Moon 7
“Blah blah blah… Blah, blah blah blah.” The blonde prefect played with his hands, lazily opening and closing to mimic the professor.
Hermione thought it was rather rude but that didn’t stop other children from chuckling. Sure the ESL teacher was a bit boring, even for her, but that must be because this was common knowledge where she came from. It was mostly explaining proper syntax, the alphabet and pronunciation. Teaching them how to write and stuff. She often heard others grumbling around her, saying ‘this is too easy’. But if they were more perceptive they would notice some students struggling to learn.
“Are you alright, Hermione?” The voice was rather polite, more than she had ever heard in her life. It was like she was listening to a prince from a story.
“Yes. I’m fine.” She answered back earning a smile from the boy, it almost melted her heart.
He was unlike any boy she had ever met, though she knew that might be an exaggeration, after all, the only boys she knew were her cousins and the neighbor. But he felt different, almost like a fantasy made real. His hair didn’t just shine like blonde; it gleamed like gold. His face was perfectly symmetrical, and it wasn’t just his looks. The way he moved, his posture, his tone, it all radiated an energy that made her feel as though she were standing next to royalty. Her mind insisted he couldn’t be real, but her eyes told her otherwise. He was perfect, unnaturally, impossibly perfect. And that perfection left her in equal parts awe and fear.
Even his name, Godfrid. Something about it made her shiver.
"I'm nervous too. I’ve never been around people my own age before."
"You... you didn’t go to school?"
"No. Well, not the kind of schools you're thinking of. For a long time, I didn’t even know places like this existed."
That snapped her out of her thoughts. No schools? How could that be? This boy carried himself like someone who had studied at one of those prestigious universities she’d read about. She imagined he must have had a thousand tutors.
"So, you were homeschooled?"
"In a way. But I wasn’t any good at it. This is my first time learning anything like this."
She could almost believe that. He did struggle a lot in ESL. She had helped him with his sentences, and they’d been talking ever since. For some reason, most of the other kids avoided him. Hermione had too, at first—until she saw how much he struggled with even the simplest words. It had pushed her to step in, despite how intimidating he was.
"Is that normal in these lands? Don’t they have proper education?"
He turned to her, his face puzzled.
Did I say something wrong? Oh no, I probably did.
Her first friend in ages, and a boy at that, and here she was, messing it up already. She’d always had a habit of running her mouth—her cousins teased her for it, calling her a ‘know-it-all,’ ‘teacher’s pet,’ ‘bookworm,’ and even, on rare occasions, ‘big-mouth.’ It was one reason she struggled to make friends, or at least to keep them.
"Unless you’re a noble, The Lands Between don’t have schools. Education’s a privilege of the rich and powerful." His words struck something within her.
"That’s wrong! Everyone should be educated! It’s a basic human right!"
The boy laughed, catching her off guard.
"What is human?" he asked with a smile, and for a moment, her thoughts shattered.
What?
"What is a human, Hermione?" His golden eyes focused intensely on her, and for an instant, she thought she saw a shadow lurking behind him.
"A human… like you and me." She forced the words out, clutching her book as her hands began to tremble.
"You think I’m human?" His voice seemed to echo within her mind.
"A-aren’t you?" she whispered.
He grinned, laughing softly. The tension broke, and Hermione realized she’d been holding her breath. She finally exhaled, her fingers loosening on her book as sweat beaded along her brow.
When his laughter subsided, he looked at her again, his golden hair catching the light, his eyes like inverted suns with dark pupils radiating rays of gold. "According to some, no. But it’s kind of you to think so. We've long been trying to be seen as human."
His voice held a hint of sadness, smooth but weighed by a somberness that lingered like a balm.
"This isn’t a kind world, especially to people like me. Your world must be different if it has people like you."
She didn’t fully understand his words, so she simply nodded, taking it as a compliment. She forced a small smile despite the unease curling in her stomach, feeling like she was missing something crucial yet too afraid to ask.
