"... And so she took the rogue as a husband, proclaiming him King Zidane I, and the two are said to have lived happily ever after."
A smattering of polite applause met the completion of Neneru's story. The small committee overseeing her project for the Studium gave a smattering of polite applause. Neneru took a bow to mask her nerves.
"And you said this saga is still incomplete?" one gentleman asked. The men and women assigned to grade her project spread out around her behind a semi-circular desk. The only direction she did not feel watched from was the rear. Small mercies for that.
"I've acquired a substantial portion of the saga," she prefaced. "But yes. Some of the saga is still lost to the Alexandrians. It is my aim after graduation to work on bringing knowledge of the saga back to the Alexandrians. And in the process, perhaps somebody will present new information that I had not yet encountered in my time there."
"This is a very thorough account of Turali lore," another of the professors added. "You've done well to document each person who contributed a story and the circumstances you encountered them in."
Neneru tipped her head. "Thank you professor Aarne. If all of you turn to the last section of the book you'll find a breakdown of each story I collected under the standardized Ahldskyf-Thorvald-Uthala system of Folklore classification. It will include my reasoning for each item classified."
The murmur of conversation among the professors picked up. The man in the center knocked his gavel just loud enough to gain the attention of his colleagues.
"It is time to render a decision. Raise your hand if you are in favor of graduating this young woman."
Five of seven hands rose.
Relief washed through Neneru's veins. She let a broad smile spread and stood a little straighter.
"Congratulations young Miss Neru. You may begin your preparations for graduation."
There were a few questions left from the circle of professors, which Neneru answered as eagerly as she could. As she was ready to depart, one last man spoke up.
He collated the paperwork before him, clearing his throat. "This is excellent work Miss Neru. Have you considered work here in the Noumenon? You'd be an asset."
Neneru froze but maintained a polite smile. In truth she wanted to be anywhere but trapped in the Noumenon. She loved the building with all her heart, but a job there would as well be a death sentence for her. No more travel? No more wild sunsets. No more new vistas. No more field work talking directly with the people who owned the stories she merely collected. It did not matter, though.
"Actually, sir, I've already managed to find work."
He perked up, adjusting his spectacles. "Is that so? What will you be doing?"
"I've been brought on as the house Folklorist for the Valtin Institute."
She could immediately feel the change in the atmosphere. Stiffened spines, icy gazes. In a handful of words, Neneru Neru had blackened her own name with the Studium and possibly with all of Sharlayan.
But Neneru could no more turn her back on her friends than she could on her own family. Not after everything they'd done for her. No. She'd thrown her lot in with the Institute and there was no where else she'd rather be.
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