I have never felt any fondness towards the element of fire. I do not prefer it and I do not love it. I do not know if I despise it, but I know that I bear very little liking towards it.
It burns unconditionally. It is an element of destruction — birthed by nasty desires. But is its quality purely destructive? Perhaps not. It has provided food and heat for men. A winter without fire is a season of death. It is the greatest discovery in the history of man, greater than magic or wheel ever could be. But since the discovery of magic, fire — the element of destruction — has turned into something far worse in my eyes. It has become madness, a desire to perish.
And here I am, helped by madness... As thoughts passed me, I continued to run. I had a place to be, a destination to reach. I passed by a guard post in a hurry, and I passed the students that looked at me in horror. I spotted a few professors that were petrified. Some remained so, while others rushed, calling for help. I could ill afford to await their response. I kept running.
My legs had no strength left. My joints made sounds of despair. My neck hurt with the smallest of movements. My ears rang and buzzed. My eyes, without the spectacles that I had lost somewhere, were blurry and unhelpful. My breathing was strained and I could still smell the smoke of the basement. The grime and blood on my face did little to help remove the irk of my skin as the heat demanded sweat in buckets.
I could not hear the whispers of boys and screams of girls as I left the winding path and ran onto a wider one. I was running in a silent world, and I continued without a second thought despite all the hurt, hoping the body I carried hadn't yet turned lifeless. For we were alone, in that basement and now. For she had only me, in this moment.
'...here...'
I thought I heard something in the world where none else but us two should exist. In front of me was a woman in a black uniform running. I could not make out her face, but I could gather where her arm pointed. She was leading me someplace. I hoped it was where the girl needed to be and tried to speak. About what, I do not know, but I tried to speak. My lips hurt and my voice did not escape my throat. I was parched and my lips were chapped, dried of all their moisture. This is why I did not bear much love for fire. It dries.
I wheezed as I ran, but I still ran, following left and right turns. Many would have preferred if someone had taken the girl from me and rushed ahead while I lay. But neither did my body nor my mind agree to it. So, I continued, running like a man of many nightmares, not knowing what the future held.
Little by little, my lucidity faded; I was losing my sense of reality as the pain worsened. ...must hurry... In the silent world, suddenly, some more voices echoed. '...this way,' '...call Doctor...now,' '...quickly...' I felt my arms become lighter. The weight seemed to have disappeared. Afraid, I looked down to find the girl missing. Who was there...? I thought, recalling whom I had carried so far. My mind acted funny, and my memories were fuzzy. In horror, I looked around.
I noticed the black-uniformed woman that had led me to this place — a white building with many windows and piers in front of a fountain and a row of wooden benches in a square. I looked at my arms again, still unable to find the girl. Lost in thought, I felt an arm over my shoulder. It was the woman's arm. She was addressing me, saying something. I did not hear it; I could not. A sharp, searing pain was all that I could understand as it coursed throughout my arm. It was twitching sporadically as the veins had ruptured and the skin melted. It must have bled, but all those thoughts left me when I noticed a small crowd over the woman's shoulder.
I lightly pushed her aside and ran towards them, unable to breathe. It felt as if heavy rocks were tied to my chest. I noticed something being carried in a stretcher made of metal and cloth. It was the girl. They were rushing her inside.
I looked around, my head throbbing, my mouth ajar without my knowledge. I grabbed one of them and gripped their white garb, staining it. These crude actions weren't polite or dignifying, but I was willing to sell all my dignity along with litters of blood if it meant the girl's survival.
My voice rasped harshly and through my dried throat, I croaked some words. 'Smoke... cauterise... blood... extreme...blood loss,' I kept muttering as my sights turned blurrier. My head was hurting, and as I prepared for more instructions, the ringing stopped. The blue and golden skies that abruptly filled my vision had turned dark and silent.
I had fainted.
***
Terrifying howls of a beast unknown. A damp and dark basement, lit only by the inhumane burning of living. A girl lay in blood, lifeless. Amidst all of this, a mage burnt his hand. The innate nature of fire, which is unknown, did not scare him. Mankind has learnt of nature and its gifts and no more thinks fire unknown. Man has grown to appreciate fire. Man has lessened the fear.
That fire, as I held it, betrayed me. It climbed my arm, reaching for my face. It threatened to burn me along with the beast. I should be scared. But I wasn't. I closed my eyes.
I woke up, to my reality. What had happened was clear in my memory. I needed no reminders; I needed no recollections. I turned my head, finding myself on a wooden bunk. I had expected it to be a metal one, but I suppose the academy did not like cheap effects.