"Thank you?" she murmured, and he nodded.
They continued in silence, following the prefect toward their next class. Passing the courtyard, they hugged the walls to avoid a clanking iron maiden on wheels. Under an archway, Hermione caught sight of spider-like creatures with countless arms painting frescoes on the ceiling. A towering automaton lumbered past, its metallic groans echoing so loudly that some of the students stifled cries.
Finally, they arrived at a large wooden door. The prefect, Jack, knocked several times before it opened abruptly, sending him stumbling inside, drawing laughter from the group.
“Welp! You're here!” Jack announced from the floor, gesturing for the group to come inside. One by one, the children awkwardly stepped over him as they entered the room, with Jack grunting each time someone accidentally stepped on his face. When the last student entered, Jack wriggled out of sight, pulling the door shut behind him.
"What an odd fellow..." Godfrid muttered, and Hermione couldn’t help but agree. Everyone in this academy seemed a little off; maybe it was the nature of magic or something strange in the water. She could only hope she wouldn’t end up like that.
Looking around the classroom, Hermione took in the wide, open space with a large circular stage at its center, surrounded by rows of closely placed chairs along the edges. It felt like an opera house or an orchestra pit, the arrangement pressing the students close together. A massive chandelier cast a warm glow, illuminating painted murals of landscapes and star-strewn skies across the walls. At the center of the stage stood a lone figure, draped in a dark shroud that gave him the eerie appearance of a grim reaper. A towering witch hat, so large it obscured the top half of his face. Beneath the brim, a manic grin flashed, making him seem even more unsettling.
"Welcome," the man announced, spreading his arms wide as the dark shroud cascaded over his shoulders, revealing metal legs. She knows this person, one of the teachers from orientation. Looking closer, the root on his face was cut, she could faintly see its marks on his skin.
"To your first step into the wondrous world of sorcery!" he announced, his voice sparking excitement in the crowd. The students marched in, giddy as if it were Christmas morning, which would make this man their Father Christmas. Despite the hat covering half his face, his warm smile and infectious energy put everyone at ease. Up close, he wasn’t as intimidating as he first appeared—if anything, he seemed a bit eccentric. Dressed in an outfit straight from a medieval fair, he resembled a jester, complete with poofy sleeves adorned with glimmering jewels.
They bombarded him with questions, crowding around in eager curiosity. He handled it all with a jolly grin, raising his hands to gently ask them to settle down. Hermione was no exception, squeezing closer to catch every word. Up close, she noticed something peculiar—something she first dismissed as a trick of the light. Subtle yet unmistakable, his skin had a faint hue of purple, unlike the usual warm tones.
"Alright, children, you'll be learning magic soon enough," he said with a flourish of his hands. "For now, please, take a seat, and then we can begin." He gestured to the rows of chairs. Like ants, they scurried to the seats along the edges of the room. One by one, they filled them, glancing at each other in a curious circle.
"Now, I think it’s proper we start with introductions," he said, placing a hand to his chest. "In case you’ve forgotten, my name is Rogier." His voice was warm, gleaming with a scholar's curiosity. "In my life, I was known as a spellblade by trade, though I’ve always been a scholar at heart. Teaching the next generation is yet another learning experience. So, children, I hope we can learn from each other!"
He pulled out a clipboard, his pen tapping lightly against the paper. It was an unusual pen—slender, with an enormous blue feather flourishing from its end. "Now, I’m going to take roll call. When I call your name, share something about yourself—anything at all, whether it’s something mundane or utterly fantastical." With a smile, he scanned the list and called the first name. Hermione barely registered the names being called. Her mind was swirling with excitement—it was a first for her, not being able to focus. She’d dreamed of this for months, and now it was happening: real magic. She could barely keep her jitters under control. What would they do today? Cast fireballs? Teleport? Levitate objects like when they first demonstrated—
“Hermione.” Godfrid’s voice snapped her back to reality.
“Hm?” she murmured, dazed.
“He said your name.”
