Hexe | The Long Night

One hundred and two little cute boats;

one hundred and two cold shiny stones;

one hundred and two blue paper folds;

and again.

One hundred and two of something their hearts hold most.

—Berdorf, E. Poems of a Wingless Princess. Unpublished manuscript, Summer.

Eura tiptoed along the garden path, careful not to snag her skirts on the thorny hedges. The hem of her dress was bunched in her fists like an apron, cradling a nest of tiny blue paper folded in tiny pieces.

A sudden "Hey!" cracked the quiet.

Her breath caught. She froze mid-step, head whipping left, then right. Only the rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of a fountain answered her.

Then—thump.

A black-robed figure dropped from the sky and landed on the path in front of her with the grace of a falling shadow. A mask of ivory and onyx glared back.

Eura nearly spilt all her origami. A squeak escaped before she bit it down.

The figure tilted its head. Chains at its wrists clinked softly, swords sheathed at either side.

"What are you doing, Lamar?" Eura asked, annoyed. "You almost killed me!"

The black-robed figure crouched to her height, tilting its head like a curious raven.

"Skipping training, little princess?" the voice came, low through the mask.

Eura's fingers tightened around the fabric. "And you missed your boat to Ormgrund. Again."

"And leave you here all alone?" the Magi replied, voice curling into a grin she could hear even if she couldn't see it. "What do you have there?"

Eura hugged the folded paper cranes to her chest. "An… offering."

"For the Dual-Headed Fish? Again?"

She hesitated, lips pressing thin. "I don't know if I trust you enough to tell more."

The Magi stilled for a beat. Then the mask came off his face. A boyish appearance beneath bright blue eyes, forehead unbranded, his grin a burst of mischief that didn't belong in a black robe.

"Come on," he whispered, leaning in. "I never told your secret. Not to Magi Lolth, not even to Magi Jaer. I'm the most trustworthy person in all of Pollux."

Eura squinted, weighing his words. "Really?"

"I swear," Lamar said, voice full of false innocence, while his fingers quietly crossed behind his back.

Eura plucked one of the blue origami from her bundle and held it up for inspection. "They're little boats. One hundred and two tiny boats for… whatever fishes do with tiny paper boats. Maybe they ride them when they're tired."

Lamar leaned closer. "They're cute."

"It took longer than I thought. That's why I missed training."

Lamar swept into an exaggerated bow, one hand to his chest and the other extended as if she were a queen at court. "Then may I escort Your Highness to Balma-Saat?"

Eura snorted, a smirk tugging at her lips as she sidestepped him. "Don't embarrass yourself."

She moved down the path, skirts whispering over the stones, and the little fleet of paper boats bobbed with each step.

Lamar strolled at her side. His eyes flicked over her frilled sleeves, the ribbons bouncing with each stride.

"It's hard to recognise you with all these… pretty things," he said, waving vaguely at the dress like it might swallow her whole.

Eura scowled down at the layers of silk trying to trip her. "I hate dresses. If they let me, I'd rule in pants."

Lamar chuckled. "Well, once you're Dame, you can appoint any Noctavia you like."

She blinked at him, frowning. "What's that?"

"Noctavia?" He tilted his head, a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. "Don't your books talk about Menschen traditions?"

Eura wrinkled her nose, kicking a pebble off the path. "My domain is vast. There are many things to learn. Court etiquette isn't one of my priorities."

She hitched her skirt higher with one hand to keep the paper boats from spilling, the other gripping the fabric like it might escape.

"How old are you again?" Lamar asked.

"Ten!"

"Well, think of it like a tailor, but their craftsmanship… It's from another world. Some say Veilla's Noctavia could stitch sunlight into a hem. Or moonlight into a veil."

He shrugged, the grin that followed admitting he wasn't sure if he believed it. "Could be true. Could be just a bedtime tale."

Eura snorted again and adjusted her grip on the bundle of blue boats. "I don't think a Noctavia would make my list of priorities. I can buy pants anywhere."

Lamar laughed. "Spoken like a true Dame."

"Was that irony?"

"Maybe." He flashed a crooked smile. "Maybe not."

The path opened onto the lake, a silver sheet of stillness cupped in sunlight, and dragonflies skimmed its surface.

Eura tiptoed to the edge, skirts gathered tight to protect the fleet of paper boats in her arms.

She knelt, the stones cool beneath her knees, and sang in a small, singsong voice that wavered just above the water.

"Vem auf, vem auf… I brought new goodies…"

Ripples shivered across the lake as if the words themselves tickled it awake.

