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 mont he would show tenderness the sa as a mother to her hatchling whilst in another he would be a storm that rages from high heavens. It was a very monuntal task trying to understand the man he was. Octavian knew things, monts that he would not share with telling 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 mont 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 ant 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 instrunts 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 beco 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 mont 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 sothing 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 ca here actively searching for death."
His brutally honest confession horrified .
"Yet, every attempt I made was thwarted by people stubbornly resisting my fate on my behalf," he continued, looking back into the flas. "There were always those who tethered to this realm. The tragedy of being is that I was forced to watch them live out their mortal lives and die before . So 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 ca along. The past fifty years have been incredibly kind to , despite the endless hardships. That is why death is not my enemy. It can have when it is strong enough to claim , 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 ti, the smile genuinely reached his eyes.
I simply nodded. Deep within my chest, a profound joy blood at the deep love he held for us.
"Why the sudden curiosity?" he asked, pulling 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 cos from?"
"The ancient tos state that there is no conclusive proof regarding mana's true origin. So 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 n," Father interrupted, waving away the esteed 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 monuntal 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 rely 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 disappointnt.
"You are not entirely wrong, but you are not completely correct, either." My rising hopes were dashed imdiately. "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 rely 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 damd, diverted, or stored for multiple purposes, so too can mana. Therein lies the fundantal 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 fundantally 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?"
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