Hexe | The Long Night

Jaja said

do not open the door,

or close it alone.

Or they will be gone.

But no one told me

how to keep someone

who walked in,

who walked out

without doors at all.

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 Unpublished manuscript, Summer.

Sunlight spilt across the empty classroom, warming the wooden floor and painting gold over the Pollux garden beyond the windows. Leaves outside swayed lazily, and somewhere a bird trilled.

Jaer lowered his book, letting it rest against the desk. Across the table, Eura sat with her chin in her palm, eyes drifting to the garden where the breeze teased the flowers. Her sheet of paper lay untouched.

He watched her in curiosity. Eura usually filled silences with a flood of words—hungry words, happy words, sad words, all of them tumbling out as easily as her laughter.

Today, there was only the scratch of a branch against the glass and the small, stubborn stillness of a girl who had never kept her thoughts from him before.

Something in Eura had shifted. She skipped from training now—not that many times, but enough for Jaer to notice.

Once, she would refuse to quit until sweat slicked her hair to her temples. Now, her excuses were quiet, and her absences left an odd hollow in the training grounds bushes.

She wore dresses more often as well. The skirts swished around her ankles, and though she still tugged at the ribbons with a scowl, the defiance had dulled. She moved in them now, not proudly, but as if the weight of expectation had finally pressed her into a shape she didn't quite choose.

Jaer tried to trace the outline of the change. She was still Eura, bright, restless, stubborn as a little flame, but some part of her felt… just out of reach. And for the first time, he couldn't name what was different.

Jaer's chair creaked as he shifted, peering over the top of his book. "That essay on the Sorgenstein first dynasty isn't going to write itself," he said, with the light tease he knew usually earned a grin.

Eura didn't look up. Her quill spun idly between her fingers.

"A thousand words are too much for such a boring story."

"Boring?"

"One elf planted one tree, and poof—a kingdom," she said flatly. "Boring."

"You're forgetting the nuances."

"There are none," she countered without hesitation. "They built Pollux around the tree. Then the cities. Then the villages. And the ones at the edges got forgotten. Human cities are the same. They just used stone instead of trees."

Jaer leaned closer, elbows on the desk. "What's wrong, Sunbeam?"

"Do humans live in Pollux?" Eura asked, her head tilting as she set the quill down.

"Humans?"

"Yes."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know."

A small huff of laughter escaped him despite himself. She could dig her heels into the softest question and turn it into a duel.

"Well… there's no law against them in elven lands. But they're not exactly welcome. It would be very dangerous."

"Why?"

The tiefling rested his back on the chair, tapping his fingers on the cover of the book. "Maybe… because they build with stone instead of trees."

"That's a very poor answer."

"Why are you asking? Did you see or... encounter a human, Sunbeam?"

"Maybe…" Eura rested her elbows on the desk. "He didn't look like me or like an elf. Or a fae. Or even a halfing. And he had a peculiar smell."

"Peculiar?"

"Like… a strange garlicky garden party. Fermented… a scent I can't explain." She wrinkled her nose at the memory. " It was peculiar."

"Charming."

"It wasn't bad," she admitted, "but it wasn't… great either."

"And what was their name?"

"Hex," she said simply.

Jaer's eyebrows lifted. "Ah. Yes. That is undoubtedly a human's name."

"How do you know?"

Jaer leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with the ease of a story ready to be told.

"Humans are very superstitious. They give the name Hex to their children so no one will hex them. They believe that with such a name, the child is already hexed, and therefore safe."

Eura's brows furrowed in fascination. "Do you know any other? Like those superstitions?" She leaned closer, demanding. "Another. Tell me."

He tipped his head back, gaze wandering across the wooden beams of the classroom ceiling as he searched for another example.

"Well… elves are no better than humans. They are also superstitious. They have a thing with doors."

"Doors?"

"Have you ever noticed," Jaer said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "that no one ever lets you open or close a door?"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"That's because I'm a princess," she said matter-of-factly, tapping her quill on the desk. There is no tale around it. There are many things that are done for me. Perks of a title, I guess."

He shook his head, a small smile curling at the edges. "No, Sunbeam. It's because they want you to stay, or worse, to return."