Beside the bed, I found a white vase decorated with gladiolus. Near it was a number of bouquets addressed to me. There were chrysanthemums, pink tulips, lavender, carnations, hydrangea, daisies, and sunflowers — a poor choice for a person waking up at night. Yes, it was night. Middle of it.
I looked around. There was a minimal amount of furniture. A wardrobe, a study table, my bunk, a coffee table, and a few chairs. That was all. Hospital? I guessed correctly. I was in a hospital room — a rather posh one. I had never seen one so...lavished. Usually, they have a number of bunks placed in one room. All the diseases in one chamber — a foul farce on the weak. I coughed coarsely; my throat was dry, and my skin was itchy. I searched around, finding no one around to help me. At least, I did not spot any. In the light of oil lamps, I was left alone in some room with flowers and their scents.
Time passed, and I managed to fend off the need for rest and climbed out of the bed. There was a water jar nearby, one I was not about to ignore. My tiresome activities saw me back to bed, allowing the breeze to lull me back to sleep.
I woke up in the night once again, not far after I had fallen to its whispers. I was in pain. My hand hurt still. I ignored it. I had been tired of this burning sensation. I suggested to my mind the needs I did not have — reading, walking in the gardens, enjoying a meal, and such. Meals. Yes, I needed meals. I climbed out of the bed. My body groaned and ached. The searing pain was running up the right side of my neck, but once again I ignored it. I had worries far more important.
The role of a mentor has yet to end, I believe, I thought. I could ill afford to lay here now that sanity had graced me. I needed to go see the child and extend my help. But I was apprehensive — worried that my hopes are all but pieces shattered on a floor of despair. And I am about to walk on it. I was worried about what I would find.
I groaned and searched the wardrobe and the rest of the room, but I could not find my clothing. The only things I could retrieve were a few articles and my pocket watch. Someone seemed to have properly cleaned it. There was not a single stain on that chain. I held it in my hand — the unharmed one — and played with it, losing myself in thought. I threw it in the air and caught it. It made clinking sounds.
I heard the rattling of the door. Someone must have heard me. And someone indeed did. The door opened, and a head peered in. Their eyes met mine. Or I thought they did. I was not very sure without my spectacles. That person, whoever they were, drew closer, closing the door behind them.
As they inched closer, I could make out the figure. It was a woman...in a black uniform. 'How do you do, Professor?' she asked me. And it dawned on me that I had met her.
'You...helped me,' I uttered in a hoarse voice.
'Yes,' she said, standing straight. I looked her up and down. She had an air of pride and amiability. Her long hair was tied near her nape, and a sword and a revolver accompanied her waist.
'Are you not off-duty?' I asked.
'Not today,' she said, looking at the bunk. 'Not when this has happened. I am required here.' She turned back to me. 'You seem fine, Professor.'
I chuckled in my usual fashion. 'This seems fine to you?'
She looked at my right hand. Even I was not so daring. 'Better than what could have been.' I wondered if she was not afraid of nightmares. If I were her, I would have run away. Swiftly, might I add? 'Your veins are ruptured and skin has melted.' I did not need to hear that. Losing something, unable to gain it back, was a punishment to the living. And I wished no reminders of it. 'You were bleeding when you arrived.' She continued, 'It will not recover, Professor.' It was as if someone was hitting a rock with a chisel and hammer. I could hear it all in the back of my head.
'I see,' I said. I had known it and I had finally come to accept. There was much pain in my body and mind, but I had no regrets, no remorse. 'I may have to learn to write with the other hand.' A smile bloomed on my face. This loss was not the worst thing that had happened to me. 'A professor that does not know how to write.' I chuckled once again. I was once told I had a beautiful smile and those words still held much effect on me. I had been wearing it since then, and I wore it now.
The woman seemed pleased with my reply. 'Please follow me,' She said, turning around. I was thankful for that gesture.
A silent gasp escaped me, once and twice. My eyes turned slightly wet. Do not, I commanded myself. Do not. And I held it back even as my heart trembled and my emotions flared.
I followed the woman silently. I had questions, and I very much wished them fulfilled. But I was afraid to speak through my quiet cries, frightened to be seen at my weakest. So, I followed quietly as a child would. I did not know what awaited me. Punishment? Reprimand? Questions and queries? But nothing could console me. I had wanted to sit around in some dark room, screaming and sobbing as my emotions raged. I was not sad. I was not afraid of what had happened. Frightened about the future? Perhaps. But that never could have seized a tear from me. Pain also did not command my emotionally unstable state. I had no reason, I thought, to gasp for air. I had simply lost control over my emotions.
