Rhein’s ho was no different from any other in the village: thatched roof, log walls, a long, barn-like rectangle.
Outside, a small yard was enclosed by a low wall—easy for Gauss to step over as he approached.
Night was dark, but to him it might as well have been day. He quickly saw what Rhein was doing: she stood in the yard, right hand raised, left hand bracing her wrist, wearing a look of fierce concentration.
Still practicing Firebolt?
Gauss was a little surprised. He went to the door and knocked lightly on the slightly loose planks.
“Who’s there!?” Rhein pricked up her ears, a touch wary—both to test the caller and to alert her parents inside.
“It’s , Gauss.”
Hearing his clear voice, Rhein scurried over and opened up.
“Teacher, it’s so late—why are you here?”
She looked a bit embarrassed. Gauss had visited once before, but she still wasn’t used to it—or rather, she felt shy about letting him see her ho. He’d invited her into the folding house several tis—their clean, refined rooms and magic-run furniture were a stark contrast to her simple, rough dwelling, which left her with a wordless inferiority around him. She wasn’t unhappy with her ho—just reluctant for him to co.
Gauss didn’t know her tangle of feelings. Seeing her twisting her hem, he assud she was sad about tomorrow’s departure. “I ca to check on you,” he smiled warmly, stepping into the yard. His gaze slid to the spot she’d been standing. “So late—and still practicing?”
Under the moonlight her face flushed; she nodded, sheepish. Caught. She’d been sneaking extra practice every night and never told him. She didn’t want her teacher to see her “slowness”—she wanted to succeed quietly and give him a surprise before he left.
“I… I wanted to do it at least once before you go.”
Her stubborn look softened his heart. “It’s alright. Show next ti.”
He handed her what he’d brought: a neat little leather case with a tal clasp. “What’s this…?” Rhein frowned, curious.
“A parting gift,” Gauss said gently, pressing it into her hands. “Go on—open it.”
“Teacher…”
“Take it.”
“…Thank you, Teacher.” She accepted it; it was a bit heavy. She set it on a bench and eased open the clasp. Inside were three things: a thick handwritten notebook bound in tough leather, a few neatly bound books, and a delicate leaf-shaped pendant on a fine chain.
For …? Why a pendant?
“The notebook has so of my thoughts on magic—my understanding of Firebolt and other cantrips. It should fit you better,” Gauss said, pointing to it, then to the books. “These are basic theory, practical use, monster lore. After I’m gone, read them when you can—broaden your horizons.”
His eyes settled on the charm; his tone grew solemn. “This—wear it close, don’t lose it, and don’t show it off. If—and I do an if—you’re in mortal danger, crush the leaf. It’ll protect you for an instant and fling you several hundred, maybe a thousand ters away. Then run—get sowhere safe.”
“Teacher, you should keep it,” Rhein said reflexively, trying to hand it back. A magic item—wasted on her.
“I’ve got plenty,” Gauss lied kindly. In truth, since learning Fly, he didn’t have much use for it; if he had to run, a jump of a few hundred ters wouldn’t change things. Seeing her eyes redden again, he ruffled her hair. “No tears. It isn’t free, either,” he said, putting on a mock-stern voice.
“Don’t slack off after I go. Read the notes; study the books. Next ti I’ll quiz you. Can you do that?”
Rhein sniffed hard, forcing the tears back. “I can, Teacher. I will.”
“Good,” he smiled. “And rember—if there’s danger, crush the leaf. Get so sleep. Tomorrow—no need to co see us off.”
He waved to her parents at the door, then left under the family’s gaze.
…
“Haa—ah—!”
Rhein tore down the hard-packed road, sweat beading and running down her cheeks. She was drenched, breath ragged, chest on fire. Finally the village gate ca into view—crowded with villagers staring out.
“Let through!”
She shoved her way forward, full of regret. How could she oversleep today of all days?
Last night she’d practiced late—and then, unbelievably, a beautiful red gleam lit her hand. She’d coaxed a spark out of Firebolt with the faint mana in her body. Not a full cast, but spark and glow were proof she’d grasped the cantrip; with ti and mana, the whole spell would co.
But after it sparked, she had grown so very, very sleepy. The mont she lay down, she was gone. When she woke it was blazing morning—and only then did she rember they were leaving. Cold sweat. She rushed out, but the village was empty.
The farther she ran, the lower her heart sank. When she finally burst through to the front of the crowd, the party were already far down the dirt road, chocobos carrying them toward a hill horizon—almost out of sight.
Too late…
She sagged, stricken. She’d dread of showing him her spell before he left—of making him proud. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
Suddenly Gauss, in the saddle, turned as if he felt sothing. Across the distance his eyes found a small figure at the front, hands on knees, face flushed—Rhein. The corner of his mouth lifted. Though he’d told her not to co, he’d delayed at the gate a while—just in case. And she’d made it.
He raised his right arm; red light blood. “Firebolt!”
One, two, three… Firebolts blossod like fireworks, bursting in the sky.
“Rhein—your teacher’s waving to you,” her parents said, shaking her shoulders. She looked up, saw the magic flare—conspicuous even at that distance—and rembered: he’d turned and cast the instant she arrived. He’d seen her.
She waved back with all her might, face flushed with excitent. This farewell wouldn’t be missed after all; the gloom blew away like clouds, and she blood like a flower.
She hadn’t shown him her magic—but this was enough. Ten-year-old Rhein felt a strange peace. The wind at the gate tossed her hair. Her teacher’s road lay ahead; she would carry this bright mory and walk her own, too.
…
“Since when did Firebolt beco fireworks?” Alia teased when he caught up after they’d paused for him.
“Would you rather I’d used Fireball?” Gauss grinned.
Alia rembered yesterday’s blast and shook her head. “Let’s not terrify the village.”
They rode on. The landscape flattened into saness. High sumr: air wavered in heat shimrs; earth cracked dry.
“Hotter than last year,” Alia said, eyeing the sun—an unblinking white furnace. They wouldn’t suffer heatstroke with their constitutions, but tempers frayed. The chocobos needed water and shade, too—or they’d cook. Sumrs hotter, winters colder—more extres. Not a good sign.
“There’s a pond up ahead. Let’s rest the mounts,” Gauss said, spotting sunlight flashing through trees. As they approached, the locals bolted—faster than them, Gauss’s Firebolts: one, two, three red lances punched through green chests, leaving charred holes. A handful of goblins; the party barely spared them a glance. Even the mounts stepped over bodies calmly to drink.
Under a tree, Gauss spread a map. “Next village isn’t far.” The Guild had marked a route northward through a string of settlents; stops and stays were up to them.
Goat Village had taken the longest—it was the first; you always work carefully at the start. With that experience—and no Fireball to grind now—things would speed up.
“It’s newly founded,” Alia noted from the brief.
After a short break they rode on. Under the brutal sun, a fledgling village ca into view. Seeing patchy palisades, they knew they’d be busy.
“Looks like the clay constructs are in for a workout,” Gauss said. Labor was easy with clayn—cutting and hauling without fatigue. The only one who’d be tired was the caster.
At noon the place was silent; people hid in thatch huts. When they saw a mounted party stride into the square, eyes turned wary. A middle-aged man peered over a low wall, clutching a farm tool. The village had been on edge; without defenses, they faced monsters—and bandits. A band had scoped them recently, then left—short numbers that day, perhaps.
A companion tapped the man’s shoulder and pointed at the badges glittering harshly on Gauss’s chest. “Adventurers, I think…”
He didn’t relax until the commission parchnt drifted into his hands and he checked the seal. In truth, the mont the handso man in the black robe used magic, his tension had lted by half. A mage lord had better things to do than trouble paupers—at least in his mind.
Gauss took in the gaunt, hollow-eyed farrs and the timid children peeking from broken doorways and sighed. Compared to Goat Village’s stability, this unnad camp was in real trouble. If they hadn’t co, a single raid might have wiped it out. How long had they been here? Where had they co from? Why settle so far out? Did they have a charter?
In these tis, lords sotis issued charters to draw settlers to the frontier—to keep monsters from breeding unchecked. But even then the land belonged to nobles; taxes and rent still applied. If he rembered right, this was Vives land.
Several villagers jogged over. “Guild sirs, it’s hot—this way, please.” Knowing they were here to help, warmth replaced wariness. Gauss was about to ask about local troubles when sharp whistles pealed at the gate. Faces blanched. Panic began—then the black-robed man’s voice cut in.
“What do the whistles an?”
Realizing they had a pillar to lean on, the villagers steadied. “Milord—the bandits. They told us days ago to have grain ready or they’d burn us out…”
Voices tumbled over one another; Gauss had the picture quickly. No wonder the village was so jumpy, tools always at hand. A gang on the hill lived off skimming the nearby hamlets; from what they bragged last ti, most settlents in the area “paid up.”
Hoofbeats and boots clattered behind Gauss. A scar-faced brute on a ribby packhorse swaggered into the square with twenty-odd hard-eyed thugs carrying rusted weapons.
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