Eura stilled, the tip of the quill hovering above her blank page. "And what happens if I open and close the door?"

"They believe that will be the last time they ever see you. You'll never come back. And will lose their princess forever."

The sunlight caught in her eyes as she finally looked at him, quiet now, her lips pressed into a thoughtful line—as if she were memorising his face, just in case he one day chose to close a door.

There he was, right where she'd hoped, beneath the same crooked tree where they'd first met. Hex lay sprawled across the grass, arms folded behind his head, the sun painting lazy gold across his cheeks.

His eyes were closed, but something in the twitch of his lips gave him away.

Eura crept closer on quiet feet, suppressing a grin. A twig snapped beneath her heel and still—nothing. He didn't flinch, didn't move.

She knelt beside him, low enough to catch the rhythm of his breath, and leaned in with a whisper warm against his ear.

"I know your secret."

His eyes flew open. For a moment, she could've sworn he turned three shades paler, and then redder. He shot upright like a startled cat.

"You know my—"

But she cut him off with a laugh, too quick, already pulling the chessboard from behind her back.

"You're a human! And I brought this so we can play. Do you know what it is?"

"Your defeat, princess."

Too many minutes later, the board sat between them in the grass. Eura frowned, arms crossed, a bishop dangling from her hand. Hex sat opposite, legs tucked under him, a smug little wrinkle at the edge of his grin.

His side of the board looked like an army on parade—hers, like the aftermath of a tiny, polite war.

"I don't understand," she muttered, inspecting the board. "I always win against Jaja."

"That's because Jear likes you," Hex said, nudging his knight forward with one finger. "I, however, do not like you, and I enjoy victory."

Eura narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to wipe that smile off your very lying human face."

"I'd like to see you try, Princess."

His fingers hovered above the chessboard. A long pause passed.

"Well…" he finally said, voice light but a touch too careful. "I thought you already knew I was human."

Eura leaned forward, one eyebrow raised. "Now I'm sure."

Hex glanced up, caught between amusement and unease. "How… exactly?"

"Because humans name their children Hex," she said, nudging a knight forward, "to trick others into thinking they're already cursed. It's an old superstition. Jaja told me so."

"Is that so?"

"You didn't know that?"

"One can't know everything."

"Well, as Princess of Sorgenstein and heiress to Whitestone." She adjusted her skirt with ceremony, spreading it neatly around her like a throne. "I demand you tell me where you're from."

Hex leaned his elbows on his knees, chin resting on clasped hands. The board between them was starting to look more and more like a battlefield, and hers was losing ground fast.

"Keblurg," Hex said at last, the word tasting too heavy for how lightly he tried to toss it. His eyes stayed fixed on the board, but something in his voice caught. "But I've been travelling around."

"Where?"

"When?"

"When?"

"Oh, you meant where?" He chuckled with no apparent reason.

Eura's hand paused mid-air, her rook hanging uncertainly between two squares. "I know the Map almost by heart, but Keblurg? I've never heard of that place. Where is it?"

Hex shrugged, nudging one of her pawns aside like it barely mattered. "It got folded into Spiyles after the Great Exodus. Old borders don't mean much anymore."

There was something in his tone, flat, maybe too careful, that made her glance up. She couldn't quite name it.

"Why didn't you say so?" she said, sitting straighter. "Spiyles, I know. The King and his wife always come to my Summerfest. They bring awful honey cakes but very charming people."

Hex chuckled, but his bishop quietly slipped into place, cornering her remaining knight.

Eura's eyes narrowed at the board. "You're distracting me again."

"I'm just answering your questions." He moved a piece—quietly—and captured one of hers. "You like them?"

Eura glanced up, puzzled. "You mean the King and the Queen?"

"Humans."

She blinked, then looked back at the board, fiddling with a pawn she was no longer sure how to save. "Well… I don't see why not. They belong to my realm, after all."

Hex didn't answer right away. His fingers stilled, and for a moment, he just looked at her—really looked, like he was trying to trace the name of the colour in her eyes.

"Humans are wicked," he said at last. "They seem soft. Polite. Harmless. Weak. But the moment they see an opening…"

He flicked his knight into place—check.

