Prologue to my current primary work, Meiste. I thought I'd share it with whoever wanted to read it, haha.
Eheste Lozerief had been no stranger to failure–that much was obvious. She’d spent so much time searching answers to her questions about the world, but to no avail, only ever winding up with more questions than answers.
She'd studied the Guardian of the Hero of Life–Asaqua, a Siren–in an effort to explain why, or when, Heroes were granted Guardians to protect them. The Siren, however, didn't have any more answers than questions. When she asked Pægjôm, the Hero of Language, about how the different cultures of the world experienced magic, she was of no use, either. Nobody had the answers she seeked.
Then, one day, she'd had the chance to meet with a certain Cognitive magician whose name was In Iziser. The surname "In" was so uncommon that she had no choice but to assume the boy was Dolgof's, and that he was the Son of the Hero of Life. Curiously, she decided to pay him a visit.
The beautiful flowers of the Royal Palace of Zeneste were in full bloom that spring when she went to visit him. Having just won the election for Deputy Minister, she felt that she'd be working here extensively, anyways, and that she might as well get her bearings.
She approached a small boy wearing a simple outfit of cotton. "I'm Iziser," he introduced himself as. "They're moving me to the palace because I'll be King when I grow up."
"I see," Lozerief responded. "Is your mother around?"
"She died," Iziser answered, looking down at the floor. "In a car crash is what they told me."
Of course, Lozerief realized, a car crash is far too cliché to actually be true. Dolgof wouldn't have just exiled herself from the boy, right? It was well known to Lozerief that Dolgof–both as a Hero, and as the Hero of Life–could only die by some specific means. What, then, was supposed to come of Iziser?
"When was the last time you saw her?" Lozerief asked.
"When I was nine months old, the doctors said," Iziser answered.
Something clicked in Lozerief's mind: that Dolgof had abandoned him, one, but also that Iziser would be quite the force to reckon with in the future, and she wanted him on her good side. "Did you live with your dad? How long?" Lozef asked.
"I lived with him until he died when I was eleven," Izi answered. "Then they brought me here shortly after." His face slowly grew distant and cold the more he talked about his father. He explained that his father had been a war general, and he'd lived outside of town. He continued to explain that his father had loved to read, and had an infatuation with the Epic of the Hero of Life. When Lozerief asked about it, Iziser wasn't quite sure why.
To Lozerief, however, it was quite obvious what was going on: this boy was the son of Ihine Dolgof and General Xåjas, both of whom Lozerief had met and worked with some time around nine hundred years ago. It baffled her to see that Iziser understood none of this, but it wasn't her place to tell him; it wasn't her life to live. He'd have to either figure it out himself, or be told by someone who fully understood.
"I see," Lozerief added. "And, what can you do with your magic?"
"Nothing," Iziser answered with a pause. "I can't do anything." He looked down at the floor, face growing slowly more distant as he seemed to recall some foreign memory.
"Well, what is your magic, then?" Lozerief asked.
"Expansion," Izi answered. "I can expand abilities, but I can't do anything on my own."
"I see..." Lozerief paused for a minute. "How much do you know about magic?"
"Oh a lot!" Izi answered. His face almost instantly lit up, like he was a child in a candy store. He went on to describe in great detail the explanations of the various magic types and how they worked, what happened when they were put together, and the various other properties of magic. He had nearly the understanding of a college-level magic student at the age of twelve, which astonished Lozerief greatly.
"Clearly," Lozerief agreed when he was done. "You do understand a great deal of magic," She said, then paused for a moment, debating if she should introduce herself to him or not.
She rarely introduced herself. How would it make any sense to say: "I'm Eheste Lozerief, born fourteen years before the Hero of Life died. I wrote the Epic of the Hero of Life, and I researched magic for nearly nine hundred years." Either that or everyone would just assume she was some twenty-three-year-old woman having a midlife crisis, and trying to make everything seem alright by convincing herself she was some kind of national hero. It was usually better to not introduce herself.
But oh well.
"What if I told you I was Eheste Lozerief?" She asked, squatting down to the boy.
"I'd say you were bonkers," Izi answered. "There's no way that's possible."
"How would I go about proving it?" Lozerief continued.
Iziser thought for a moment. "You'd show me the scar," He answered. "You'd show me the scar that she acquired in the Epic of the Hero of Life."
Lozerief tugged at the collar of her shirt, and there it was: An ancient burn mark that crossed across her shoulder and clearly ran down her back if her shirt had been removed.
She let go of the shirt and stood up again. Iziser's gaping mouth said it all. "You're her! It can't be! I thought she died! You can't be the Hero of Earth!"
"Then how would I go about proving it?" Lozerief asked. "Do you need more evidence?"
Iziser said nothing. He knew, subconsciously, who she was.
"I thought so," Lozerief answered for him. "Would you like to study magic with me?"
The premature monarch beamed the widest grin he'd created in years. "I'd love to!" He agreed. "That would be so amazing! I could learn so much!"
Something in Lozerief's heart cracked to see the boy so happy. It had been so long ago by now, but she was once that child; the child who was so excited to learn about magic that she'd jump at the chance; the child who was so excited by the fantasies of Earth magicians long ago that she'd walk outside and start making the ground vibrate like ocean waves. She only just barely bit back tears–happy tears, albeit–as she led the premature monarch down the hall to the expansive library to begin her lesson.
Eheste Lozerief had been no stranger to failure–that much was obvious. She’d spent so much time searching answers to her questions about the world, but to no avail, only ever winding up with more questions than answers.
She'd studied the Guardian of the Hero of Life–Asaqua, a Siren–in an effort to explain why, or when, Heroes were granted Guardians to protect them. The Siren, however, didn't have any more answers than questions. When she asked Pægjôm, the Hero of Language, about how the different cultures of the world experienced magic, she was of no use, either. Nobody had the answers she seeked.
Then, one day, she'd had the chance to meet with a certain Cognitive magician whose name was In Iziser. The surname "In" was so uncommon that she had no choice but to assume the boy was Dolgof's, and that he was the Son of the Hero of Life. Curiously, she decided to pay him a visit.
The beautiful flowers of the Royal Palace of Zeneste were in full bloom that spring when she went to visit him. Having just won the election for Deputy Minister, she felt that she'd be working here extensively, anyways, and that she might as well get her bearings.
She approached a small boy wearing a simple outfit of cotton. "I'm Iziser," he introduced himself as. "They're moving me to the palace because I'll be King when I grow up."
"I see," Lozerief responded. "Is your mother around?"
"She died," Iziser answered, looking down at the floor. "In a car crash is what they told me."
Of course, Lozerief realized, a car crash is far too cliché to actually be true. Dolgof wouldn't have just exiled herself from the boy, right? It was well known to Lozerief that Dolgof–both as a Hero, and as the Hero of Life–could only die by some specific means. What, then, was supposed to come of Iziser?
"When was the last time you saw her?" Lozerief asked.
"When I was nine months old, the doctors said," Iziser answered.
Something clicked in Lozerief's mind: that Dolgof had abandoned him, one, but also that Iziser would be quite the force to reckon with in the future, and she wanted him on her good side. "Did you live with your dad? How long?" Lozef asked.
"I lived with him until he died when I was eleven," Izi answered. "Then they brought me here shortly after." His face slowly grew distant and cold the more he talked about his father. He explained that his father had been a war general, and he'd lived outside of town. He continued to explain that his father had loved to read, and had an infatuation with the Epic of the Hero of Life. When Lozerief asked about it, Iziser wasn't quite sure why.
To Lozerief, however, it was quite obvious what was going on: this boy was the son of Ihine Dolgof and General Xåjas, both of whom Lozerief had met and worked with some time around nine hundred years ago. It baffled her to see that Iziser understood none of this, but it wasn't her place to tell him; it wasn't her life to live. He'd have to either figure it out himself, or be told by someone who fully understood.
"I see," Lozerief added. "And, what can you do with your magic?"
"Nothing," Iziser answered with a pause. "I can't do anything." He looked down at the floor, face growing slowly more distant as he seemed to recall some foreign memory.
"Well, what is your magic, then?" Lozerief asked.
"Expansion," Izi answered. "I can expand abilities, but I can't do anything on my own."
"I see..." Lozerief paused for a minute. "How much do you know about magic?"
"Oh a lot!" Izi answered. His face almost instantly lit up, like he was a child in a candy store. He went on to describe in great detail the explanations of the various magic types and how they worked, what happened when they were put together, and the various other properties of magic. He had nearly the understanding of a college-level magic student at the age of twelve, which astonished Lozerief greatly.
"Clearly," Lozerief agreed when he was done. "You do understand a great deal of magic," She said, then paused for a moment, debating if she should introduce herself to him or not.
She rarely introduced herself. How would it make any sense to say: "I'm Eheste Lozerief, born fourteen years before the Hero of Life died. I wrote the Epic of the Hero of Life, and I researched magic for nearly nine hundred years." Either that or everyone would just assume she was some twenty-three-year-old woman having a midlife crisis, and trying to make everything seem alright by convincing herself she was some kind of national hero. It was usually better to not introduce herself.
But oh well.
"What if I told you I was Eheste Lozerief?" She asked, squatting down to the boy.
"I'd say you were bonkers," Izi answered. "There's no way that's possible."
"How would I go about proving it?" Lozerief continued.
Iziser thought for a moment. "You'd show me the scar," He answered. "You'd show me the scar that she acquired in the Epic of the Hero of Life."
Lozerief tugged at the collar of her shirt, and there it was: An ancient burn mark that crossed across her shoulder and clearly ran down her back if her shirt had been removed.
She let go of the shirt and stood up again. Iziser's gaping mouth said it all. "You're her! It can't be! I thought she died! You can't be the Hero of Earth!"
"Then how would I go about proving it?" Lozerief asked. "Do you need more evidence?"
Iziser said nothing. He knew, subconsciously, who she was.
"I thought so," Lozerief answered for him. "Would you like to study magic with me?"
The premature monarch beamed the widest grin he'd created in years. "I'd love to!" He agreed. "That would be so amazing! I could learn so much!"
Something in Lozerief's heart cracked to see the boy so happy. It had been so long ago by now, but she was once that child; the child who was so excited to learn about magic that she'd jump at the chance; the child who was so excited by the fantasies of Earth magicians long ago that she'd walk outside and start making the ground vibrate like ocean waves. She only just barely bit back tears–happy tears, albeit–as she led the premature monarch down the hall to the expansive library to begin her lesson.