In that state, I walked behind the woman. She led me past the dimly lit corridor. I watched the paintings pass by, pretending I was simply tired. 'I am Christine Olsberg.' That name seemed a little off. I narrowed my eyes and looked at the woman. She had very pale skin and green eyes like Ms Lore. 'We have the blood of north in our family,' she said, as if aware of my thoughts. I gave a low hum as my reply. A number of times she tried to strike up conversations, and each time I denied.
'It is here,' said the woman, halting in front of a door. She opened the door for me, and I walked in. The chamber was no different than mine. In the middle of the room was a bed. On it, lay Ms Lasfield. I was relieved. She is alive. My student, Ms Selena Lasfield, was alive. Two tubes were injected into her wrist. One was clear and the other was filled with blood. 'Transfusion,' I muttered, and asked the lady behind, 'Is it not used for women who have bled out in pregnancy?'
'Yes. Blood is difficult to store, so not many places have the privilege of hosting such a treatment.' She walked past me, turned around, and said, 'I hope magic will change that.' I hoped she was right, but I did not believe that I was the right person to demand such discoveries from. Ms Olsberg continued, 'She has been cleaned.' That, I could see. 'You too.' That, too, I noticed. 'Nurses were very careful.'
Nurses? 'Male nurses, right?' I asked, rather concerned, but the woman simply scoffed as if I was joking. I was not. 'She is unconscious?'
'Yes. She lost too much blood. She had internal bleeding too. Not from the wound on the stomach, no. It seems she was hit in the chest before being cut.' She turned to me once again. 'You did great, Professor. We saw the beast.' The look in her eyes was one of approval. There was honesty. She was praising me. 'We are all proud of you. You performed fantastically, both in battle and rescue.' She smiled. 'She may live.' And with those words, she walked out the door, leaving me alone with my student.
I stood there for a moment, then walked, and sat beside her. Are her parents informed? I wondered. I hoped they were. No parent should be unaware of their child's fate. I looked over her once. That blonde hair was properly cleaned and tied. No more was it stained in blood. Her face was pale, and the sound of her breathing was faint. A sigh escaped me. All the swirling emotions I had held back escaped me. But surprisingly, I did not sob or cry. I sat there, watching the girl, pleased that she lived.
She had heeded my pleas and did not die. She was a good student.
I have never felt any fondness towards the element of fire. I do not prefer it and I do not love it. I do not know if I despise it, but I know that I bear very little liking towards it.
It burns unconditionally. It is an element of destruction — birthed by nasty desires. But is its quality purely destructive? Perhaps not. It has provided food and heat for men. A winter without fire is a season of death. It is the greatest discovery in the history of man, greater than magic or wheel ever could be. But since the discovery of magic, fire — the element of destruction — has turned into something far worse in my eyes. It has become madness, a desire to perish.
And here I am, helped by madness... As thoughts passed me, I continued to run. I had a place to be, a destination to reach. I passed by a guard post in a hurry, and I passed the students that looked at me in horror. I spotted a few professors that were petrified. Some remained so, while others rushed, calling for help. I could ill afford to await their response. I kept running.
My legs had no strength left. My joints made sounds of despair. My neck hurt with the smallest of movements. My ears rang and buzzed. My eyes, without the spectacles that I had lost somewhere, were blurry and unhelpful. My breathing was strained and I could still smell the smoke of the basement. The grime and blood on my face did little to help remove the irk of my skin as the heat demanded sweat in buckets.
I could not hear the whispers of boys and screams of girls as I left the winding path and ran onto a wider one. I was running in a silent world, and I continued without a second thought despite all the hurt, hoping the body I carried hadn't yet turned lifeless. For we were alone, in that basement and now. For she had only me, in this moment.
'...here...'
I thought I heard something in the world where none else but us two should exist. In front of me was a woman in a black uniform running. I could not make out her face, but I could gather where her arm pointed. She was leading me someplace. I hoped it was where the girl needed to be and tried to speak. About what, I do not know, but I tried to speak. My lips hurt and my voice did not escape my throat. I was parched and my lips were chapped, dried of all their moisture. This is why I did not bear much love for fire. It dries.
I wheezed as I ran, but I still ran, following left and right turns. Many would have preferred if someone had taken the girl from me and rushed ahead while I lay. But neither did my body nor my mind agree to it. So, I continued, running like a man of many nightmares, not knowing what the future held.
