In an undisturbed corner of the Randall castle library, soft snores echoed about the high arched gothic halls. The occupant sat alone, a book precariously balanced on the face that moved with each crest and fall of breath, threatening to ever closer clatter unceremoniously to the stone ground. It was an old tome, heavy and emblazoned on its leather cover in elegantly golden inked script was The Fundamentals of Ilecian, an instruction in syntax, VolumeOne.
To be fair to the sleeping boy, he had attempted to honestly parse through the first chapter before the sheer dryness of the text transcribed by the hermits of the royal academy and his mounting frustration at his rudimentary exposure to written Ilecian finally triumphed over his ever failing battle to stay awake. If this was only merely volume one, he already dreaded the possible size of volume two and if there were more volumes after the second anyways, he might as well sleep now and worry about further studying later.
The sounds of the snores stop abruptly as the book was removed and Astana groaned even before Athusa's disappointed face came into view. He wasn't that deeply asleep: years of sleeping half alert clear in his inability to truly rest. Astana would rest instead at odd, shorter intervals throughout the day.
"Big sister." He mumbled, covering his eyes with his inner arm. "It's too bright."
It was already early afternoon and the stack of parchment she had given him in the morning to practice his writing was still empty beyond the first sheet. He had pushed the inks and papers aside towards the wall.
He took a moment to gather himself, wiping the slight drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, before staring at the doodles on the singular sheet of work. He had drawn more than he wrote. The slightly tattered edges he serrated in his boredom were definitely not unnoticed either by Athusa's meticulous eyes.
She looked unimpressed with the enhancements to the parchment.
The Randall princess looked then to his feet on the table, back at him, and at the shoes pressed on the table again. His expression became guiltier as she said nothing yet. Hastily, he lowered his feet and wiped at the half footprint from the dirty soles on the redwood with the elbow of his sleeve, feeling the scolding that would surely come.
Athusa crossed her arms as the stain refused to budge and her brows raised at the sheepish smile from the boy.
"Astana. It could take well a year to transcribe a single book by hand. More often two." Her voice was soft, not at all raised, but she could not sound any more disappointed. "You must treat books nicely. They are more valuable than gold and are meant to be read. When you read, you must read properly, or you dishonor the efforts of those that had made the book possible."
They had this discussion a few times now. Whenever she was like this, Astana could definitely see traces of the one who once held among the highest of the national scores. No matter which corner of the library Astana chose to sleep, the Randall princess clearly knew every inch of her territory, and unfailingly locates him each time he was blissfully not studying.
Once a scholar, always a scholar, he supposed.
"Big sis…" Astana groaned. "What need would I have for an education?"
Truthfully he doesn't see for himself a life away from service to Eucemon. Fighting suited him just fine, fighting having been all he had known his whole life since the Evernight Order. Moreover, the Second Prince was not a bad employer. The Nameless of the Evernight Order were without hometowns or backgrounds: taken by the assassins' guild earlier than their earliest formative memory. It was Eucemon who even gave him the name "Astana", knighted him accordingly, and wished for him to always be loyal to the Capital with such a name.
The imperial knights, to Astana, were both his identity and family. In the years Eucemon had spent rehabilitating him, Astana became quite fond of the chivalric code. Thereby knights like Richard Heind, so eager to betray their lord, was not something he understood.
His face became a little sour thinking of that scum nobleman. What a sham of a knight, a shame to knights everywhere...
"How's the parley?" He asked.
The only reason he hadn't broken more of Richard Heind's bones.
He watched as Athusa sighed, shaking her head, pulling out the velveted chair before him to take a seat too. She rubbed her temple, as if experiencing a headache - not that dissimilar from Eucemon, noted Astana - and was silent for a long moment.
He supposed that meant the Count Heind had not written back yet.
"You're so talented with medicine." She finally said instead. "It's such a pity."
"I had a lot of opportunities to practice," he said evenly.
Injuries were common in his previous line of work: if not on himself then on other members of the guild. Truthfully, the Wings of the kingdom having such frequent access to healers was still a jarring luxury for him. But it did make him happy that his skill had been helpful for Athusa: the other Nightwings of Eucemon's, the ranks mostly filled with magus, were so healthy with their mana constitution and had no need of his talents. If they had need of healers, magic sufficed.
Athusa blinked.
"...I don't mean that kind of practice." She said, her soft voice as serious as her gaze. "Astana, wouldn't you like to learn more about medicine?"
If he could learn to read, he could expand his knowledge base and learn techniques from far beyond the Ilecian borders. He would be able to learn about many more herbs, much more of the current medical arts. Wouldn't that be interesting?
"Do you think so?" Asked the boy. "I'm really better than many of the doctors you met?"
"Yes." Athusa nodded. "You are so young too. If this is where your talent is at now..."
She truly would like to see where he could go.
"I don't really get it." Said Astana. "You said to Euce too that is the meaning of learning: to fulfill potential. But why do you not want to give magic a chance then?"
"I-" She started, as if wanting to say something, only to pause uncomfortably and then looked down at her hands.
"...I haven't said no to him."
But she hadn't said yes, either.
The hint of fear in her eyes was not unnoticed by Astana.
"You don't like your magic type." He murmured in realization. He could relate a little: in the early days of his knighthood, he had felt compelled to try emulate the official style of the Wings' swordsmanship too. He had felt self conscious if his way of fighting was not appropriate of a knight.
It wasn't until later that Eucemon drew him aside and said his personal style was fine the way it was that Astana stopped trying to change.
There was little he knew about Links: Astana's own magic focused on drawing out and reinforcing latent physical capabilities. But he did know enough to guess at the source of her concerns.
"Euce wouldn't entrust his magic to a bad person." He reassured her. "His Highness admired Duke Randall as much as he does the king. Meeting you... You hadn't disappointed him at all."
"I had studied for a semester at the Ilecian Magic Institute before." Admitted Athusa. "Every Link I met... They don't seem to realize it is essentially magic-bound slavery."
They had been taught that the Star Seeds were uncontrollable, inhuman, and needing of tethers. But Euce...
"I don't think... He really needs me."
"Well," Said Astana. "He's different. I do however know it is equally true some Star Seeds are little better than monsters."
It really depended on what the Ark had taken from them at birth.
"Big sis." His voice became serious. "You know what a Blooming is, right?"
Athusa nodded.
"But overclocking is rare." She replied lightly.
"It isn't." Said Astana. "Not with how often they expect him to use his magic. And talent for a Link's capacity is predetermined."
Athusa's face paled at Astana's next words.
"You were chosen as his partner probably because your magic has the potential to complement his. In his last overclocking... Many imperial Links died attempting to subdue him."
"Were any of them...?"
"Yes. Some of them he knew very well." The young knight sighed at the look on her face. He didn't want her to think of herself as the sole burden of hope or to pity Eucemon.
"It's fine if you don't want to. He'll just have to search - Ilecia is big. I'm sure he'll eventually find a suitable Link. Your fundamentals in magic... it would take too long to bridge to His Highness' anyways."