“1,579 days left” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  The journey to Praiaemar stretched long into the night. Silence settled inside the car while Orlo and Zora were lost in their own thoughts. The only sounds were the steady hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of tyres against the gravel pavement—a monotonous soundtrack.

  Zora was nestled in the passenger seat, her spider cradling her lap, a small comfort while her stomach was knotted, an uneasy blend of the chocolate excess from the party and the anxiety of being in a car driven by Orlo, who was known for his poor driving experience. Zora partially wondered how he had convinced Muna to borrow the vehicle.

  Orlo tried to focus only on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit too tightly. But every now and then, he'd steal a glance at Zora, wanting to say something to break the ice, to make this last ride less daunting, but the words wouldn't come.

  Neither of them knew how to start a goodbye, how to encapsulate the last winter and the shared adventures that were about to pause indefinitely as their paths diverged.

  Zora was soon to be sent off to Ormgrund on a boat to become a Magi, and Orlo was about to embark on his academic journey at Regulus University.

  As the miles stretched on, suddenly, the car went dead.

  The abrupt halt of the vehicle broke the persistent silence, a mechanical hiccup that mirrored the awkward state.

  "You dropped the clutch." Zora, despite the tension, couldn't help but smirk as she pointed out, "Again."

  "I know... this is harder than it looks," Orlo admitted, turning the key in the ignition with a slight grimace. He carefully adjusted his foot on the pedal, ignoring the pain in his leg. The motor coughed twice, then steadied, and they were back on track.

  "Did I do something?" Orlo ventured to say.

  "Why, you ask?"

  "You have been awfully quiet, and I don't understand why," he said, searching for answers in her demeanour.

  "I wasn't planning to go so early," she confessed. "I thought I had more time, that's all."

  "But you want to be a Magi," Orlo reminded her, "Right? This is what you want."

  "I do," she affirmed, yet there was a silent but.

  "I don't understand," Orlo admitted. "This should be exciting, a new adventure."

  "But I also wanted to be with you, if it makes sense," Zora finally revealed, her words dropping between them like stones into still water.

  "It does make sense, more than you could fathom. But you and I have everything; it's not like we are running against time. We are both Menschen. We will crawl on this world for aeons. I mean, yeah, I will miss you a great deal, and it hurts. But you get that black robe, I get my diploma, and then we might talk about us. How are we going to do it? Am I supposed to move where your next campaign is? Are you staying with me in Ostesh? Are we going to get married and have kids? I mean… do you want to get married and have kids?”

  Despite his clumsiness with words, Orlo tried to find reasoning: “Like... or... I don't know. We never spoke about it. But it doesn't mean we stop talking or caring. I mean, Ormgrund has boats to deliver mail." He glanced at her briefly, seeking some reassurance. “You'll write to me, right?"

  "It takes moons for anything to reach Ormgrund, you realize that."

  He nodded. "Yeah, I know. But it's not forever, right? And we can’t make it work if we don’t try. I mean, I want to try. I… really do. We could... you know, if I write one letter and send it, with everything that happened, what I ate, what I did, my classes, who I met, there will be a moment after a few moons that you'll get a letter every day."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Every day?"

  "Every day," Orlo confirmed, the idea seeming to solidify with his repetition.

  "So, what did I eat, what did I do, what did I learn, and who did I meet?” Zora straightened herself in the seat, the little smile playing on her lips.

  "Sounds reasonable," Orlo replied, a relieved grin spreading across his face. “And doable.”

  "It does," Zora agreed, her smile widening. The simplicity of their plan—to share the everyday and the ordinary—The letters would be their way of witnessing each other's lives even from afar. They would turn their separate journeys into a shared narrative, one day at a time.

  They arrived at the port not long after, and the darkness made it difficult to discern the number of passengers embarking. Still, the flag on the mast was unmistakable—a golden snake biting its tail, forming an infinity loop, visible even under the dim pier lights. The deck sounded alive with the hustle of travellers and the distant call of seafarers.

