Ocular to the Dying Sun

Distracted Night Light’s; part 5

Her request was simple and ten years old at that. It somehow related to the rumors about Mitt’s father, but not entirely just about paternal relations. There was never a chance she wouldn’t hear it as if the rumor vine didn’t reach the ears of her office walls.

Annoyance? Dismay? Curiosity. There were a handful of thoughts that entered her mind but what boggled Yphemu as she requested to investigate the rumors, in detail while Lagodis looked up Mitt’s family history, was the fact her mind went blank.

Reading the first investigation on the family or possible relatives, according to the location of the last location Mitt was found has the lowest likeliness to know accurately. However, Lagodis did discover that there were, at the time, traces of magic coming from an unregistered airship.

Everything about the magic reeked of illegal alchemy with several layers that Lagodis was surprised the supposed airship stayed stable. Looking for traces or evidence of the airship will be impossible now since years have gone by since Lagodis discovered it.

This part of the investigation, from the span of ten years, was in the third year of his search. One year would have been the limit of a magic signature to stay in one place after its traces disappeared, she was surprised he could successfully trace any form of magic from an airship in the area of the forest.

She’d be surprised if her magic overpowered all other traces of magic within miles of where the forest was, but here she is with a record or what seems to be an assumption of magical signatures in a slot between the mountains. Sure enough, the image recorded from the Kaderno slate shows an image of what seems to be a large space as if a wedged rock between the base of the mountains vanished and became a fitting space for hiding.

Though no other traces of the supposed alchemy-infused airship remained, there was surely a different kind of magic within. What’s more disappointing was how it’s as much a dead-end as its location is a literal dead-end, giving her time to skip to other speculative places Lagodis inquired about Mitt.

He didn’t go farther past the many floating oceans, but he did see to browse the entire lands of the All-Monarch kingdom, yet he’s been quite fruitless with his effort. Never finding any kind of information nor someone recognizing who Mitt’s face is through the Kaderno imagery he’s brought with him.

The word might have spread out, through the underground grapevine of someone looking for a child’s parents but Lagodis could not make any heads or tails why none gave any information. Still, as Yphemu did say, it might have been a waste to continue doing this search but the odds of some loving parent losing their child just tugs her heart.

Emotions embroiled in the same assumed sympathy of a parent who lost their child, it was enough to want to look for her son’s family. The one thing Yphemu knows can be a good thing to a magician as powerful as they are with Light magic.

Her memory of her childhood is not vague, but she could only remember the feeling of being loved to the point it traumatized her to feel alive for two years in her childhood. She couldn’t quite tell why or how she recovered from her slump, but she felt herself invigorate with a sense of purpose to walk and run around the orphanage house she ended up living.

A wall of exhaustion has begun to start dusting over her eyes when she reached the last page of the report, Lagodis’s unintended autobiography of how and where he tried looking for Mitt’s likeness and blood. Mere speculation or solid reports of missing persons, he’s gone and scoured but to no avail.

As if the people Mitt was related to vanished or died. The sinking feeling of dread could not escape Yphemu whenever she thought of the incident and the likeliness that her son’s family died due to her one mar of incompetence.

Somewhere inside her, she should be used to death and the idea of people who would be sacrificed in the way of her work.

“Do not let the idea that you must not grieve the dead but remember them and continue to refine your magic.” She heard Lord Estring say to her in her memories.

Sighing as if she found her answer, she snapped her fingers, and a majority of the Kaderno slates arranged themselves magically in a pile over an open drawer located under her four-poster bed. The space under her bed is large, only covered by the long bedsheet above.

The remaining slate in front of her is the last report regarding the sudden rumor of “the Prime Magicians father.” How much of this is something she should be concerned about, more so for the source and where these rumors started, isn’t a matter of alarm but of whether she should tighten the discipline under the Academy.

According to the report, several of these stories started when a certain business started booming loudly under the Alchemy Magician making deals within the Academy concerning their license in merchant and trade. The way it worked all the time, registering magicians under the Alchemy business meant a lot of actions restricted by consideration towards the harm mixing spells of varying levels.

There is limited to almost no recorded history of magical spells in seven to twenty degrees overlay resulting in something successful or have caused insurmountable destruction of the land. Several of these “stories” have marked the existence of the Prime Magician and other magical heroes become important people to the point that they can make the Prime Magician a staple icon of stability.