Then—splash!

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The water erupted, and a shape surged upward, shifting faster than her eyes could follow. One moment broad-shouldered and grim, the next lithe and sharp-featured, the Spirit flickered between man and woman, between calm and irritation. Droplets streamed from a face that never settled.

"You again?" The voice carried like it belonged to both of them—and neither.

Eura hugged her boats closer. "I brought one hundred—"

"—Of what?" Koimar snapped, the water curling like fingers around their form. "Let me guess. A hundred and two apples? A hundred and two sunflowers? Perhaps… a hundred and two peas?"

Their tone was teasing and annoyed in equal measure. "What ridiculous trinkets have you dragged to my water today?"

Eura's smile stretched ear to ear as she pinched her skirt open like a treasure chest. The fold of silk sagged with its cargo: one hundred two blue origami boats, stacked.

"Look!" she chirped. "Tiny boats—so the fishes can rest from all their swimming!"

Koimar's form rippled in and out of itself, features shifting like water caught between sun and shadow. A low, rolling laugh bubbled from the lake.

"Ridiculous," the Spirit said, voice curling in disdain. "Such a powerful creature… and still such a child. Do you take me for a jester? Your private entertainment?"

Eura's smile faltered only a little. "I just… I just want to make you happy."

Behind her, Lamar lingered a few paces back, arms crossed loosely, watching.

At first, he thought the Spirit's irritation was the danger—but then the hairs along his arms lifted. Something in the air pressed down on the garden clearing. The water didn't ripple like it was being courted; it pulsed, waiting.

It wasn't Eura wasting the Spirit's time.

It was the Spirit holding her there.

He couldn't say why—but every instinct screamed that she was a piece on someone else's playground.

Eura leaned closer to the water, voice pleading. "What do you want? I don't seem to get it right! I've been trying Summer after Summer. Give me a hint!"

The Spirit stilled, its face locking into a grin that was neither man nor woman.

"I want," Koimar said softly, "one hundred and two… of what I want the most."

The lake went quiet, as if it was listening too.

Koimar's form fractured into a sheet of silver and vanished beneath the surface.

Splash!

Water erupted in a cold spray, drenching Eura from hair to hem and spattering across Lamar's shoulders. Droplets ran down her cheeks, soaking the paper boats into sad, crumpled petals.

Lamar wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. "Hey, you want—"

"I don't understand…" Eura's voice wavered as she stared at the rippling lake, hands clutching the ruined origami. "Why are they so mean? Something must've… hurt them. If I only knew why… maybe I could make them happy."

Lamar followed her gaze to the lake, but his eyes drifted upward. Heavy grey clouds rolled in, dragging their shadows across the water. A low breeze lifted the smell of wet stone and summer grass. The sky looked ready to weep when she would.

Lamar brushed the drops of the lake water from his sleeve. "We should go."

Eura didn't move right away. Her fingers tightened on the soggy skirt, and her reflection wavered in the rippling water—small and a little lost.

"I… I need to think," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Then she turned, skirts heavy with water and paper pulp, and walked the garden path without looking back. Lamar watched her go, a knot settling in his chest as the first cold drop of rain slid down from the grey sky.

He knew she was crying.

Eura loosened her grip on the skirt and let it fall. The heavy silk dragged behind her, drinking mud and catching blades of wet grass until green streaks climbed the fabric like vines.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the garden path stretching longer with every heartbeat. Her chest ached in that quiet, shapeless way that had no name, and her throat prickled as if a sob were hiding there, too shy to flee.

She thought of the Balsma-Saat Spirit. They would never tell her why their debt belonged to her, or what treasure their heart craved. Only that it was one hundred and two. Always one hundred and two.

And no matter how many Summers she tried, her offerings sank like her hope.

The silver prosthetics bit gently into the curve of Eura's ears. From a distance, they could almost fool someone—almost. Up close, the fake points couldn't hide from the light.

Her dress scratched at her ribs, ribbons tugging at her shoulders. Lace scraped her neck every time she breathed. She could barely lift her arms without the layers swaying like a cage. None of it mattered. No ruffle or ribbon had ever made her father look at her longer than a heartbeat.

Jaer's shadow fell across hallways like comfort she didn't dare ask for but knew was there, and Lolth's was everything Eura wanted to be. Still, she felt smaller beside them, almost as if she didn't deserve them.

She had nothing. Not strength. Not brilliance. Not even ears that belonged.

