An early morning breeze continued to sweep through the garden as the cat took a seat in a metal chair perched under the castle's wooden pavilion. His gray-furred ears began to twitch and rotate back in annoyance.
"This isn't right… No. No. No!" Scratching out the writings on the parchment in front of them, a guttural cry of frustration left his throat. "What is it, Pokiyo? Something wrong with the story?" from around the alyssum flowers, watering can in hand, the other dunnock bird twin made her entrance. "Time is the problem, Siv. I've rewritten the start of his tale many times, and yet it always feels off. Whether I start with me observing him from before his birth, at his birth, or after his birth, it never works. Even when I've given him the reins and transcribed his emotions… it just doesn't fit."
Pokiyo's decaying grasp on the story left his characteristics seeming drained.
"You do this with every tale, y'know. Always forgetting that our tales have long since passed. Why don't you try being alongside his version instead?" Siv's light brownish-gold hair tumbled in the window as she gave advice that seemed perfect for the problem. "Ok… yeah, you're right. How about this then." And like magic, as those words were stated, a small teacup began to shake and sputter, turning its brown liquid color into the skies above Beldalay.
Mikha'el's shoes hit the cobblestones with small splashes, dampening the ends of his trousers on the way to school. It was an early morning, as was typical, with the church's knights doing their rounds. "Mikha'ell, wait up!" It was abnormal for Mikha'el to hear anyone call out his name, lest it be his brother. Yet with a swift turn around, he witnessed the smile of Antibes, a classmate, as she ran to catch up.
Antibes was the daughter of a priest; due to his station being nonetheless their school, they were forced to make the move across. "Oh. Hi." It wasn't nervousness that crossed Mikha'el's face, but more so perplexity. Though they were in the same class, they never talked to each other before. And if anything, he figured to stay away from her due to, as the instructor would say, "her heretical talk." He was already an outsider, though. What more could be lost by making a friend?
"Thanks for waiting up. Yesterday in class, you seemed fascinated by mediators. Do you want to be one?" There was no pressure in the way she conversed. And with a smile, all that she questioned seemed one of pure wonder. They continued their walk onwards, conversing about dreams, goals, and mythical things.
Days passed, and the two grew closer. Antibes began to join the two boys in playing mediators. And on occasion, she would speak of something she referred to as " the old ways." At the start Micheal was cautious of this talk, but as time continued, he began to find more interest in what seemed to be lost magic. Lost magic that still existed. Lost magic that made the importance of mediators seem all the more true.
There was one day, though, that caused these conversations to halt. It was the day that Antibes's father found her journal. It was a pocket-sized journal, one she went few places without. Inside lay her scattered thoughts and findings, solidifying beliefs and even spells. "A father is meant to protect you," she said. The lashings that still bled through her white-school button-down said otherwise. From then on, a light that shone in Antibes's eyes was dimmed. And would only shine again years later.
With Antibes slowly disappearing from Mikha'el's life, and being forced more often to help with The Church, he found himself more often daydreaming at home. Night after night, a face warmed by candlelight, and eyelids heavier than stone, he'd research the wonders of the world. Bestiaries, topography, anything he could get his hands on, he would read. And with questions growing in his mind, he would pluck his parents' brains at dinner time.
"I think he regrets all that reading sometimes," said Pokiyo. A sad expression ran across the cat's face as the last line was written. Now in the common room, a coffee table, scattered with papers, and Giel's feet to the sky, lying on a leather couch most unconventionally. "Why do you say?" It contrasted Giel's previous care for the tale, being a more flippant response. "It's as old as time, you never know what you're missing till it's gone." Intrigued by the statement from Pokiyo, Giel sat upright in a more attentive pose. "And what exactly from his life is gone?" Giel said. And with a sense of eeriness, Pokiyo responded. "Soon… everything."