"Again! Again!" Little Bria shrieks gleefully, clapping her hands together. She is in a meadow with her sisters, watching as Orsella makes the flower reach for her. The soft petals stretch towards her older sister's waiting fingers, it's thin stem twining itself around one of her fingers. Orsella is a Gaia, like every other person in Lysabel's family.

Orsella smiles tiredly, inhaling deeply.

"That's quite enough for the day, Bri. I feel faint."

Bria pouts and Lysabel laughs. In her biased opinion, Bria is the most adorable toddler in all of the regions.

"Come along, then. Mom would've wanted us home by now." Orsella takes Lysabel and Bria's hands and the three sisters make their way from the small meadow to their house. The sun has begun it's downward descent and people are scurrying to the safety of their homes.

Vendors wave cheerily to the three of them as they pack up their carts.

"Did you hear about what happened to that girl in Fynn's square at registration?" Orsella shakes her head, bewildered. "The poor thing!"

"I heard that she had been possessed."

"Nonsense," scoffs Orsella, keeping an eye on the waddling Bria. "Dark magic doesn't exist in the regions. Honestly, Lysa, you should know better than to talk about such things!"

Lysabel sighs. Her sister has always been a simpleton, with simple wants and simple needs. She's never wanted to be an Arcane, and her largest ambition is to get married and have a family. She's the enigma of a good daughter. But Lysabel can't help but wonder if her sister is truly so naive. As her father always says, there cannot be a light without darkness, and vice versa. Dark magic does exist. One must know where to look, that's all.

Lysabel shivers, wishing she'd brought a coat with her. She'd been so excited to attend Ruxnorth Academy but with the rumor of the Warlord going around... she doesn't know what to think. Hodwerry has always been where she's felt the safest.

"Come along, Bria! Don't wander!" Lysabel catches sight of their small property and her chest warms. Her house may be old and crumbling, but it's weathered many storms, providing everlasting protection. Like all the others in Hodwerry, her home consists of stucco facade, intercrossing dark brown boards, and a thatched roof. She can't think of anywhere else she wants to be. The thought of leaving Hodwerry to go live at Ruxnorth castle frightens her. Living in a dark, large castle surrounded by people she doesn't know? She can't think of living anywhere more terrible. Hodwerry itself is beautiful in simplicity. It's surrounded by woods and rivers and meadows, teeming with life ranging from the smallest of critters to majestic stags. It's a more homely community, compared to that of Vudnarth, or Braulia, but it's home.

Orsella mistakes her expression for fear of dark magic. "Do not worry, little sister. We are safe here, as always."

Lysabel can only muster a wan smile.

The three of them hurry past the gates and into the house, where Mum frets over them.

"Oh, you had me so worried, girls! What did I tell you about being outside when it's dark?" Lysabel opens her mouth but Orsella cuts in.

"We're ever so sorry, Mother. I lost track of time showing my gift to Bria." With a sweet smile, Mum's frenzy stills. She kisses Orsella on the cheek.

"Well, you're all back now. Supper will be on the table in a few minutes. Oh, Lysabel, would you help me bring in the tomatoes? They're getting quite plump." Lysabel wordlessly trails after her mother, knowing better than to interject. It's painstakingly clear that Mum loves Lysabel less than her other two daughters; she's always believed that girls should be prim and tidy, and shouldn't love doing things like running in the stream, or eating all of Mr. Bardwell's extra bakes down the street. In Mum's eyes, Lysabel is nothing but a symbol of a wasted job.

"Tut tut. We haven't got all night, Lysa!" She hastens along to the kitchen. Their house is small and cozy, enough for the five of them and the occasional guest.

"Sorry, Mum," Lysabel keels over to grab the beaten brass tub in the corner of the tiny kitchen and hefts it onto the dirty counter. Mom pushes the window open and her eyes flutter close. Instantaneously, plump, ripe tomatoes throw themselves into her hands, vines creeping like spindly fingers through the window. Lysabl nudges the tub closer to the window and with a flick of her mother's fingers, the fat fruits drop into the bucket. When Mum's finished collecting, she dismisses Lysabel with a flail of her hand.

"You're filthy, Lysabel. And that's a new dress, too." Mum shakes her head disapprovingly. "Go bathe before supper. I won't have you sitting at the table looking like that." Docilely, Lysabel ducks her head and leaves the kitchen. She's gotten used to her mother's offhanded words but it still hurts. The only person in this house that sees her as she is is her father, and most days, his job calls him away from home.

