Sparks of flame and ember floated off the contained campfire, suffocating once it touched the ashen ground. The tender mass of heat and its foundation of stone was all that separated the two, and it crackled with more intensity as the seconds passed.
Both of their eyes were glued to the orange it gave off, the older more in particular. In its flickering embrace flashed distant, blurry memories that stuck in mind for no longer than a split second. Likening it to a high-speed vehicle zooming across a street was no exaggeration; there seemed to be plenty of nostalgia rooted at the center.
A whisper broke off from the older's lips. "Tell me what you remember about that day on the hill. I'll see if I can help fill in any foggy spots."
The younger brought a finger to his chin, tip-tapping it rhythmically. He noticed it almost immediately—the simple, gentle four-beat flow followed the exact line of Idri's tune. A nursery rhyme turned trademark, she never quite got rid of her habit of humming it during quiet, peaceful times.
"Hmm," he trailed off. "Well, for starters, it was just three days after Father had died. We were just about driving home from the funeral…"
"Which one?" interrupted the older. "There were two. The publicly-held funeral was put together by the city mayor and opened to the public, while the private one was funded by Mother entirely and held behind the academy."
"The private one, obviously. The one by Estof was always filled with people, no matter the day. Old Mayor Heffrey was never good at setting up public events."
The two funerals, if put side by side, were vastly different in terms of appearance. Comparing and contrasting, the public, city-funded wake was set right below the Goddess of Angels' inert body, her eyes always directed towards the site no matter the day. Sections of Leoria Street and its adjacent blocks had been cordoned off and divided with special wards, and traffic was even diverted for the entire week the event was held. Many bystanders, most of which had never personally conversed with Lächeln, made trips to pay their respects. In a sense, he was the model Pioneer of the city, having brought much attention to it with his adventures.
Conversely, Merlin's arrangement of a private funeral was more on the down low, its chosen venue being in a secret, unknown area of the forest behind the Mestefi Academy of Wizardry. Hidden behind the foliage and concealed by magic personally casted by Merlin was a simple six-feet deep grave with a bouquet of flowers set atop it. There was no signage depicting his name; that was part of the point of keeping it secret.
Of course, only a few people were privy to the actual location of the grave—those being Merlin, Raoul, and his former pioneering party members Messer, Hendrick, and Sentina. The latter three hadn't made any visits since the day of his funeral, but were frequent in the sending of their gifts. Every few weeks, a box of chocolates, bouquet of flowers, or trinket obtained from the party's adventures would make its way onto their front doorstep, and never with any names. Still, it wasn't too hard to deduce which of the three sent which with their personalities.
"I remember."
"Yeah. During the ride, she suddenly started saying stuff about how we'd be changing residences to San-Selto and how I'd be transferring to this academy she was principal of."
He nodded. Prior to the beginning of his secondary education, Raoul had been enrolled into a different school.
"And yeah, obviously that meant I wouldn't get to see the three of them anymore. So I told her I didn't want to. Then she also said I should cut ties with them. I thought she was a different woman by that point, to be honest." His eyes drifted into the fire, resting into its shifting edges for a split second. "Mother wasn't "mother", so to speak."
"An understatement. I thought she was like a monster at the time. You don't just try to pry your son apart from people he's known for many years."
"And yet it did happen, huh? We were too powerless to stop it."
Frowns struck both their faces, but shame was more prominent in the older's. He was more than a few older than his past self, and yet he was still stuck at the same level of skill in practical magic usage.
All was not gloom and bad news, though. From the corner of the older's eyes he spotted a tangible gust of wind blowing, pulling back with a mystical force the thick curtain of fog that permeated the entire path over the course of a half-minute. The process was slow and agonizing, but by the time it had finished itself, the edge of the world was noticeably farther than it used to be. About five arms' lengths.
His lack of attention caught the younger's as well, and his eyebrows raised in mild astonishment. "Looks like you were right, huh? The fog's beginning to peel back."
That wasn't all. Much closer, only a few feet away from them, much of the light sources that were dead and off mysteriously began igniting or flicking themselves awake. Flames suddenly sparked from dead air, heating up to form open palm-sized fires that gave off residual heat. Even the light bulbs and lanterns found life once more, turning open to give off dim, but powerful glows that instantly lifted the bleak and dreary atmosphere the path displayed a few scales towards gaiety.
"It is," nodded the older Raoul in approval. "Please continue. The Path's already beginning to look much different than its first iteration."
And so he did, immediately moving to start back where he left off.
"When we returned home, Mother suddenly had to leave. She told me it was because she had some sort of business to attend to. At the time, I didn't know what. I still don't, actually."
"I do, actually. A few weeks after his death, we had to go around Cias Buril selling his personal belongings to various auction houses and museums . There was the issue with his treasure trove of artifacts and other paraphernalia that he kept hidden in the basement of our old home. All of those went away. And now that I think about it, that was probably also a factor as to how we managed to move into one of the richer districts in the city so quickly."
"Ah, that one!" the younger one suddenly shot up. "Yeah. I visited it lots when I was younger. He had a lot of stuff in there. Mostly magic items enchanted to the brim with spells and wards. And sets of armor. And… weird stuff. There was this weird, long pink stick that he kept in the very back."
Gasps of breath left the older's throat in rapid rushes, and he found himself caught in a series of coughs he couldn't quite stop fast enough. It felt weird concealing information from himself—especially when it pertained to his parents' love life. "That… Don't worry about that."
His brows furrowed at the reply, but he didn't seem to care much about prying. "Anyway, when Mother left, I felt it was a fateful opportunity for me. So I snuck out of the house and told Idri, Avil, and Calliope to meet on that hill in Midasia."
All was in order. The formal name for their secret hideout was Hand of Midas, named after the outskirts of land that surrounded Cias Buril called Tel Midasia, or the Golden Fields.
He continued. "I took the train and ran straight there. The three of them were waiting. I rushed to tell them all about my current situation, and how Mother was forcing me to part from them. Idri was practically crying. Avil was gritting his teeth and telling me he wouldn't allow it to happen. Cali was silent, but she was gripping the sheath on her right leg really tightly."
All momentum from the story suddenly stalled. The younger Raoul opened his mouth to speak more on the topic, but he couldn't utter a single word after his previous. Not only that, but tears were flowing—not from both eyes, but from only the one that contained his scar. He held a hand to his eye, lips trembling.
"Weird… I… can't remember. Why can't I remember?"
A heavy sigh left the older Raoul. He raised a hand to stop him. "I've heard about our brains concealing particularly traumatic information from us in order for us not to recall the anguish that came with it. Maybe this could be it, or simply it is related to the path. I cannot say. But it's okay. You've done enough. Allow me to continue."