Though the person who is the Prime Magician is not hailed as the leader of their society due to their intended altruism, there is little to be done if there are internal conflicts that result in the stamp of magical innovation and development. Which for most is not something they are still open to welcoming, in Yphemu’s mind is quite sad but something she could not entirely wipe and influence in a blink.

These magicians have become acquainted with people who run a business regarding prime mechanical engineering of parts for an airship production line that remains unnamed. Or rather called by different kinds of names. Miners of Sunflower. Sunflint. A lot of words seem to indicate the sun.

To be fair, Yphemu ended up in-depth reading the report to the point that she found it fascinating that this group of individuals did not start this rumor with malicious intent. Quirking her brows, they started this story because it was their first time to see the young Prime Magician during his training under Lord Verbasi then correlated how uncannily similar the boy looked to their business partner.

This part of the report gave her a slight sigh of relief even though the other half, about several other magicians who had traveled to the west and southern provinces, were the ones spreading more malicious stories than one could allow.

Slander-like words spreading thinly over the magical community will never have any effect on her work mindset but it wasn’t her she was worried about; her son Mitt is still young and possibly more impressionable in most cases. He’s already having a hard time moving onward with his magic. Perhaps from this point, she should prioritize letting him relax more.

Rubbing her forehead on her palm, she could tell that it was not the right time for him to learn to cut spires. She thought of Lord Verbasi’s words about Mitt’s potential at his age, and the thought of training him at an early age was exciting. For her and her son, but if she keeps on pushing him if he doesn’t want to, would she be a good mother to him?

As a mentor, she might not be doing well, and instead taking him into a path that takes his skills to rust or waste earlier if he develops the kind of hate she almost felt during her days as a trainee. She shouldn’t have thought of her son as omniscient as she thought.

Add this rumor of his possible family finally showing up after ten years of failing to find them or them looking for Mitt. Before Mitt could meet them, Yphemu intends to introduce herself to them first. That way it eliminates any kind of awkwardness.

She’s willing to do this, at least in the prospect of truly finding them and confirming that Mitt is their child. Until then, she needs more sleep to recover her tired eyes and ringing ears from today’s events. Almost all work involves sitting down and hearing meetings; checking paperwork.

The last action before her tired eyes forced the rest of her body to sleep, was the possible picture of the person who “looked” like Mitt. Though the slate showed several images, to her, it felt like the person was quick to evade any presence of someone taking picture of him.

How could she tell? Who wouldn’t be thinking so if every image on record is either him partially hiding behind someone’s presence or facing his back to the possible direction of the culprit? She thought how it was funny to see someone evade with enough precision and acumen of awareness every time.

Many of the pictures are too far for her to see the details, even her magic has limits on enhancing such. Sighing, more for her desire to sleep than feeling dissuaded by the man, she reminds herself to put her priorities less askew.

Oh, how exciting it is to work as a Prime Magician.

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Nightlife in town was not something Mitt was confident about; compared to how he could navigate the maze gardens that Lord Verbasi has in their provincial home, he has no way to know the town’s way around. His knowledge of the streets is almost to the point of curiosity killed the cat in most areas and it’s not a surprise if he had his attention taken from him several times, almost losing his way to where he followed Epiro in his “stealth.”

This is not, however, the first time Mitt escaped the mansion to traverse the streets at night. Sometimes he’d want to see how the life of many maids or guards would be, that’s why he’d sneak around and walk around to see where they go. Like, when there are small events in which the maids would go to have fun, he’d escape the premise of the mansion so that he could experience the same thing.

Though, there’s always a place Mitt will have no clue about because it’s all new to him, and the streets he followed Epiro’s group to is one of them. Distance is key to how he avoided losing his way and letting himself see the grime and muck collecting on corners where it shouldn’t.

Much of the people they passed by are pleasant but truly lacked hygiene and added noise from all around the drowned his thoughts enough that he couldn’t even savor the sight of a tall man donning an unusual-looking sword. A blade that looked stocky, but had no pointed end made Mitt think that the person might be working in the kitchen, but the armor the man wore doesn’t seem like a smock or apron.

Perhaps a butcher? Figuring out a person by the way they don equipment is something Mitt would have had more time had he not noticed he has almost lost his lead after Epiro and the other guards. Bumped left and right by a volley of strangers made him nervous, his stomach unconsciously skittered with ticklish nerves until he realized that there was a sign written “Onor” on one of the doors.

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