He did!?
She shot up from her chair. “Hermione Granger! I love books!” she blurted, her voice louder than intended. Every head turned her way.
“Haah?” The professor blinked, flipping through his pages. “I haven’t quite reached you yet, Miss Granger.” At his words, Hermione felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks. She sank back into her seat, mortified, as a few of the boys snickered while others looked on, just as bewildered as the professor.
Hermione shot a glare at Godfrid, whose face remained smug and unbothered, a perfect mask of superiority.
"You’re horrid," she snapped under her breath.
His smirk only deepened, his golden eyes gleaming with a sly satisfaction. She’d never expected him to betray her like this—especially on the first day. He shrugged, his posture too casual, his silence saying more than words ever could. Frustration and humiliation roiled in her chest, and her fingers twitched restlessly.
"Godfrid," the professor called out.
As Godfrid rose, the room shifted around him, every head turning as if drawn by an unseen force. A ripple of energy passed through Hermione, tingling like static along her spine, goosebumps pricking her skin. It was just like before, she didn’t know if it was fear or awe. Enchanting, all he had to do was smile and the world stood in attention. His golden hair caught the light, tumbling over his shoulders like strands of liquid sunlight. His presence and body language was so articulated it’s like he was from a storybook.
“Godfrid.” His voice made everyone's heart skip a beat. “I am a child born from death.” That's when the majesty ended, she didn’t know why but those last words changed things. Some eyes in the back turned from awe to hate. Hidden glares started to target the boy.
“Abomination.” She heard someone whisper.
The professor paused, his expression transforming from surprise to unrestrained delight. "Ahhh! That’s why you’re so familiar!" he exclaimed, eagerly scribbling on his clipboard. "I see they finally perfected the process." And, without a moment's pause, he moved to the next name.
Godfrid returned to his seat, but not before his eyes caught Hermione’s. She felt as though she was staring into a black sun.
"I believe it’s best if we don’t associate," he said, his voice ice-cold, leaving her speechless. The air around him thickened as more eyes turned his way, darker than before.
"Today, we’ll begin your first journey into the realm of glintstone sorcery," the professor announced, standing on the stage like a performer ready to captivate his audience. In his hand, he held a slender wand topped with a shimmering blue bauble. He lifted it, pointing at a nearby training dummy. With a flick of his wrist, the bauble pulsed, and a faint symbol flashed in the air. A small crystal materialized before him, hovering for a split second before rocketing forward, striking the dummy’s head with breathtaking speed. The students felt the impact resonate through the room as the crystal bullet shattered the mannequin's head in an explosion of splintered wood.
"That, children, is the glintstone pebble—typically the first spell taught here at the academy," he explained, glancing at the dummy’s remains with a satisfied nod. "A reliable, if weak, spell within its family." He turned back to the class, mouth twinkling with amusement. "Well... yours won’t be quite as strong."
He looked about into the crowd, holding the wand up. “So, who's first?”
A lot of children were nervous, looking at each other. Too scared or maybe intimidated seeing that spell for the first time. Hermione felt it too, it was like waving a gun; of course she would be nervous.
“I’ll do it.” Godfrid raised his hand and everyone looked to him once more.
“Excellent.” He gestured to Godfrid to come up on stage and the boy obliged. Not all the stares are kind, Hermione didn’t know why but some viewed him with suspicion. Was it something he did before school? She didn’t know, Godfrid seemed alright even though he tricked her. Soft spoken with fine manners that would make her mum praise him. Though there was that dangerous side to him, the way he spoke to her brought chills in her gut. It reminded her of her fair weather friends back home.
The professor handed over the wand, and snapped his fingers, the dummy's head regrew with silver liquid.
"Now," the professor said, stepping closer to Godfrid. He adjusted Godfrid's stance, leveling his hands and angling the wand toward the dummy. "Keep your stance wide, or the recoil will push you back."
Godfrid said nothing, simply following the instructions with quiet focus.