  Orlo got out of the car and moved to the trunk, pulling out Zora's small bag with more care than necessary. He handed it to her, his hands lingering on the handle a moment longer than needed. The cool night air mingled with the salty breeze of the water.

  "Well, this is it," he said. Orlo couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, fearing that the goodbye that hung in the air would become too real.

  "One letter a day," she reminded him, clinging to the promise they had made as if it were a lifeline.

  Orlo finally looked up, his eyes searching hers, a myriad of emotions passing over his face. "I don't want you to go. It..." His voice cracked.

  He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, aware that this was their last moment together before their paths diverged dramatically. She was going away on the other side of the Map, and he would just stay.

  He didn’t want her to see him cry. "I don't want you to go..."

  Zora stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently touch his arm, grounding him. In that touch, a flood of memories passed silently between them, their hearts beating as one inside their chests, that cold she could feel caressing her nose and cheeks. She would lose all of that. Everything that made her feel alive, she would lose it.

  After all, both of them were Hexe.

  "I know I can feel it." she took his hand and pulled him closer, "I go fight the dark, so you may write about the light."

  He pressed his forehead against hers and smirked, "I'm gonna steal that one. Is a really good line."

  "I need to go," Zora said, stepping back but still holding his hand. Orlo pulled her suddenly and landed her lips on his.

  Her lips were like petals—soft and subtly fragrant, evoking the touch of flowers brushed against the skin. Her scent was like warm gardens bathed in sunlight, the kind he had wandered through only in Faewood.

  Zora was like an uncharted territory, an unknown land. Yet, simultaneously, she represented a sense of home—a place of comfort and belonging where Orlo felt his heart could rest. And all that was at the grasp of a kiss.

  "I need to go, Orlo."

  "I know." He pulled from his pocket a handkerchief and gave it to her. "It will ease the cut... you blindfold yourself until you stop feeling me."

  "But I don't..."

  "I heard it's already bad to travel by boat. Let's not make it worse. And besides... it's just temporary. Right?"

  She took the piece of fabric he had been holding—perhaps a token he had intended as a keepsake—and gave him a wry smile. "You make it really hard, teacher." Zora smelled the fabric, and it had his scent.

  "I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, managing a weak smile in return.

  Zora adjusted her grip on her bag, drawing in a deep breath as she steeled herself for the final goodbye. "Well, this is it."

  "This is it. Return once I can call you Magi."

  "Well, you better be a professor when I return. The title teacher is too small for you."

  "Sehr em ver, vida weiter mir tu suchen." he said.

  "Sehr em ver."

  She walked away slowly, her eyes locked on his until the darkness enveloped him, blurring his form and finally swallowing him whole.

  With a determined stride, Zora approached the ramp leading to the deck.

  As she set foot on the ramp, the wooden planks creaked under her weight. The ship commanded by Magi Shuri was called The Summer.

  

  After that night, sleep eluded me for days. Deep within, an insistent voice screamed that I would never see her again. Compounding my despair was the onset of withdrawal symptoms, striking as I journeyed alone on the road with the clutch failing me over and over again until I reached the Dargustea Estate.

  For days, I vomited relentlessly, my body racked with tremors and inexplicable chills. The situation became so dire that I found myself sinking into my bed, awash in a puddle of my own sweat.

  Despite my better judgment, I refused to blindfold myself; it seemed the only tangible link to her that remained. Darra and Muna showed remarkable patience. Muna, blissfully ignorant of my turmoil, continued with her innocent cheer. Her mother, however, bore a look of pity in her eyes—a spark that suggested she recognized my suffering but couldn't quite grasp its depth.

  The only person who truly understood was drifting farther away, while the other two who might have comprehended were dead. Thus, I was left alone with my misery, a solitary figure adrift in an ocean as large as the Long Night. — by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  almost done editing The Long Night… and yes, it is really long. ??

  Bluesky. You can find me there at:

  ??

  HEXE, especially stuff from the third book: The Wingless Princess—which I hope to dive into over the next few weeks.