Page 31 of The Starlight Savior

“But, there is something I can’t quite grasp.” Saige paused, sighing. “I was born and raised in Oswan with my father…and you knew I was found a village away.”

Eva opened her mouth. Closed it. “I can’t truly answer that. Maybe I was naive in thinking you traveled away and found solace. That your father stopped writing and you fled out of protection.” She chuckled softly, but her eyes were absent. “How simple minded of me. My mind tends to run astray if I think for too long.”

Suddenly, Eva’s body was a blur as she rose from the chair, striding towards the door.

“Wait!” Saige gasped. “I didn’t mean to slight you!” The idea of Eva fleeing, leaving her alone, was petrifying. She realized she did wish to hear Eva’s tales, to learn who her father was. What made him tick. His relationship with her mother past the bounds of their mistruths.

Turning to Saige, Eva wore a ragged and wild expression. “You wish to know who your father truly was?” Her curls were feral beside her head. “There are simply no words to describe him. You must know that. I’m sure you have extraordinary stories of your own. Instead I must show you.”

Saige’s head tilted to the side. “You still have the letters?”

“Come,” she said quickly, waving her hand forward, “I promise it will be a short walk.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Stepping into her father’s quarters, burnt embers and pine smothered her. An overpowering wave crashed upon her as her finger trailed the layer of dust coating every surface. A large unmade bed sat in the middle of the room. Clothes spilled out from a tall and open wardrobe. Books, papers, and dusty weapons were piled onto his desk, strikes of lightning carved into the wood.

It reminded her so much of her father that her chest physically hurt.

Her mother used to always tease him for the chaos she put up with. Her side had always remained clean, the bedside table empty besides one candle to illuminate the evening. Her father’s side was similar to the room before her, littered with stained and burnt clothes, annotated and smudged books, and weapons forged by his very hands.

There was no denying now that Oscar Nerestel lived here. The evidence surrounded her, consumed her.

“Sometimes I come and sit, right on the floor, and look around. At every piece of his life that is preserved here. I keep the candles lit, the door unlocked. No need to disturb anything. It feels better to keep him here. In case he returns or…maybe even for this exact moment.”

Saige took a step forward. She kept opening her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Gratitude swelled in her. Hearing about her father versus seeing pieces of him was different. Eva had known exactly what she needed to believe all of this. Whatever anger and betrayal she felt in the dining hall had been dimmed by this very experience. She could find her answers here and understand why she had never known of their magical bloodline or their pasts.

“Let us sit.” Eva walked towards the unkempt bed, carefully sitting on the edge as if it might collapse. In her hands was a stack of faded paper. Saige opted for the floor. Just like Eva had, she didn’t want to disturb any part of her father in here. Not yet.

Looking up, she began to see her aunt in a different light. She was beautiful, yes. But her features were carved with something haunting. Wide, tear-filled eyes that never stilled. Shadows etched into her skin. Hair that couldn’t be tamed. Is this what Saige’s own grief looked like?

“Your father wrote me letters for years.” Eva sifted through the papers. Some of them were fresh and clean. Others were wrinkled, ink smudges bleeding through the parchment.

“And my name was in them?” She itched to reach out and grab them. But fear kept her grounded. Saige didn’t know what questions or answers would haunt her in her father’s words.

Eva’s gaze faltered. “Giving King Vospella your name…I was trying to help but…maybe I wished to see you too.”

“How did he manage to send them?” Letters weren’t exactly regulated in Brevil. But a letter from the mortal kingdom to a magical one seemed unheard of. What carriage or raven would travel to Etrane letter after letter?

Eva’s grief seemed to falter, allowing a twinkle of amusement to shine through. “There are many ways to communicate when the world’s power is at your fingertips. By raven is most common. The more discrete, and personally my preference, is by fire.”

“By fire?” Saige gaped. Leaning towards Eva, she took in the markings on the outside of the letters. There were small burn holes and charred edges.

“As I’m sure you’re thinking, you can’t simply send a letter from Brevil to Etrane. So your father and I used a different kind of magic. He’d write a letter, enchant it, and burn it. It would show up right in my quarters and vice versa.”

Saige thought back to her father’s bedroom, the endless papers that her mother had never pushed him to tidy. Had he been sending letters to others too?

“That’s amazing,” Saige admitted. “I didn’t realize what magic-wielders were capable of.”

Saige had always divided magic into two categories: simple and dangerous. Simplicity was the basic elements around her that kept Opela alive, including earth magic and healing. Dangerous magic was the unknown, power used beyond the borders and simmering under her skin.

But enchantments, sigils, and letters by fire didn’t fit into either. It was complex and alluring. And a piece of her liked it.

“There are many extraordinary things that you’ll learn to do,” Eva said with a small smile. “It just takes time.”

Picking up the first letter, Eva moved her hand slowly across the parchment as she opened it. When she began to read, Saige couldn’t help but join her on the bed. She moved closer with each word her aunt uttered, wishing to see exactly what her father had written. Her father’s handwriting was an ancient relic, letters curling together.

“He was a very gifted warlock,” Eva explained between lines. “His magic was connected to lightning and thunder, drawing energy from the storms. Very useful in our kingdom. He moved his way up the ranks quickly. Could’ve been the next general, sitting beside King Vospella with all the power and control a great warrior would have wanted. When your father never returned, it was passed down to Zathos instead.”