Celina returned to her dorm after the dragon fiasco, cautiously opening the door in case Rayes had decided to learn some lessons from Hibiscus’ mischief. As she entered; she saw a box, presumably delivered by a guard. Rayes was gnawing on one of the toys she had made, completely undisturbed by her entrance.
She looked for a moment, examining for any traps or signs of sabotage before opening the casing. Inside was nothing more than an envelope, a crest not dissimilar from the letter C stamped on the back. She let out a small breath, immediately, and opened it. ________________________________________________________________
Dear our Celina,
Olivier was meant to write this letter, but you know how he can be. On the bright side of his complicated nature, I’m looking forward to the burden of being your messenger. Our family vase is missing it’s finest flower without you. I get it’s important, you’re doing something large, but I can’t lie about it’s cost.
Things aren’t good here in Cyvencrest. The corruption has officially overtaken our outskirts. I had tried to visit Valora’s gravesite the other day but it’s inhabitable. The air is think and ashy, too contaminated to step within safely. I wanted to push through, but thought better of it. I think if I had, I could have been hurt. I think I would have died within those fields.
The thought scares me a lot, but I’m trying to be brave about it. The others get weird about fear sometimes, you know? I don’t want them to freak out. They were disappointed enough when I failed training, and were so relieved once I joined the medical branch. I don’t want to fail them like that. I know you tell me it doesn’t matter, not really, but it does. And without you hear all that expectation just gets louder.
I know you try to shield me from a lot of burden. Maybe it’s because you almost lost me once, that I was the only one there with Valora when she went. I took it for granted for a long time, I’ve realized. You deserve a long-belated thank you. I’ll be sure to give it when you’re home. If anyone can save this place, it’s you.
Sir Loran got hurt recently. I know you’d want to know that. She’s been out of it since. It was a blow to the head, I don’t know the full story but she’s out of commission. Mertil, that bratty girl you always talked shit about, is temporarily holding her station. Things are as good as they can be, but everything is moving downhill. We need you here, once you can return. It’s getting really bad.
Last time I visited her, she didn’t recognize me. They’re saying concussion but I don’t know. Her eyes are stable, her vitals are too, but she’s different. I’d never seen her weak before.
I hope you’re all making progress there. I like to imagine you’ve already taken over the school; number one, returning here with a battalion on wings. It feels like everything's fallen apart since you left. I know it’s coincidence and poor timing or whatever, but I sorta hope it gets better once you’re back. If anyone can fix it here, it’s you.
We love you, sister,
Sileas Solberg ________________________________________________________________
Celina’s eyes stayed on the letter as minutes passed. Her breath was tight, body perfectly still and rigid within the stale, well organized room. After a moment, her gaze moved on it’s own accord to her dragon, who met her eyes with nothing more than a growl before returning to it’s stuffed animal. He hadn’t shown a sign of care or cognizance since her arrival, really. They were meant to be bonded, and yet one would think of them as nothing more than strangers, possibly enemies at her most cynical perspective.
She had been at the school for several days now, only to achieve nothing. She was no closer to eliminating the corruption from the world, or even just her lands. They were no closer to mastering magic that felt all too limited, or the dragon that acted in hostility or apathy alone. Her training had faltered, and all she had met no others like her, people willing to treat the task of soldier and student with the intensity it deserved.
She huffed, then forced her arm down, folding the letter and placing it within her bag. She tried to refocus: she had been given her task and none of her family had fallen. Her mentour was in distress, but alive and uncorrupted. And if she proved competent, if the school proved capable, then she would return home to more than the death and rot she feared would consume her.
Her attempts to refocus were shallow, however. It was limited, inherently. Her mind couldn’t move from the familiar handwriting. From the responsibility placed upon her shoulders that she increasingly felt powerless against. From the threats were were growing too strong for even her kingdom to withstand.
If anyone can save this place, it’s you.
It was almost laughable.