It seemed as if the city of Arazia, never slept. Music played streamed from the inns scattered around the city throughout the night, and only stopped in the early hours of the morning. Merchants called out to possible buyers long after the moon had replaced the sun, calling out their newly stocked goods, fresh from the harbor—which was in fact the busiest part of the city, despite the market's performance. Bakers, potters, seamstresses, metal-smiths, goldsmiths, hunters, bards and future tellers lined the main street, each a different strand in a tapestry, and each it's own instrument in a symphony of noise.

Boats could be seen entering and exiting the city, a line of impatient seamen waiting for their cargo to be unloaded, tallied and transported to its next destination, all so they could find the closest tavern and sink into land pleasures. Travelers visited the city in hopes of gaining a good vantage point of the Choosing when it came round. The streets were full making traveling within the city a arduous task. The Choosing was a historic event—only every few thousand years or so. It was a mystery to most of the public just how long they had to wait between Choosings, Keeper Karia having been around for three generations at least, so to witness a Choosing was considered an honour and privilege.

Each Elemental Nation would hold its own Choosing ceremony, and out of the five ceremonies, only one would be chosen to be the new Keeper. Stories from Andriah were most interesting. The Elves were convinced that the next Keeper would be their kin, but travelers from Vishdala—realm of the Feiries—told of the certainty that it would be one of them. All the stories, all the visitors and merchants, parties and banquets, whispers and rumours ignited the city with life and energy, the likes of which Anya had never known before.

And yet, regret burdened her.

The city's exuberance only reminded her that she would sit aside for the historic event, watch others shake with nerves, smile with hope and celebrate at success. The Imalandro had been the centre of attention to all guardians. Its halls and gardens occupied at all time with different guardians, rushing around, preparing all that needed to be prepared from decoration to defenses. Anya had been given a few tours around the gigantic building, Dorothy had been her guide, leading her with an excited proficiency that spoke of her years living in Arazia. If Anya were lucky, Irien would squeeze in time for her, but never for long. Some urgent matter that demanded only her ear always dragged her away.

Despite the small—surprising—pool of disappointment each time, the Imalandro itself provided enough intrigue to hold Anya's attention. An endless maze of corridors to explore, an abundance of stairwells and secret alcoves to to discover and a copious collection of art, furniture, history and books in which to get captured with. The deeper one delved, the older everything became, like you were peeling back layers of time to find the root and then the seed of it all. According to Dorothy, the guardians had built around the original structure, expanding and extending where necessity demanded it, but not wanting to destroy a part of their history either. The dome at the top of the apartments tower had been built a couple of decades back, and the school on the side of the main building had just recently been completed. Most of the main building was prohibited to novices, due to an unfortunate series of disappearing novices. Most had been found, albeit a little worse for wear, but others were a casualty of curiosity and the source of countless ghost stories.

"Is everything alright?" Anya looked across the carriage. Derrick held a concerned expression; his brows were crooked from his frown and his lips pressed hard against each other.

"Yes," Anya said softly, but then quickly changed her mind when an idea came to her. "Well, no. I am worried about Irien." Anya suppressed a smile as Derrick seemed to sit straighter. She reached for her rusty ring, and waited for his reply—which she enjoyed to find took a while.

"Really? W-what is the matter with her? Is she sick?"

"No, not really...well, I think she is lovesick." Anya smiled innocently at Derrick's slack-jawed expression.

The guardian cleared his throat. "Lovesick? I don't think it is business of yours to worry about it then." He changed his sitting position, folding his hands neatly in one another.

"You're likely right, and I usually wouldn't worry, but Irien and I...we've grown close and well, I think she misses him." She is going to kill me if she ever finds out.

"Misses him?" Derrick half choked, but recovered by clearing his throat and giving a false smile.

"Yes," Anya looked at her folded hands, allowing her hair to fall in front of her face to hide the smile. "I think she is regretting what she did." Derrick said nothing so Anya continued. She twitched her mouth, thinking of what else to say. "I think she was scared. Scared of falling in love, in case he hurt her, but I can't understand why."

Derrick chuckled, and the next time he spoke, Anya heard the stain in his voice. "Love is a scary emotion, Anya. Everyone, man or women, has a right to fear it. Even someone as strong and independent as your teacher."

