“Do others dare to question his highness?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Not a peep. He’s growing more stoic by the day, a regular statue with his usual superiority complex. You know how everyone idolizes him, right? They act like he has this master plan, and they’re too scared to even challenge him. It’s ridiculous! At the very least, he could shed some light on what this whole spectacle is about. What’s the endgame?”
I recall his heroic declaration on the battlements, his vow to stay in the game and wait for my decision. What a blatant lie! I know he is here on a mission given to him by Ahira Emmengar.
Butwhylie? So much has happened since that dawn that I’ve barely had time to process his offer, interpret his actions, or decipher his expression.
The truth is, the thought of himwatchingme in Firelands, the intensity of his gaze in the arena, wanting me to go with him to Aramis… It’s deeply unsettling, which in itself is incredibly baffling.
I used to idolize him and see him as everything I aspired to be. A kind word from him in the alchemy hall used to make my entire day. Now, he’s claiming he has watched me for years, that he wants me by his side, and I… I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s surreal.
Sometimes, late at night, when I’m in bed, before going to sleep, I allow the memories to flash through my mind: his eyes lingering on my lips, the heat that coursed through me, his touch when he healed me…
But I never asked for his affection, nor did I expect my childish fantasy to be reciprocated. And now, to my own surprise, I find myself distancingmyself from it. If it evenwasaffection. I never approached him again or risked asking for clarification. The possibilities terrify me: either he would laugh in my face, mocking my foolish imagination, or… or the opposite. He would confirm my doubts. Andthatis what truly frightens me.
It shatters everything I’ve built my life on. The belief that no one in Firelands cares about me, that all Ahiras are just different variations of my Sage, Ahira Brutus. I’ve clung to that assumption for so long that it has become my armor. It’s too late to change. It’s too… alien. No. I won’t think about it. I can’t acknowledge it. It’s easier to believe he lied.
Pippin groans again, his gaze falling on his cauldron. The potion has now turned a deep shade of brown, bubbling up like a small volcano.
“This is a disaster,” he mutters, waving his hand as if to dismiss the chaos.
“I have enough to spare,” I reply, grabbing a few empty vials from a shelf nearby.
His gloomy mood is infectious. It’s been three long days since we returned from the wilderness. I’ve seen Darian only in passing. He’s all smiles and charm when we cross paths, but our conversations are pointless, bland, and leave me feeling strangely hollow. Faelas is nowhere to be seen. For all I know, he might have joined a traveling circus.
The only constant has been Bahador, my steadfast training master. Our afternoon sparring sessions are the only break from the heavy silence that fills the space around me.
They are certainly involved in something significant, focused on developing a plan to access that restricted area without using any sorcery, leaving little time for anything else, including me.
Pippin seems to notice the existential trouble brewing beside him. “Why do you look like a wet kitten? We’re almost at the end, you know. Only eighteen contenders are left standing. Surely, the last trial is approaching.”
“I’m not a kitten,” I retort, though the analogy is oddly fitting. “Just pondering the trials ahead. Here, have this.” I press a vial of my revitalizing potion into his hands.
He accepts it with a nod of gratitude. “I’ll miss you, Arien. The alchemy hall won’t be the same without your unique presence.”
I chuckle. “Unique? That’s a bizarre way to describe it.”
“You are unique. You’re a rare breed among Ahiras. A nice break from the ceaseless chorus of self-importance.”
I give him a weak smile. His kind words weaken the gloom that has taken up residence in my heart for the last three days. “I’ll have to win this first for you to miss me. You never know; we might be working together in the alchemy hall in no time.”
Pippin looks at me with a confidence that surprises me. “You will win. You’re in the top nine, remember? And if there is only one trial left, you’re almost knocking on the door of triumph.”
His words ignite a small flame of hope in me. A kind that I haven’t felt for days.
“I’ll miss you, too, Pippin.” I give his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “And don’t worry about the trials; you’ll be out of this circus soon enough.”
“I’m not sure why you’d want to join this madhouse, but I can only assume Firelands wasn’t exactly a haven of joy for you if you prefer this forsaken place,” he says before returning to his cauldron.
Looking back at my own cauldron, I realize just how much I will miss Pippin, too. I suppose Pippin was the one Ahira who actually cared about me during my time in Fire Temple. Who never made me feel weak and unworthy. As I reflect on that, I feel a great amount of gratitude toward him. I regret the way I kept him at a distance and how I hesitated to fully embrace the connection we could have had.
As I look up at him, scrubbing his ruined cauldron, I wish I could go back and embrace our shared moments to show him the appreciation I felt but never expressed or the meaningful bond that could have unfolded if only I had allowed myself to be more present.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The days slip by, merging into one another like a painting blurred by rain. My routine is a familiar cycle of training, meals, reading, and alchemy.
It’s been nine days—nineexcruciatinglylong days—since my time with Darian in the wilderness. The alchemy hall is now my official hideout, the only place where I don’t feel like a complete social outcast. I lose myself in potion-making, a flurry of stirring and bubbling.
