The Moon’s Alluring Journey

See You Later

The chamber was quiet when I arrived—too quiet.

Only the rhythmic pulse of the runes etched into the marble floor offered any sound, like a heartbeat echoing through the Tower’s stone skeleton. Pale light spilled through the high slits in the walls, casting long, sharp shadows across the room.

I stepped inside with care, my boots barely making a sound. I had only trained here for three days, but already, something about the Tower made me feel like a trespasser on ancient ground.

He didn’t turn as I entered.

“Late again princess,” the Imperial Master Mage said, voice smooth and clipped.

“I’m not late,” I replied. “I’m early.”

“Then you’ve only ruined my peace longer than necessary. Congratulations.”

I held in a sigh. This was how every lesson began.

He stood in the center of the room, surrounded by suspended ribbons of light and whispering glyphs—shimmering magic threads that floated like spider silk caught on wind. A small table nearby held the three items he’d given me to study: the thick leather-bound book on Lunar Flow, the wrinkled pages about The Lunarian Magic History, and a scroll I’d yet to open, it was more than likely some kind of spell list.

None of them had helped me understand what I needed.

“You haven’t read the scroll miss rock,” he said without turning.

“I’ve tried. It’s written in full arcane script. I can’t—”

“Then learn to read it,” he cut in sharply. “You’ll never shape what you don’t understand.”

I stepped further in, ignoring the flare of irritation in my chest. “I’m trying. I’ve only just begun understanding how to feel magic. To know it’s there. I can’t shape it yet. I can barely follow the flow.”

“You were born with power,” he said, turning finally to face me. His pale eyes, luminous and cold, swept over me with practiced disdain. “But you expect it to obey you like a servant. Magic is not loyal. It is not kind. It is not impressed by bloodlines or stubborn princesses.”

“I don’t expect it to be impressed,” I said, more softly than before. “I just want to understand it.”

That earned me a slight pause.

He studied me for a long moment. “You are not ready to shape. You don’t yet know the language.”

I nodded. “Then teach me the language.”

He waved a hand toward the glowing runes hovering midair. “What does this glyph mean then princess?”

I squinted. The spiral symbol burned softly, its motion fluid but incomprehensible.

“I… I think it’s a flow rune. Tethered to movement?”

“It’s a root-binding construct,” he said flatly. “Used for containment and severance. You’d have just ruptured your own core, how foolish.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Again.”

That was how the next hour went. His teaching was relentless—short bursts of explanation, long silences, sudden questions, and no praise. I repeated symbols until my head ached. My fingers traced magical diagrams on the air, the threads resisting me, slipping just beyond reach like silvered smoke.

I wasn’t sure when I started feeling the magic again—its tug beneath my skin, its rhythm alongside my own heartbeat—but it was faint. It never stayed long.

Eventually, my concentration faltered. I exhaled, my shoulders aching from standing so long.

The Mage lowered his hand. “That will do.”

I nodded, trying not to show how much my legs burned. I had learned little, but I had learned something.

“I’ll return a while later” I took a breath. I hadn’t planned to tell him yet, but the words pushed free.

“I’m leaving. Only for a while. I’ll continue training on the road.”

Silence stretched between us.

He turned back to me slowly. His eyes narrowed.

“Leaving. After three days? Pitiful.”

“It’s been two weeks since I left the palace,” I said. “One week here. I’ve only just begun to feel like I’m moving forward, but I can’t delay the journey. If I’m to find the Orb, I have to start.”

“And you believe a few hours of reading and clumsy runework will keep you alive?” he asked, voice like ice. “That your precious sword-boy puppy will protect you from what magic cannot?”

“This isn’t about him,” I said, keeping my voice level. “It’s about time. We have less than a year. If I don’t start now, I’ll run out of it.”

He watched me for a long moment. Then he moved back to the table, muttering as he rifled through a satchel tucked behind it. “Foolish,” he grumbled. “Reckless. Predictable.”

From the mess, he pulled another scroll—this one tied with pale blue ribbon—and shoved it into my hands.

“I was going to wait to give you this. It’s a simple rune sequence meant to guide shaping. It won’t teach you magic. But it may help you not kill yourself, I’d hate for my student to perish so quickly.”

I blinked. “You’re giving me more work?”

“You wanted to learn,” he snapped. “Learn woman. And if you die with it in your pack, it’ll at least be the most intelligent thing buried with you, as you sure aren’t intelligent enough.”

Despite myself, I smiled faintly, even with the insults.

“You don’t mean half the things you say,” I said quietly.