"Activating the spell can be tricky for beginners," the professor continued, a reassuring smile on his face. "Don’t worry if it doesn’t work right away."
The boy nodded.
“Imagine a trigger, it could be anything, like pressing a button or skipping a stone. Imagine holding on until the right moment, then… Release.”
The professor let go, stepping away and all watched intensely. Hermione inched closer on her chair, watching the wand then the boy. He was still, completely unfazed by anything. The boy closed his eyes then opened them in a golden spark. He mimicked the professor's wrist, the symbol flashed and the crystal formed shooting out into the dummy. Instead of just the head it pierced through leaving a huge hole in the center of the mannequin. Hermione could swear she heard it moan or a shriek when the crystal touched, maybe? It happened so fast.
“Amazing! You're a natural.” He scribbled something on his clipboard, Godfrid said nothing. “Alright, who wants to go next?” The professor snapped his fingers and the dummy reformed.
“Me.” Another boy raised his hand, the child had sharp eyes and combed blonde hair. Not as gold as Godfrid but gold all the same, a mark of the old order. He glared at Godrid, like he just stepped on his new shoes. The boy marched up hastily grabbing the wand from the other, he whispered something over Godfrid’s shoulders but what it was Hermione couldn’t tell. Godfrid was as expressionless as a statue as he sat down in his seat.
“Now, remember to–”
“I know what to do undead .” The boy snarked.
“Alright?” The professor backed away leaving the boy in peace. Unlike Godfrid he didn’t enter a stance, he was upfront, posture straight like a seasoned soldier. He wields the wand like a baton leveling it in front of his face. With practice movement he moved the wand in a wide arc, it flashed its symbol and the crystal shot out. Hermione could feel the wind move, it was more powerful than the last. It broke through the dummy’s chest entirely obliterating the top half leaving it smoking blue. The entire class was silent.
“Incredible!” The professor scribbled again. “There’s so much talent in this room!”
The boy on stage smirked looking back at Godfrid, he on the other hand had a blank expression. He walked back to his chair grinning all the way.
“Tough act to follow, but remember, this isn’t a competition. It’s a time to experiment!” The professor’s voice was encouraging as he gestured to the rest of the students. "Now, who’s next?"
One by one, the others stepped up to try. Most struggled to activate the spell on their first attempts, waving the wand four times before finally producing a crystal. Each glintstone pebble was faint and sluggish, drifting slowly enough for Hermione to track it with ease. One crystal was so feeble it merely bounced off the dummy’s skin, tumbling to the ground with an anticlimactic roll. Another student, red-faced with frustration, gave the wand a wild, desperate wave in an attempt to activate the spell. To everyone’s surprise, it worked—just not as intended. The glintstone pebble shot out sideways, bypassing the dummy entirely and shattering through a nearby window.
The professor winced but quickly regained his cheerful composure. "Ah, well, not quite what we’re aiming for—but an impressive result nonetheless!" He wrote down on his clipboard.
As Hermione's turn arrived, her hands shook slightly around the wand's smooth wood.
Focus, like the professor said. It’s not a competition, she reminded herself, though it felt like every eye in the room was fixed on her. Her breath escaped in a soft huff as she prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself. So many things could go wrong—she could misfire and hit another student, snap the wand in her nervous grip, or worse. These worries crept in uninvited, whispering doubts from the back of her mind. Maybe she wasn’t magical at all. Maybe this was all a mistake. If she failed now, she’d be the laughingstock, isolated from the rest of them.
Trying to steady herself, she glanced toward the professor. His hat dipped low over his eyes, giving no hint if he was watching, yet his cheerful grin was as unshakable as always. Then her gaze drifted to Godfrid, he held a smug smirk. That irritatingly perfect grin—the kind that begged for a well-placed punch.
Focusing on her frustration, Hermione tightened her grip and waved the wand. To her surprise, the symbol appeared on her first try, a shimmering form hovering just before her. A crystal bolt shot forward, striking the practice dummy squarely. It wobbled slightly, absorbing the impact before steadying.