Some days she wondered if she existed at all, or if she was just a ten-summer-old ghost in a borrowed dress.

A shadow slid across her, muting the raindrops. The drizzle stopped pattering against her forehead.

Eura tilted her head up.

A black umbrella hovered, rain sliding off its edges in thin, glistening streams. The round hand holding it was steady. She didn't know him, but he stood a step away; his plain tunic and his hair, somehow, were dry.

Eura's gaze climbed to his face. Round cheeks. Soft jaw. A smile that bloomed so bright it almost felt like sunlight had broken through the clouds just for him.

Yet, in the quiet space between heartbeats, a flicker passed over him—like a shadow moving beneath glass.

She couldn't name it. Not yet. Only the rain seemed to know, whispering its warning down the path, a secret she wouldn't understand until it was far, far too late.

Eura hear a "Hi!"

She blinked up at him, caught off guard. "…Hi."

"You got caught in this nasty rain! Good thing I came prepared," he said, brandishing the umbrella with too much pride.

"Thank you… But the rain doesn't really bother me." She shifted her weight, ready to slip away from him.

But his footsteps splashed after hers, the umbrella bobbing to keep her covered.

"Well, you could catch a cold."

Eura's lips twitched. "Hardly."

He tilted his head, eyes curious and far too bold. "But… you're not an elf."

"Neither are you, but you don't see me commenting on people's figures, do you?"

His mouth caught mid-smile. "Ah… I didn't mean—"

He stepped back, rain speckling his tunic now that the umbrella wasn't over him. His voice softened into something almost sheepish. "I just wanted to make a friend. That's all."

Eura hesitated.

He shrugged, "You… just look like you need one, too."

Eura slowed her steps, drifting closer to the centre of the umbrella until their shoulders almost brushed. Raindrops slipped through the edge, darkening the boy's curls until they clung to his forehead.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, watching the rain drip from him instead of her. "I didn't want to… well…"

"Everyone has bad days. It's okay."

That smile caught her off guard. It was beautiful.

"I like your smile," she admitted after a pause. "It looks…"

"Pretty?" he teased.

"Sincere."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Not many people would call me that."

"My name is Eura. What is—"

The boy dipped into an abrupt bow, careful to keep the umbrella over her head. Water rolled off his sleeve as he spoke.

"Forgive me, Princess. I didn't recognise you."

She wrinkled her nose, half amused, half annoyed. "Stop making a fool of yourself and stand up. I just want a name."

"My name is Xe—" He hesitated. It wasn't long, but long enough for her curiosity to bite.

"Xe…? Like Hex?" she pressed, eyes bright with the thrill of catching him.

He gave a small, sheepish smile. "Euhhh… yes. Xe."

"Hex," she repeated, tasting the word like a secret. "What a peculiar name. I love it."

The rain eased to a mist, the sun nudging light across the wet gardens. Water shone on the hedges, on the umbrella, on his curls—but a quiet shadow clung to the boy all the same, one that sunlight couldn't quite chase away.

"Peculiar indeed."

From the far edge of the garden, Lamar watched them.

The Princess had begun to smile again, and that should have been enough to ease him.

But it wasn't.

There was something in the air—too quiet, too soft, like the pause before a storm.

Among those who surrounded the Summerqueen, we find an assortment of exceptional figures: mages, scholars, tacticians, and thinkers whose contributions far exceeded those of their predecessors. Unfortunately, not all of their names remain intact in the historical record. Court archivists were selective — and selective memory is the most efficient form of erasure.

One such figure is Lamar.

Family name: unknown.

(If documentation is ever uncovered, I will revise this entry. I doubt such records still exist — or that they ever did.)

From surviving accounts, Lamar was raised in Pollux Palace alongside the heiress of the Sorgenstein throne. In circumstances deliberately obscured, he served as her earliest sparring partner — though the palace never acknowledged the arrangement. It would have raised questions that no one wished answered.

Magi Lamar would, in any official chronicle, be remembered as the youngest candidate to complete the Trial of the Chosen.

But the narrative the Order accepts is not the one he lived.

To undergo the Trial of Elements, one must first pass the Trial of the Chosen.

Yet Lamar did not accept his choosing.

He was the one who chose.

He remained at her side — not for rank, not for prestige, not for magical ascent.

He stayed because he believed the Summerqueen would one day require someone who could tell her the truth, and set her back toward it when necessary. The kind of truth neither power nor prophecy can supply.

The trust of a childhood friendship — the most fragile loyalty of all, and yet, the strongest. —The Hexe – Book Three by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer.