Magma Dragon's Heir

19th of Season of Earth, 59th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt reached his residence, the generic housing which all elite students received as a benefit of their status. The only use he found for the building was that of storage, since he constantly moved between the library and meditation rooms, only stopping by to sleep.

The lacquered wooden door had a tiny hole in the frame. He might have missed it, if not for a bee pushing its way out and buzzing away.

Was that always there?

Nervously, Newt held his breath and opened the door.

The air was fresh, his two pairs of spare shoes recently cleaned by the door. Newt walked into a cozy living room with open windows to air the space. There he saw his old spear, right where he had left it, leaning against the corner wall. Sunlight trickled in at an angle, motes of dust dancing in its rays.

Newt had few impressions of the building. It was irrelevant back when he got it. Worse, it separated him from his friends; it housed his spare clothes and scant few personal possessions he owned. That was it.

With a sigh, he scanned the room. Four sealed letters lay at the center of the table. Newt approached and opened one mechanically.

Son,

I heard about the attack. Please let me know you are alive and well.

Dad

Newt swallowed. A typical message from his father. The other two were from his mother. The first letter had thrice as many words, but the same content as his father's, the second a mere plea for him to respond, sent two moons later. Both his parents' handwritings, their sharp and deep lines, showed the urgency and the strained nerves of the writers. Newt wanted to get out of his messy robes and see Rose again, but he had enough time to pen a pair of letters.

Dad,

I'm alive and well.

Son

Newt chuckled at the message, using the bit of humor to fight the dark mood and the emotional storm brewing in the back of his mind. To his mother, he wrote a proper message, thanking her for her concern and asking about her health.

Newt looked at the final message, the seal of black wax depicting a dandelion flower, a handful of its seeds detached and floating away.

When did you get a crest? Instead of breaking it, Newt slashed it off and placed it on a shelf as a memento, afraid that might be the only thing left of his big brother.

Dear Little Brother,

The news of your circumstances reached me several hours ago, when someone discussed the state of a royal princess, and I am heading out as soon as I pen this message.

The odds are you will read it by the time everything is over and long in the past, but still, there are certain things I wish to share with you.

Life is sometimes harsh. We lose the people we know and love. When I first heard of the misfortune that had befallen your order, I did not drop everything and rush to your aid. Instead, I considered what I should say to you, how I should counsel you, and I believe you need to face the harsh realities of life.

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You are a survivor. Since we are survivors, our lives are often filled with tragedy because we outlive our loved ones. Our allies fall where we do not, and even in peace, we resist the ravages of time better. Based on what I have heard, the assault on your order resulted in many deaths, and you have almost certainly lost people you knew and cared about. I am deeply sorry for your loss, but be aware that this will happen again and again. Your life will be long, the list of dead or fallen friends longer.

Do not drive away people, for true friends enrich our lives and make them better. Grieve, honor the fallen, and move on. Anything less is a betrayal of their feelings and their wishes. Once upon a time, I mentioned drowning in sin, and while I am certain you would never do that, I must warn you not to indulge in escapism. The strong face their problems and sorrows head-on.

And you are strong. Possibly the strongest person in the world. March on towards your future, remember what you are feeling, remember those you love, and think. Think about what you can do to make the world better, to ensure others do not experience such pointless loss. Think about your path, Blazing Star, and walk it.

I'm off to find you now, and while I have hopes, my gut tells me you are not peacefully sitting in your order.

Dandelion

Newt read the letter again. Did I outlive you?

He placed the paper on the shelf next to the black seal and went to the bathroom. There he washed himself and donned a new robe before heading out again. He sealed the nasty thoughts and questions, taking in his surroundings instead.

The inner students' residence appeared the same, a blocky building to house everyone. Newt checked the tablet with warnings, noticing no new additions since he had first joined the order some thirty moons ago.

Has it really only been two years? It feels like an eternity.

Newt climbed to the topmost floor and knocked on the door of his old apartment.

"Come in, it's open." Rose shouted from inside, and Newt let himself into his old apartment. The familiarity of it was an unpleasant shock, a reminder of the friends now dead.

"Please sit down while I freshen, and then we can go and pay our respects," Rose said from the bathroom. "Do you want something to eat? I have some prunes and dates and nuts in the cupboard."

"No, thanks." Newt checked the spear strapped to his back, and remained standing, his eyes glued to the door of Obi's room.

A part of him hoped and expected Obi would come out, say something stupid, which would provoke his sister to run out of her room and call him a dumb kidney stone. On some fundamental level, Newt understood that eighty percent of the student body had died. He knew it even before Dandelion and the gatemaster had found him or before his master repeatedly mentioned the horrible truth.

But his emotions changed when those numbers translated to faces of people he knew and cared for. The disciplinary chaplain and his spearmanship teacher dying made him sad, but that was it. His sorrow for the two seniors' passing eclipsed what he felt about eighty percent loss of life amongst the students, while his gut twisted about Obi's and Jasmine's deaths.

Newt focused on those emotions. All lives were equal on paper, but he would have preferred the order to have suffered an eighty-five percent loss of life with all his friends alive than the current situation.

I guess that's why we're all numbers, he mused and rubbed his eyes. That is not right. No, sacrificing the numbers for the sake of personal gain or happiness is evil. That's what the Blood Cult does.

I should protect the numbers. They have faces, names, loves, and dreams. I will protect them.

Newt did not know it, but something inside him grew more solid. He tried to focus on the odd sensation, but it slipped him when Roselilly walked into the room.

"Are you ready?" She didn't smile. Her face was dangerously serious, her uniform impeccable, and she smelled of Jas's favorite perfume.

Newt raised an eyebrow. "It reminds me of her. I don't have a favorite perfume, nor do I usually wear it, but Jas had one. You'd never think she'd have it, but she did."

Newt nodded, thinking, and it really was odd. Jas had a mildly slovenly streak. She would let go as soon as she had the chance, which was probably why she hadn't reached the fourth realm.

Had she reached it—Newt stopped that line of thought. Life and death had no what-ifs.

"Come, I'll show you the memorial."

Newt followed obediently, both of them moving in silence. They moved along a new path through the jungle, one equally distant to outer and inter students' districts.

The area had only one large building, big enough to fit several hundred people comfortably. Rose led the way to the third floor, where she stopped before two urns with plaques.

'Obsidian Deeproot' and 'Jasmine Deeproot,' they said.

"Hey, you big lug." Newt tried to smile, but tears wetted the corners of his eyes. "Rose told me what happened. You were a real man all the way until the end, fighting to protect your girlfriend. Rose said they found you next to each other, her grasping your wrist. I guess you were trying to be a womanizer right until the end—"

Newt choked on a lump, tears rolling down his cheeks.

I'm gonna miss you, Big Man.