His grey eyes cut to mine.

“No. I mean all of them princess. You’re still woefully unprepared, painfully arrogant, and about as magically aware as a rock.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, I’d never get used to his attitude.

He added, almost begrudgingly, “But even a rock can be shaped. In time.”

I inclined my head, a gesture of respect he didn’t return.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Go,” he muttered, already turning away. “Before I change my mind, lock the door, and make you study.”

And just like that, the Mage disappeared once more into his shadows, leaving me with aching limbs, three books too advanced for me, and a scroll that buzzed faintly with unreadable magic.

But somehow, I felt a little less alone.

The Tower doors groaned shut behind me, the sound echoing through the stillness of the outer hall. The setting sun filtered through the arching windows, slanting gold across the stone floor. My hands were still tingling faintly from the runes, the scroll he’d thrust into my grip tucked under my arm.

I spotted Ashvin before he saw me. He stood near the steps, back straight, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the outer pillars. The dying light caught in his dark hair, setting a warm outline around him. His sword hung at his side, as always—like an extension of his body, not an accessory.

When he finally turned, his face eased. “You’re alive,” he said dryly. “Good.”

I gave him a tired smile. “Just barely.”

“Let me guess—he scowled, sighed, insulted your intelligence, and then gave you something impossible to study?”

I held up the scroll. “You forgot ‘called me a rock.’”

Ashvin chuckled and pushed off the pillar, falling into step beside me as we started down the stone steps.

“Progress, then.”

“Of a kind,” I murmured. “I told him I’m leaving for a while. He didn’t take it well.”

“He doesn’t take anything well.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, boots tapping gently against the cobbled road leading back into the town’s quieter quarter. The market had mostly closed, but the air still smelled faintly of bread, spice, and coal smoke. The streets glowed with the warmth of lantern light now that dusk had settled.

Ashvin glanced down at the scroll I still hadn’t tucked away. “What did he give you this time?”

“Something to keep me from dying,” I said, a little too honestly.

Ashvin didn’t smile.

I added, softer, “I won’t take unnecessary risks, Ashvin.”

“Every time you have to chase that orb, it’s a risk,” he muttered, gaze straight ahead.

“Then it’s a risk we will always take.”

He looked at me then, something unreadable in his eyes. I didn’t press. I never did when he looked like that—guarded, careful, always just a breath from saying something more.

When we reached the door of the inn, I paused. The lantern above the entrance flickered in the breeze.

“We leave tomorrow,” I said. “We haven’t had a proper moment to talk about… well, any of it.”

Ashvin tilted his head. “What part?”

“All of it. The journey. The time. The plan.”

We settled into the same corner table we’d taken days before, the one closest to the hearth. The fire had burned low, throwing shadows over the uneven wooden walls. Ashvin waved off the innkeeper with a nod, and soon enough, a pot of tea and two bowls of stew arrived, fragrant with root vegetables and pepper.

Only after we started eating did I speak again.

“We’ve lost two weeks already. One on the road, one in Paceum.”

“It wasn’t a waste your highness .”

“No,” I agreed. “But we have less than a year now. To cross the empire, locate fragments of a divine object no one believes is real, survive whatever trials come with it, and return.”

He gave a low whistle, but I could tell he wasn’t amused. “When you say it like that, it almost sounds unreasonable.”

I cracked a small smile. “It is unreasonable.”

“But you’re doing it anyway.”

“I have to.”

Ashvin nodded, stirring his spoon through the broth. “Then we start in the Forest of Fairies. That line the Mage gave you—‘where the moonlight touches what the sun forgets’—sounds like a riddle. Mountain caves? Deep forests?”

“Somewhere hidden. Sacred, maybe.” I glanced at the scroll. “I’m hoping what he gave me helps.”

“Or leads us straight into a death trap,” Ashvin said, not unkindly.

I chuckled. “That too.”

He shook his head faintly and took a bite of stew. Then, after a moment, he added, “We’ll find it. Even if the answers are scattered to the wind, we’ll gather them one by one.”

I looked at him, that steady determination of his grounding me more than any spell could. And for a second, I saw the faintest c***k in that resolve—his hand lingering too long at the edge of mine as we both reached for the teapot. A flicker of something in his expression, so quickly masked it might’ve never been there at all.

But I didn’t mention it.

I leaned back, letting the warmth of the food and fire settle the tightness in my chest. “Tomorrow we begin,” I said. “No more towers. No more waiting.”

Ashvin nodded. “I’ll be ready my lady.”

He always was.