I have a home, I have a family, I have food. I shouldn't complain.

But sometimes, she just can't help but wish for what can never be.

✡✡✡

"This is delicious, Mother! The tomatoes are especially flavorful this season." Orsella exclaims, sounding genuine. Lysabel almost rolls her eyes. What's so exciting about tomatoes? Mum beams, love shining through her green eyes. Lysabel feels sparks of envy heat inside of her. Mum has never ever smiled or remotely looked at her with that expression. Father agrees with a hum, shoveling the tartlets into his mouth. He's home for the next week, a rare occasion. Her father is one of the mainstream guards, one of the more expendable ones. Dad always says though, that it only takes one grain of rice to tip the scale.

Her father is a sprightly man, with russet brown hair, like the leprechauns, remarkably enough, and vivid green eyes, eyes that always have sparks of life shimmering in them. Bria's the only one who inherited his hair color; Orsella and Lysabel both took after their mum's sunny yellow locks.

"Slow down, Radyn, you look like a hog!" scolds Mum fondly. Dad grins ruefully but slows down a bit.

"You can't blame me, Jaswyn. Army food tastes like bland slop compared to your meals."

"How is the border doing anyways, Dad?" pries Lysabel. Their father loves to regale them with the way they fight off dark beasts at the border, and Lysabel can never get enough of his stories. The only time she's left Hodwerry is to go to the larger markets, or go to Fynn's square so oftentimes, her father's stories are how she sees the world. It's rather pitiful, really, but one can't really travel on a lumbering bear. Lysabel glances mournfully at Orsella familiar, Acacia the grizzly bear. It snoozes next to Dad's armchair. Mum doesn't like to keep her familiar around, says the bear is nothing but a lump of work. She let hers free the moment she graduated from Ruxnorth.

Sometimes, when she goes frolicking in the woods, Lysabel glimpses the shaggy beast. It's quite a peaceful thing, content to munch on berries. But she would much rather her family be Tsunamis or Arcanes, rather than lowly Gaias. Lysabel knows that the chances of Summoning a kelpie or a dragoni are little to none, but what hurt is there to hope?

Dad's expression turns grave and a large rock appears in Lysabel's stomach. Her father is nowhere near a solemn person; in her memories, she's always seen him bursting with life and vigor. So for Dad to look at her with such seriousness... she almost wishes she hadn't asked.

"The break-ins are mounting and we're losing more men. I don't know what's causing the sudden uprising, but I don't suppose it's anything good." A thought surfaces in her mind, like a petal upon a placid pond. Lysabel hesitates. Her mother might slap her for saying it aloud but it's a valid concern.

"You don't suppose it's because of the Warlord, do you, Dad?" Mum's fork clinks to her plate and she stares at Lysabel with a look of naked fear and disgust. Lysabel looks downcast, shame coloring in her cheeks.

"What did I tell you, Lysa, about speaking of these things!" hisses Orsella in her ear. There is a large undercurrent of fear as well. The Warlord had been one of the most terrifying and powerful mages ever seen, which is why it almost killed the Founders when they sent him into exile. The Founders, all dead now, are known for starting Ruxnorth Academy. The Runemore brothers had been the last of the storm mages and the line died when Fynn passed.

"Orsella, hold your tongue." Dad commands. Dutifully, her sister shuts her mouth. Dad turns to her. "It's good of you to voice your thoughts, daughter, but I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you. But I wouldn't dismiss it entirely."

"Radyn, do not encourage her!" snaps Mum. Dad holds up a hand, firmly looking at Mum.

"I read somewhere that a dead mage's spell wears off over time." Lysabel purses her lips thoughtfully. "The Founders died 100 years ago. Could the Warlord be powerful enough to break through their spell?"

"That may be true, but we all know the Founders aren't ordinary mages."

"Radyn, please," Mum whispers desperately. Her eyes dart frightfully to the window. "Discussing these things are unbecoming."

Dad ignores her and beckons for Lysabel to speak once more.

"But... even for the Founders, 100 years is a huge amount of time. They weren't powerful enough to bind his magic, mainly because he had so much of it. So he very well could've extinguished the spell."

"He very well could have." Dad agrees with of a bob of his head.

"Which means the rumors could be true. Perhaps the Warlord truly has escaped exile."

Dad gazes at each of them in turn, his normally bright eyes heavy and hooded.

"If he has," his gaze returns to Lysabel, "then we cannot expect him to fail again."