Little by little, my lucidity faded; I was losing my sense of reality as the pain worsened. ...must hurry... In the silent world, suddenly, some more voices echoed. '...this way,' '...call Doctor...now,' '...quickly...' I felt my arms become lighter. The weight seemed to have disappeared. Afraid, I looked down to find the girl missing. Who was there...? I thought, recalling whom I had carried so far. My mind acted funny, and my memories were fuzzy. In horror, I looked around.
I noticed the black-uniformed woman that had led me to this place — a white building with many windows and piers in front of a fountain and a row of wooden benches in a square. I looked at my arms again, still unable to find the girl. Lost in thought, I felt an arm over my shoulder. It was the woman's arm. She was addressing me, saying something. I did not hear it; I could not. A sharp, searing pain was all that I could understand as it coursed throughout my arm. It was twitching sporadically as the veins had ruptured and the skin melted. It must have bled, but all those thoughts left me when I noticed a small crowd over the woman's shoulder.
I lightly pushed her aside and ran towards them, unable to breathe. It felt as if heavy rocks were tied to my chest. I noticed something being carried in a stretcher made of metal and cloth. It was the girl. They were rushing her inside.
I looked around, my head throbbing, my mouth ajar without my knowledge. I grabbed one of them and gripped their white garb, staining it. These crude actions weren't polite or dignifying, but I was willing to sell all my dignity along with litters of blood if it meant the girl's survival.
My voice rasped harshly and through my dried throat, I croaked some words. 'Smoke... cauterise... blood... extreme...blood loss,' I kept muttering as my sights turned blurrier. My head was hurting, and as I prepared for more instructions, the ringing stopped. The blue and golden skies that abruptly filled my vision had turned dark and silent.
I had fainted.
***
Terrifying howls of a beast unknown. A damp and dark basement, lit only by the inhumane burning of living. A girl lay in blood, lifeless. Amidst all of this, a mage burnt his hand. The innate nature of fire, which is unknown, did not scare him. Mankind has learnt of nature and its gifts and no more thinks fire unknown. Man has grown to appreciate fire. Man has lessened the fear.
That fire, as I held it, betrayed me. It climbed my arm, reaching for my face. It threatened to burn me along with the beast. I should be scared. But I wasn't. I closed my eyes.
I woke up, to my reality. What had happened was clear in my memory. I needed no reminders; I needed no recollections. I turned my head, finding myself on a wooden bunk. I had expected it to be a metal one, but I suppose the academy did not like cheap effects.
Beside the bed, I found a white vase decorated with gladiolus. Near it was a number of bouquets addressed to me. There were chrysanthemums, pink tulips, lavender, carnations, hydrangea, daisies, and sunflowers — a poor choice for a person waking up at night. Yes, it was night. Middle of it.
I looked around. There was a minimal amount of furniture. A wardrobe, a study table, my bunk, a coffee table, and a few chairs. That was all. Hospital? I guessed correctly. I was in a hospital room — a rather posh one. I had never seen one so...lavished. Usually, they have a number of bunks placed in one room. All the diseases in one chamber — a foul farce on the weak. I coughed coarsely; my throat was dry, and my skin was itchy. I searched around, finding no one around to help me. At least, I did not spot any. In the light of oil lamps, I was left alone in some room with flowers and their scents.
Time passed, and I managed to fend off the need for rest and climbed out of the bed. There was a water jar nearby, one I was not about to ignore. My tiresome activities saw me back to bed, allowing the breeze to lull me back to sleep.
I woke up in the night once again, not far after I had fallen to its whispers. I was in pain. My hand hurt still. I ignored it. I had been tired of this burning sensation. I suggested to my mind the needs I did not have — reading, walking in the gardens, enjoying a meal, and such. Meals. Yes, I needed meals. I climbed out of the bed. My body groaned and ached. The searing pain was running up the right side of my neck, but once again I ignored it. I had worries far more important.
The role of a mentor has yet to end, I believe, I thought. I could ill afford to lay here now that sanity had graced me. I needed to go see the child and extend my help. But I was apprehensive — worried that my hopes are all but pieces shattered on a floor of despair. And I am about to walk on it. I was worried about what I would find.
I groaned and searched the wardrobe and the rest of the room, but I could not find my clothing. The only things I could retrieve were a few articles and my pocket watch. Someone seemed to have properly cleaned it. There was not a single stain on that chain. I held it in my hand — the unharmed one — and played with it, losing myself in thought. I threw it in the air and caught it. It made clinking sounds.
I heard the rattling of the door. Someone must have heard me. And someone indeed did. The door opened, and a head peered in. Their eyes met mine. Or I thought they did. I was not very sure without my spectacles. That person, whoever they were, drew closer, closing the door behind them.