"I know, but I can't imagine him hurting her. He loved her. I am sure of it."

"Was it a man in your town?" Derrick was looking out the window. Anya could see that his cheeks were red and his jaw clenched.

"Yes, his name was...Caleb." Anya laughed inside as the name came to her.

Derrick nodded. "We are here."

"Oh," Anya peeked out the small carriage window. They had stopped outside a large building with a square sign hanging above the large barn doors. Harold's Horses' was a grand stable. It sported a red, tiled roof, burgundy, wooden doors and bricked walls with neatly trimmed hedges edging its perimeter. The round fountain placed in the middle of the cobbled courtyard added a nice touch to the place, the water a sweet introduction to the sounds of horses in the distance. She followed Derrick into the stables, which were perhaps slightly smaller than her father's. A large man wearing an old shirt with dirty pants and riding boots came strolling towards them. His hairy face beamed at them, and when he spoke it was as if the earth shook.

"Hello there, my Lord and novice, how can I help ye?"

"Good morning Harold, come to buy a horse." Derrick lowered his head as the large man bowed.

"Have ye now?" he said scratching his beard. "What would it be a young gelding or docile mare?"

"A gelding," Anya said grabbing the man's attention and smiling at Harold's confused expression.

"Would it be for you then," he asked.

"No, it's for me," Derrick said. "Novice Anya's father is a horse breeder from Tjorin Vale and so I asked her advice."

Harold's eyes widened and a round mouth appeared in the mess of hair as he laughed loudly. "So this be old Lor's daughter!" he exclaimed. "I think I even have a few of ye father's horses here. Not often we do, they sell like fire catches to hay, ye know."

"How old?" Anya asked, ignoring all the fuss.

"Around five years to seven. Bought them last year. Good strong horses. Would you like to see em?" Derrick nodded politely and smiled down at Anya. Harold called out for the stable boys giving them instruction in a gruff—almost frustrated—manner.

A few minutes later both boys came back with four horses. A light grey, a dun, a skewbald and a bay. Anya's eye were immediately caught by the bay's intelligent face and broad chest. It was a tall horse, with long legs and small feet. It had a powerful neck that it held proudly on powerful shoulders. A white star on its forehead was its only markings. Its hair was long and its tail was highly set. She stepped closer to examine the horse. The stallion nuzzled her curiously as she ran her fingers down its withers and legs. It had a long back mane and from what she could tell he was five years old.

"Good horse," Harold said proudly. "Surprised nobody has bought him yet. But suppose nobody be in the market for a stallion of his quality every day. He's a strong beast, perhaps not the strongest, but a darn good challenge." Anya nodded, the other three were slightly taller than the stallion and were far more muscular. The grey especially had a proud face that was supported by a muscular neck.

"What do you think of him?" Anya asked Derrick.

"He's a beautiful horse," he said running his hand through the long black hair. "Can I ride him?"

"Sure," Harold said. "Let's just saddle him up for ye."

"Lady Anya, you not 'aving breakfast?"

Anya looked up from her book. It was still early morning—too early to be considered healthy. She had decided to wake early to clear her head, and perhaps catch Irien before she left, yet she had found Irien's bed cold and unused. Irien had to be far more important than Anya had initially thought, and despite Dorothy being warm and wonderful company, she missed arguing with her teacher.

There was only so much time Anya could spend exploring the now familiar city, talking with the amusing Dorothy anr reading books. Asten, Derrick's new horse had provided a brief, yet welcome new distraction for a time, but even then the horse was trained and well taken care of.

What she truly missed was the company of people her own age. Alec was forbidden to see her. Lady Dhanna was making sure she was not within shouting distance of her, and Gina ignored her of her own accord. Not surprising, just irksome, as she was proving to be a popular, little butterfly amongst other novices.

A few days ago she had spotted Gina in the gardens and waved, shouted a greeting, and received no response from the other girl standing with a group of other novices. Instead, Gina led her herd of white wrapped sheep elsewhere. Anya had refrained from not hauling a rock at Gina's face—with difficulty.

Tero was becoming her new, and only friend. He had visited her sleep every second night for the last week; each time visiting a new place and sharing different stories. Night, was fast becoming her favorite time of day. She jumped out of her thoughts when she heard someone clear her throat. Dorothy was standing with her hands on her wide hips, with her thick lips pursed.

"Come, come. Breakfast iz vaiting, follow old Dorry."

"I'm coming." Anya closed the book—a fascinating account of the history of the Merfolk. She found it in Irien's study, tucked away amongst the other books on the shelves.

Dorothy led her back into the main building and up to the eighth level. By the time they reached the door to Irien's room, Dorothy was wheezing. Guardians usually used their Will power to float to their floor, but for those who were unable to use the power, they were forced to walk up and down the numerous flights of steps.

"Next time," Dorothy wheezed, "can you not read in ze room?"

Anya laughed. "I enjoy the sea air. The room is too...confined for me."

Dorothy snorted, but made no attempt to argue. The smells that drifted from the room made Anya's mouth water. Dorothy was a brilliant cook, maybe even better than her mother. Each meal was a fabulous array of different dishes, each with its own spicy flavour. Irien was seated at the table, slowly lifting her fork to her mouth. She smiled at Anya as she entered.

"Irien? You're back."

"Indeed." Irien nodded slowly. She had dark rings under her eyes and looked as if she was about to collapse. Anya sat down and broke her fast in silence until Irien spoke up. "Have you bought a dress for tonight?"

"Dorothy and I were at the market yesterday."

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, a light blue, cotton dress from one of the stalls."

Irien smiled half-heartedly.

Anya pushed her food back and forth on her plate, staring at it as if it held some important information.

"I'm afraid I won't see you again today. Keeper Karia has made sure that all guardians are busy preparing for the ceremony tonight."

"But you have been working on the ceremony all week, what else is there to do?"

"There is always something more to do."

Anya nodded more out of routine than true understanding. She quickly finished her meal and left the table once Irien had left. Irien did not return to the apartment as she had promised. The ceremony was to begin late afternoon and would run through the night.

Dorothy made Anya remain in the apartment for the whole morning, saying that the streets would be very busy today and dangerous too. All sorts of people were staying in the city for the ceremony and you could never be too careful. She told Anya of a woman who worked in the kitchen at an inn in the middle of the city, whose purse had been ripped as she was walking back to her house.

"Terrible timez we live in. It iz all good zat ze festival iz 'ere but the kinds of mongrels it brings...never good."

By afternoon, Dorothy was already helping Anya dress for the festival. She had made her a scented bath and helped Anya wash her long, dark hair. After that she gave Anya a handful of different bottles of balm, each with its own unique smell. "Make skin silky soft, yes?"

"But do I really need this many?"

"Of course, your skin iz like dry paper. Reminds me of me mamma back in Ziri; dark skin zat vos rougher zan rock."

"My skin is not rough!"

"Stop argue and start to rub."

Anya stuck her tongue out and received a slap on the bottom in return.

Dorothy's strange accent came from Ziri—a dangerous, wild land too treacherous to conquor. Stories from Dorothy's youth, and tales of her travels to Arazia, and failure to become a guardian had captivated Anya, gaining her instant respect in Anya's eyes. Irien had taken pity on the penniless, foreign girl and offered her work and lodging. It was hard to think of Irien as being older than the wrinkled woman in front of her, but the Will did extend one's life, preserving youth and beauty. Anya applied only two of the balms. The one smelt like jasmine and honey and the other mint. She then slipped into her new cotton dress and called for Dorothy to tie the back. Once finished she stepped in front of the mirror.

What she saw frightened and pleased her. She hardly recognized herself in the smart blue dress, with it's boning, ties and belt. All her life she had refused to wear dresses and now she was standing in the grandest looking garment she had ever owned. It was simple yet effective. The sleeves hardly covered her shoulders, which helped disguise their wideness. The neckline plunged into a V-neck that was lower than what she expected. It had no pattern. It was plain blue with a dark belt that wrapped around her hips lightly and tied in the front. A slit in the side of the dress allowed for easier movement and the length was just right.

"Ah, its bootiful."

Anya did not reply, she stared at the stranger that was an echo of her former self. What has happened to me? Mother would... "Tie me up, please."

Dorothy smiled and began to tie the back of her dress gently.

"Now lets do your 'air and face, yes?"