“Great start, Miss Granger!” the professor called out, writing again, Hermione wonders if he is grading them?
The last student couldn’t summon the crystal, it flashed the symbol before glittering dust on the floor. The class giggled, she couldn’t help but join the laughter.
“It’s alright my boy, this always happens in the first time.” The professor gently said before clammy escorting the sullen child to his seat. After writing the last in his clipboard the professor made rounds around the room, giving each student a book. Hermione looked at hers, it said ‘Introduction to Comets and Meteors’.
“Now…” The professor’s eyes sparkled with excitement, his smile widening. “What if I told you that what you just did wasn’t magic?”
The words hung in the air, and it took a few seconds for the students to process. A wave of murmurs spread through the room as they exchanged bewildered glances.
“That’s right!” He held up the wand, patting it as if it were a cherished pet. “What you used was an Ash of War . Same effects, but not considered true magic. Well... at least not to the scholars.”
Hermione raised her hand. “Professor, what’s an Ash of War?”
“In due time, Miss Granger. This class is about sorcery!” He waved her question off. “What you performed today was simply a gauge—a way for me to assess your foundations. Some of you have a more natural aptitude than others, but that gap can be easily crossed with practice and experience.” He tapped on his clipboard thoughtfully.
“For now,” he continued, “you’ll be reading the introduction pages and we’ll continue next time. Soon enough, each of you will have your very own staves, and once you master the true glintstone pebble, you’ll officially be recognized as sorcerers of Raya Lucaria.”
After a few more minutes, the class finally wrapped up. As Hermione stepped out, she spotted Jack waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall with a kabob of fried tentacles in hand. “Ra-Raady ta go?” he mumbled through a mouthful, his cheerful demeanor infectious as he motioned for them to follow him to the next class.
Godfrid walked ahead, right next to Jack, and Hermione felt an automatic urge to move forward as well. He pulled a nasty trick, but it hadn’t been entirely awful. Still, the sting of his earlier words lingered, leaving her feeling unsettled. His words were cold, yet there was a warmth about him, like sunlight breaking through a cloudy day. Maybe he misspoke? she thought. That had to be it. She had been careful, always mindful not to overstep or say anything out of line—at least, not that she could recall.
“You shouldn’t associate with his kind.” A voice called out from behind her.
Hermione turned to see the boy from before, his presence radiating a kind of smug arrogance. If Godfrid was gold, this boy was fool's gold, glittering but ultimately worthless. His hair was a lighter shade of blonde, neatly combed with a single, rebellious bang falling over his left eye. While Godfrid's eyes were warm and inviting, this boy’s had a sharp, predatory glare; their lightness almost brown, contrasting sharply with the pure gold of Godfrid's. He wore a bratty expression, reminiscent of those privileged kids from her last school, his face puffy with baby fat.
“Who are you?” Hermione asked, her voice steady despite the growing discomfort.
The boy simply glared at her, and she could feel her unease creeping in.
“Patrik, second son of house Anlore.” He even sounds like those preppy kids. “And I’m warning you… Don’t play with those who live in death.” He brushed past her, not sparing a glance over his shoulder. “Those who do will meet an early end.”
Those who live in death?
Strange people in a strange land. Maybe, in time, she would understand. But for now, Hermione pressed forward, ignoring the taunts that followed her, determined to chase after the golden shadow that drew her in.
Litany of Proper Death
An incantation of the Old Order, its power has faded, but the memory endures among those who revere gold's legacy. The Fundamentalists, who distance themselves from the Age of Gold, regard this litany as archaic, a relic of a misguided past.
In the dawn of the new age, the Fundamentalists exposed flaws within its design and chose to embrace the world’s logic and the principles of order over gods and the Erdtree. Through this, their laws remain potent, not anchored in faith but in logic's pure structure.
Yet, traces of the old design persist, as prejudice and tradition run deeper than reason.