As they inched closer, I could make out the figure. It was a woman...in a black uniform. 'How do you do, Professor?' she asked me. And it dawned on me that I had met her.
'You...helped me,' I uttered in a hoarse voice.
'Yes,' she said, standing straight. I looked her up and down. She had an air of pride and amiability. Her long hair was tied near her nape, and a sword and a revolver accompanied her waist.
'Are you not off-duty?' I asked.
'Not today,' she said, looking at the bunk. 'Not when this has happened. I am required here.' She turned back to me. 'You seem fine, Professor.'
I chuckled in my usual fashion. 'This seems fine to you?'
She looked at my right hand. Even I was not so daring. 'Better than what could have been.' I wondered if she was not afraid of nightmares. If I were her, I would have run away. Swiftly, might I add? 'Your veins are ruptured and skin has melted.' I did not need to hear that. Losing something, unable to gain it back, was a punishment to the living. And I wished no reminders of it. 'You were bleeding when you arrived.' She continued, 'It will not recover, Professor.' It was as if someone was hitting a rock with a chisel and hammer. I could hear it all in the back of my head.
'I see,' I said. I had known it and I had finally come to accept. There was much pain in my body and mind, but I had no regrets, no remorse. 'I may have to learn to write with the other hand.' A smile bloomed on my face. This loss was not the worst thing that had happened to me. 'A professor that does not know how to write.' I chuckled once again. I was once told I had a beautiful smile and those words still held much effect on me. I had been wearing it since then, and I wore it now.
The woman seemed pleased with my reply. 'Please follow me,' She said, turning around. I was thankful for that gesture.
A silent gasp escaped me, once and twice. My eyes turned slightly wet. Do not, I commanded myself. Do not. And I held it back even as my heart trembled and my emotions flared.
I followed the woman silently. I had questions, and I very much wished them fulfilled. But I was afraid to speak through my quiet cries, frightened to be seen at my weakest. So, I followed quietly as a child would. I did not know what awaited me. Punishment? Reprimand? Questions and queries? But nothing could console me. I had wanted to sit around in some dark room, screaming and sobbing as my emotions raged. I was not sad. I was not afraid of what had happened. Frightened about the future? Perhaps. But that never could have seized a tear from me. Pain also did not command my emotionally unstable state. I had no reason, I thought, to gasp for air. I had simply lost control over my emotions.
In that state, I walked behind the woman. She led me past the dimly lit corridor. I watched the paintings pass by, pretending I was simply tired. 'I am Christine Olsberg.' That name seemed a little off. I narrowed my eyes and looked at the woman. She had very pale skin and green eyes like Ms Lore. 'We have the blood of north in our family,' she said, as if aware of my thoughts. I gave a low hum as my reply. A number of times she tried to strike up conversations, and each time I denied.
'It is here,' said the woman, halting in front of a door. She opened the door for me, and I walked in. The chamber was no different than mine. In the middle of the room was a bed. On it, lay Ms Lasfield. I was relieved. She is alive. My student, Ms Selena Lasfield, was alive. Two tubes were injected into her wrist. One was clear and the other was filled with blood. 'Transfusion,' I muttered, and asked the lady behind, 'Is it not used for women who have bled out in pregnancy?'
'Yes. Blood is difficult to store, so not many places have the privilege of hosting such a treatment.' She walked past me, turned around, and said, 'I hope magic will change that.' I hoped she was right, but I did not believe that I was the right person to demand such discoveries from. Ms Olsberg continued, 'She has been cleaned.' That, I could see. 'You too.' That, too, I noticed. 'Nurses were very careful.'
Nurses? 'Male nurses, right?' I asked, rather concerned, but the woman simply scoffed as if I was joking. I was not. 'She is unconscious?'
'Yes. She lost too much blood. She had internal bleeding too. Not from the wound on the stomach, no. It seems she was hit in the chest before being cut.' She turned to me once again. 'You did great, Professor. We saw the beast.' The look in her eyes was one of approval. There was honesty. She was praising me. 'We are all proud of you. You performed fantastically, both in battle and rescue.' She smiled. 'She may live.' And with those words, she walked out the door, leaving me alone with my student.
I stood there for a moment, then walked, and sat beside her. Are her parents informed? I wondered. I hoped they were. No parent should be unaware of their child's fate. I looked over her once. That blonde hair was properly cleaned and tied. No more was it stained in blood. Her face was pale, and the sound of her breathing was faint. A sigh escaped me. All the swirling emotions I had held back escaped me. But surprisingly, I did not sob or cry. I sat there, watching the girl, pleased that she lived.
She had heeded my pleas and did not die. She was a good student.