"…they take. Not what they need. What they want."

Eura frowned at the board, then at him. "Why would they do that? If they asked, I'd give them what they needed."

"That's just it," Hex said, gaze fixed not on the game, but on her. "They don't ask. That's not how it works."

"I don't understand what you mean," Eura said, eyes fixed on the board. "Taking something that would've been given freely isn't a crime. It's not betrayal."

Hex hovered over his next move, fingers grazing his queen, then paused. His brow creased. He glanced at the board again, slower this time.

His King was cornered and had no escape. How did he miss that?

"How did you know Jaja's name is Jaer?"

"You probably mentioned it."

"I didn't."

"How would I know?"

Eura leaned back with a quiet, satisfied breath. "Checkmate, human."

Hex stared in disbelief. "What? How?"

"You got distracted and you lost," Eura said, brushing her hair from her cheek. Her tone was light, but her eyes were penetrating. "You weren't ready to face me. I am being trained to rule over land, sea and sky. I have eyes and ears spread throughout the Map. And I won't rule the world alone. I'll have advisors. An army. Ministers. Kings and Queens whispering what my people need. Humans or not, I can't have the luxury to lose. Even if it's just a board game."

She tapped the board once, a soft knock of finality. "So if someone takes from me… and it isn't already on the table to be given—that's when I'll be the Sun who burns land, sea and sky."

Hex blinked, once, then again. A breathy laugh escaped him, stunned and quietly impressed. "I can't believe I missed that. You're right. But, it's not how it works…" He leaned back on his hands. "You didn't even know where Keblurg was until I told you."

She shrugged. "So? You taught me."

"What if I lied?"

"Did you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his voice dropped—cooler now. "Maybe it's time you learned how the Dames before you really ruled the Map."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever tried to step inside an Ormsaat?"

Eura stilled. Her hand hovered above a pawn that no longer mattered.

"You would have won," she said, "if you weren't so busy lecturing me."

Hex's expression shifted—something unreadable flickered across his face. He stood, stepping around the board with slow ease.

"You're sure then?" he asked. "If a human takes… It's not betrayal?"

She met his eyes, steady. "Of course I'm sure. I'll be a good Dame. I'll serve everyone, as I said, humans or not."

He looked at her for a long moment, gaze threading through something deeper than doubt.

"And if I take something from you," he said, softer now, "without warning, without asking… would you still say it's not betrayal?"

Eura didn't flinch. "No," she said. "It's not. Why would it be?"

Hex's hand darted forward, scattering the pieces. The queen toppled, the knights fell.

Eura gasped, half rising as if to protest—then his lips crashed against hers.

For a heartbeat, the garden fell still.

Then the wind stirred. Not a breeze, but something deeper—an upward pull that twisted through the trees, bent the long grass, and sent the clouds scattering.

Eura pulled back, eyes lifting toward the sky.

The grass bent. The trees bowed. But not because of Eura.

Above them, three dragons cut through the sky, casting shadows that stretched across the garden as they turned their course toward Pollux.

Nowadays, you can scroll through your little phones and gadgets and find hundreds of films, documentaries, podcasts, and books — most of which I did NOT write — discussing the reign of the Summerqueen. Each claims authority. Each claims truth. Most are pure fantasy.

Some portray her as the most vile ruler in recorded history.

Others insist she was manipulated, betrayed, and undone by forces older than her throne. The usual sensationalism designed to hold attention for nine seconds at a time.

A few depict her as frivolous, a court darling concerned only with appearance. The live drama of the court.

And there are those who argue she was unstable, a monarch destroyed by grief and the slow decay of a mind bearing too much power.

But there is one point on which they all agree:

There was a time, brief but undeniably real, when she cared for every corner of the Map.

When she sought bridges, not borders. When she believed safety was not a privilege, but a right: Health. Food. Shelter. Education.

The simple dignity of survival. So the question persists: Where did that resolve go?

I will not answer that here. Not yet. Understanding comes later, and only those willing to read my work will learn that the change happens slowly. But from all those accusations, who was Eura Zonnestra Mageschstea Berdorf? —The Hexe – Book Three by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer.