“You didn’t have to walk me home,” Crisilla giggled, “but I appreciate it anyway.”
“I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe,” Era replied, smiling. In his arms was her (thankfully unmolested) bushel of wheat. “So this just goes in the shed at the back?”
“Yep.” She stood on her toes and reached up as far as she could, but Era’s face was still above her reach. He bent down a tad, and she delivered a peck on his cheek. “You’re such a sweetheart, Era. I had a really nice afternoon.”
“Same here.”
He smiled down at her, friendly and content, as they bid each other goodnight. Soon after she had closed her door, he made his way to the back of the house to drop off the basket.
The shed rested in the opposite corner of the yard up against the back fence. Era had not made it halfway across the yard before a shout from the house startled him out of his skin.
“Hey!” came an angry voice from inside, “Who’s out there?! Get out of here!!”
Panicking, Era froze. “I, ah… Sorry to bother you, I’m, I’m, ah, Crisilla…”
The back door flew open, and a young man with short, shaggy blonde hair stomped out towards him. The man wasn’t overly muscular, but Era knew that he could still do a lot of harm if he meant to. Trying to look humble, Era merely stood his ground.
“What’s this about Crisilla?” the man asked in a quieter, but still harsh, tone. “This had better be good.”
“I’m… just a friend of hers,” Era replied quietly, trying to keep calm. “I escorted her home earlier after we chatted for a while. She asked me to put this in the shed.” He held up the wheat.
The man took the basket from his arms and placed in next to his own feet. He crossed his arms and scanned Era over, looking for any cracks in his bearing that he might exploit. “Just chatting?” he asked suspiciously.
“Of course. What else would we be doing?”
Before Era could comprehend what had happened, the man had pulled him forward by the collar of his robe, their chins close enough for Era to feel the whiskers of the man’s goatee. “I swear, if you so much as looked at her the wrong way—”
“P-Please, sir, I wouldn’t dream of harming her!” Era stuttered. “You’re Jarred, right? Her betrothed?”
The man gritted his teeth as he spoke. “That’s right, her fiancé. Got anything to say for yourself, asshole?”
“She… she sounds like she loves you very much…”
His face and tone softened. “Wait, you’re serious? You were really just talking?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t lie, to you or anyone!” he replied quickly. “Please, I swear on my life that I didn’t so much as touch her, I would never hurt her…”
Jarred dropped Era. He recovered poorly, stumbling over at first before standing back up to look Crisilla’s love in the eyes. “She is a very sweet girl, and she seems to be head over heels for you,” Era spoke, more calm than before.
“That’s… good to hear,” he replied, glancing back at the house. For a moment, his eyes were far away and his features were soft, lost in his own emotions, before he turned back to glare at Era once again. “What’s your name, stranger?”
“Era Dalgard.” He stood as straight as he could, putting on the best show of confidence he could manage.
“Well, Dalgard, I’ll believe you for now.” He picked up the bushel himself and began to walk towards the shed, stopping to lock gazes with Era once again. “Give me a reason, though, and I’ll snap your neck before you’ll have time to cry out. You hear me?”
“Of course, sir,” Era replied nervously. “I promise not to give you a reason.”
“Good.” He turned back around. “Now get you gone.”
Stumbling over his own feet, Era trotted to the edge of the yard before remembering his manners. “Uh… goodnight, sir Jarred. And,” he added, “take good care of Crisilla.”
Jarred merely grunted in response. At this, Era took off.
Once Era had gone a few streets down, he stopped running at last, gasping for breath and bracing himself on his knees. Jealousy, he realized, that is why he was so hostile. This thought comforted him as he caught his breath and continued home. I’m glad it was nothing personal.
The world was calm this late at night. As the road he followed left the houses behind, that all-pervasive calm became more and more a part of him. Insects chirped and night-birds sang, and it sounded sweeter than any music he had ever heard in its sheer simplicity. He smiled, despite the delicate chill of the autumn air, and rubbed his arms to ward off the cold.
Many minutes later, though, the cold had gotten the better of his mood, and he clenched his fists in his slightly-too-short sleeves as he attempted to warm his extremities. He realized with disdain that he was still at least a half-hour from home, more if the chill slowed his pace.
This won’t do, he decided, and an idea occurred to him. Stopping for a moment, he shut his eyes, trying to block out the cold from the rest of his senses as well. From there, he reached out to the stream of magic that was always just on the edge of his perception. He could “feel” his nonexistent hands brushing the surface of the stream, dipping “fingers” into the flow and coming away empty. Please, he asked, come to me.
The magic merely continued to flow, ignoring his call. Growing slightly frustrated, he continued to reach out and continued to bring nothing back. Exasperated, he finally found an idea.
My name is Eravisté, he commanded, and I ask for your assistance.
The jolt of energy he felt literally shot through him, unbalancing him and making him gasp in surprise and slight pain. Immediately he felt the mana buzzing through his entire body, and he swore he saw small sparks jump across the tips of his fingers. The rush of power was immense, overwhelming, and Era wanted nothing more than to simply bask in it, never having to move again. But I need to get home, he thought decisively, Gabriel is probably horribly worried about me.
Focusing himself, he directed the magic, acting as its field marshal. He forced it outside of his body, making it swirl along his arms and legs in invisible chains. He “saw” the chains growing iron-hot in his mind’s eye and the magic complied, warming his limbs with a soothing heat.
Wait, he thought, if I touch the chains, I will burn. He then “saw” himself laying a finger on the chains, and the magic chains felt merely warm beneath his mind-self’s touch. Feeling safe through this amendment, he hesitantly reached out to where he knew a “chain” was, reaching out a cold finger.
The chain did not burn.
Proud of himself beyond belief, he continued home, warmed by his invisible heated chains. Thank you, he thought gratefully, and the magic rewarded him with a small rush of emotion that made him smile.
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