“1134 days left” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  Claramae's tent had a subtle tension, like a quiet prelude to a storm yet to be understood. The paperwork was stacked in haphazard piles on and around the desk. Amidst this chaotic archive, Claramae, with an air of rehearsed poise, rummaged through a box for a particular file. "Oh, I found it!" she exclaimed, breaking the silence that seemed to press down on the improvised office.

  The girl’s anxiety cramped the tent while she was seated in front of the desk, her small form almost swallowed by the chair. Her back was arched defensively as if bracing for an impact.

  "Kaela, right?" Claramae asked.

  The fae almost startled, her eyes flicking upwards as she heard her name. The girl offered no words, just a tentative nod, her black nose twitching nervously—a subtle, animalistic reaction to her unease.

  "So, you wish to leave the Trial?" Claramae continued, her voice softening further, trying to peel back the layers of unease that seemed to envelop the young mage.

  "Yes," came the whispered reply, barely audible over the rustle of papers.

  "Would you want to tell me why?"

  The silence between them was only broken by the low murmur of distant conversations that occasionally penetrated the canvas walls. The fae, with her large, intricate antlers casting odd shadows in the dim light, gazed at the Claramae with something she couldn't decipher besides silence.

  "I don't want to pry, but you are the seventh girl leaving this week. I'm just trying to understand what happened and what we could improve."

  Sitting stiffly across from her, the girl seemed to shrink further into herself, her eyes dropping to the floor. The silence that followed stretched on just like the Long Night. Finally, with a small voice that seemed to carry the weight of a much longer, harsher journey, she murmured, "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing. There was nothing and no one," the girl reiterated, lifting her gaze to meet the faerie's eyes squarely for the first time since the conversation began. "I just want to go home," she added, her voice gaining a tremulous strength. "I was not made to be a Magi. I thought I would... help. But I can't even help myself."

  "Well, I can't keep you here against your will," said Claramae, yet she wondered if there was more beneath the girl's sparse words. With nothing more concrete to go on, she felt her hands were tied.

  The fae girl stood and began to unbutton her black robe. She carefully removed it, folded it neatly, and placed it on Claramae's desk. "For what it's worth, I really appreciate you. You always made me feel welcome. Thank you, Claramae."

  "I wish I could do more," the faerie responded, standing to face the girl fully before the fae left the tent.

  The frequency of departures had become unsettling. Each week, a handful of girls, regardless of their race or heritage, silently withdrew from the camp. Some even vanished into the night without any explanation, leaving behind only empty questions.

  Claramae felt a growing suspicion that something deeper, perhaps sinister even, was at play.

  "Hei Faerie!" The familiar voice snapped Claramae out of her thoughts.

  Turning, she saw Shuri breezing into the tent with her usual brisk confidence. With a faint smile, she jested, "Hei Mere, got lost at sea?"

  "Funny," Shuri retorted with a smirk, extending a stack of paperwork toward Claramae. "Jaer asked me to give this to you, and I have two letters for you. Seems from Faewood." She handed over two envelopes, her expression shifting as she noticed the mood in the tent. "What's wrong?"

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Another girl who left." Claramae gestured towards the neatly folded black robe on her desk.

  "Who?"

  "Kaela."

  "Did she say why?"

  "Not a word."

  "Good riddance, that girl was weak. I never saw anyone with so many insecurities. She wouldn't be a good fit," she said, almost nonchalantly.

  Claramae found Shuri's casual dismissal of Kaela's departure out of place. However, she did not take the remark at face value. Her intuition hinted at something amiss, a piece of the puzzle that was just out of reach. She tilted her head slightly, fixing Shuri: "She was in your group, right?"

  "Yeah, so what?"

  "All the others that left... they were under your ward. Did you see something unusual?"

  "Besides that, she was weak and couldn't follow the others, no, nothing." Shuri's smile was quick and dismissive as if she was trying to shut down Claramae with a simple explanation.

  But perhaps she was overthinking.

  "Maybe I should report this to Mediah," Claramae suggested.

  "Leave the man alone. He has a lot on his plate. I could check for you; I’m free," Shuri offered quickly, a bit too eagerly, which made Claramae pause, especially given Shuri's previously dismissive attitude.

  "You could?" Claramae asked.

  "Yeah, I'll ask around my group; maybe one of them knows something."

  Claramae nodded, sitting back in her chair behind the desk and eyeing the new forms of entrance that Shuri had brought her. "I have this souring feeling that I'm watching the same event again," she mused aloud, her intuition nagging at her that the pattern of departures might not be coincidental or isolated.

  "Now you sound like Jericho," Shuri remarked with a slight chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

  "Where is he?"

  "Well, he's probably diving deep into that book again," Shuri responded, smiling.

  Claramae's gaze lingered on Shuri's curved lips. The Mere had a beautiful smile. Xendrix also had a beautiful smile.

  

  “1106 days left” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  Jericho had developed a routine of strolling close to the shores under the cover of the Long Night, repeatedly drawn to the spot where Lolth had been camping for the last two moons.

  From his hidden vantage point, he could see her tent, a structure woven from cobwebs, with strands of silk floating eerily in the night breeze. The small campfire she maintained was a lonely beacon in the vast emptiness, with flickering light casting long, dancing shadows on the sand.

  The sound of her Ulencia’s chains whistling with each rotation of her movements punctuated the silent darkness with her dance.

  The dark elf was an enigma. Quiet and reserved, Lolth rarely initiated any conversation. Yet, her prowess and potential had marked her as an extraordinary mage in the Trial of Elements. She felt no pain, no cold; she was almost invincible.

  To Jericho, she embodied the essence of the advanced magical theories he had studied. Theories penned in texts of "Handbook of the Advanced Elemental Theories and Practical Applications for the Trial of the Elements" by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.

  She was, to him, a living, breathing manifestation of the book's contents.

  Despite his fascination, Jericho found himself hesitant. He wanted to approach her, to break through the solitude and engage her in conversation, yet he was unsure how to breach the distance between them. What could he possibly say to her that would not seem contrived or intrusive?

  His internal deliberation was abruptly interrupted by a voice. "Mage Jericho?" A young mage's greeting snapped him out of his reverie.

  He turned to see four newcomer mages approaching, each carrying blankets and pillows under their arms. "Where are you girls going?"

  "Sleeping on the beach," one of them answered simply.

  "Isn't it quite dangerous at night? And cold!" Jericho's brow furrowed.

  "We'd rather sleep next to a Spider than a fish," another piped up. Her words caught Jericho off guard.

  "Fish? Do you mean… Mere?"

  

  I must confess, I never enjoyed to sleep alone at night. Indeed, my bed has historically been a shared domain—first with Maggie, then Zora, and now, I find myself feeling like a petulant child, coveting something perhaps I shouldn't. Curiously, I don't recall how I ended up naked with her in my arms in her bed; we never broached the subject, and why should we? Besides, Muna seemed happy, and I, well, I am resigned.

  Muna has always intrigued me—her beauty, her conversation, her thirst for knowledge. It felt almost inevitable that we would find ourselves intertwined, not just intellectually but physically. Yet, here I am, wrestling with an unexpected sense of guilt. Have I transgressed? I kept the end of our bargain; I waited and penned countless pages, only to be greeted by a mailman whose hands were as empty as nothing.

  I'm not in the wrong, am I? But I had imagined that when this moment came, it would be enveloped in a significance more profound than what reality has offered. To be honest, I didn't like my first time, and I hate myself for it. —by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition