutally honest confession horrified me.
"Yet, every attempt I made was thwarted by people stubbornly resisting my fate on my behalf," he continued, looking back into the flames. "There were always those who tethered me to this realm. The tragedy of being me is that I was forced to watch them live out their mortal lives and die before me. Some lived long, fulfilling years, while others had their strings violently cut short. They were finally free from their pain, while I only accumulated more of it. But eventually, I had Octavian. Then Lily. And then, you came along. The past fifty years have been incredibly kind to me, despite the endless hardships. That is why death is not my enemy. It can have me when it is strong enough to claim me, but fear for myself is a feeling I have not experienced in ages."
"But then... if you did not have to worry about protecting us, would you not be stronger?" I asked, a knot forming in my throat.
"Mayhaps I would be stronger. Or mayhaps I would not be. But I am absolutely certain I would not be happy if I did not have you," Father said. This time, the smile genuinely reached his eyes.
I simply nodded. Deep within my chest, a profound joy bloomed at the deep love he held for us.
"Why the sudden curiosity?" he asked, pulling me from my reverie.
"It is because I feel deeply uncertain about venturing into the mist. The tales of Chroyane and Garin's Curse... they describe a truly horrifying ordeal," I answered honestly, letting my anxieties flow freely after holding them at bay for the entire journey.
Father stared into the crackling fire, lost in deep thought before he spoke again. "You have learned of the existence of ambient mana in your lessons, correct?" I nodded. "Where, then, do you suppose it comes from?"
"The ancient tomes state that there is no conclusive proof regarding mana's true origin. Some scholars argue it is the living people who generate it. Others theorise it bleeds from the leylines—so, in a way, from the world itself. There are even sects who blindly preach it is a direct gift from the Gods—"
I was abruptly halted before I could finish my recitation.
"I am not asking you to blindly regurgitate the words of long-dead men," Father interrupted, waving away the esteemed scholars entirely. "What do you think? What conclusions have you reached on the matter?"
I would be lying if I said I had never pondered the theory myself. Even so, I had never voiced my deductions before, primarily because no one had ever bothered to ask for my opinion on such monumental mysteries.
"I think... I think the energy must stem from the earth itself. So I lean heavily towards the leylines being the true source. The Gods merely possess a much more refined, instinctual control over those leylines, allowing them to siphon vast amounts of mana to perform divine miracles," I answered carefully, searching his glowing eyes for any hint of denial or disappointment.
"You are not entirely wrong, but you are not completely correct, either." My rising hopes were dashed immediately. "Mana is much like a river. The leylines are the physical riverbed upon which it flows, but they are not the actual source of the water. The gods are merely beings who have learned to siphon and manipulate massive currents of this mana in varied ways to manifest miracles. Just as a river's water can be dammed, diverted, or stored for multiple purposes, so too can mana. Therein lies the fundamental problem, Hermione."
He leaned forward, his expression turning intensely grim. "Mana is not flowing as it naturally should in this world. It is barely flowing at all. The shallow streams that do remain evaporate rapidly or are deliberately hidden from mortal eyes. If this world had never tasted magic, it would have naturally evolved to survive without it. But a world that has gorged itself upon mana for millennia, only to suddenly be starved of it, will inevitably begin to wither and decay. The mana remaining here is not only incredibly scarce, but deeply chaotic, acting in ways it fundamentally should not. That creates catastrophic anomalies."
"And we are headed to Chroyane to understand why it is starving," I deduced, avidly hanging onto his every word. "But what do you realistically expect to find within the ruins of the destroyed city, Father?"