Nenenn

  Nen-enn Type: Noun

  Meaning: "Nenenn" was related to the children who became orphans during the events known as the Great Exodus and the Long Night. These children, unable to present their parents or prove their lineage, would subsequently lose their legacy and be recorded as "The Nameless." Children from all around the Map were stripped of their name and Legacy.

  Mediah sat rigidly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ground, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm on the dirt floor. Around him, Jaer, Jericho, and Zora stood in a loose semi-circle, each taking turns detailing the fragments of information they had gathered about the pirate plans and Shuri's participation in Faeries’ hunt.

  The voices of Jaer, Jericho, and Zora, though each distinct and filled with concern, started to meld into a near-inaudible buzz, making it increasingly difficult for Mediah to focus or think clearly.

  He felt overwhelmed, the pressure mounting as the reality of their situation set in. They were discussing potential invasions and the safety of everyone in the camp, and yet Mediah found himself unable to contribute to finding the answers they so desperately needed.

  The room waited for him to speak, to give a directive or to propose a plan, but his mind was blank, gripped by indecision and the fear of making a wrong call. The responsibility of leadership weighed on him, and in this moment of critical need, he felt paralyzed.

  Seeing Mediah's distress, Jaer stepped closer, lowering his voice to cut through the noise. "Mediah, we need to decide on our next steps. It's crucial we act now." The Tiefling's words were an attempt to ground Mediah and draw him back into the moment.

  "Mediah? Mediah!"

  Mediah looked up, meeting Jaer's eyes.

  "We need to send people away," he stated firmly, rising to his feet.

  "We can't do that," Jericho responded with incredulity. "There are too many people; they came here to learn to become Magis."

  "Most of them have been here over a Winter and are far from ready. There are too many and too many who are unable to protect themselves," Mediah countered. The reality of their situation was harsh, and his leadership demanded he face it head-on, even if the choices were grim.

  "This will be..." Jericho started, trying to find the right words, but Mediah cut him off.

  "This is necessary, Officer Jericho." Mediah's gaze was unyielding as he turned to face the young human. "When are they planning to attack?"

  "Well, uhm, they didn't say... there was no confirmation, nothing planned that we could hear," Jericho explained, stammering.

  "So what I understand is this is just a make-believe scenario. So it should give us time. We evacuate most mages, and from there, we may build a plan. But I need to think about how to do this," Mediah concluded, pacing slightly as he processed the information and considered their options.

  "We need to plan this carefully," Jaer finally spoke, "If we do this, it has to be orderly. We need a solid strategy for evacuation, one that ensures everyone's safety without causing undue alarm."

  "What about Shuri?"

  "As far as I know, she didn't do anything wrong. I don't have any proof she attacked faeries or did anything to the girls," Mediah responded as he leaned on his desk. His posture suggested a man burdened with the logistics of dispatching over a thousand young mages back home safely.

  "But she said..." Jericho began, trying to convey his suspicions based on the overheard conversation.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The human was abruptly interrupted by Mediah again, his voice firm and a touch dismissive, "She was drunk and flaunting to acquaintances she used to know. Being an asshole is not a crime yet or can be used as proof."

  "All the girls belonged to Shuri's group," Jaer added, aiming to underscore the pattern that seemed too pointed to ignore.

  "Each one of us has huge groups... there are too many people. I should never have let these numbers get so high in such a short time," Mediah reflected aloud, "And none of them formed a formal complaint or mentioned the Mere's name. Is not enough."

  "So nothing?" Jericho asked, demanding.

  "Nothing?" Mediah's voice rose slightly as he locked eyes with Jericho, his gaze intense, challenging. "What do you want me to do, boy?"

  Jericho was momentarily speechless, caught off-guard by Mediah's directness. Mediah's stance made it clear: without solid evidence or actionable intelligence, their hands were tied.

  Without a word, Zora stepped forward and removed her robe. Then, she unbuttoned her shirt, folding it neatly over the desk. The simple act of undressing was transformed into a powerful statement as she continued.

  Jericho, realizing what Zora was about to reveal, quickly grabbed a candle and held it close to her, illuminating her dark skin, which was marred by unmistakable marks. As the flickering light traced the contours of her body, the evidence of physical trauma became painfully clear.

  Zora's skin, dark and embued with sparkles of light, was etched with bitemarks—some were old, with small bleeding spots, and others were lacerations that almost faded but still present, others blue and raw, neat punctured bitten.

  Fresh wounds on her neck were particularly grievous. Smaller, older teeth marks spread across her chest, arms, and waist, each telling a silent story of repeated assault.

  The room fell into a shameful silence.

  Finally, Zora broke the silence with a calm yet chilling offer, "I can take off my pants if there are any questions or doubts." She spoke calmly, her demeanour composed despite the vulnerability of her position.

  The evidence was there, marked on her body, irrefutable.

  Mediah's eyes widened in shock as he quickly removed his own robe and draped it over Zora, "No, not necessary," he said firmly, "You should ask the faeries to attend the ones... the ones that are still fresh."

  "I can't feel them. That's why she likes me. I don't make any sound," Zora replied. “Just like a pretty doll, that’s what she said.”

  Mediah's skin prickled with a chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air; "You might not feel pain, but it doesn't mean your body won't. Please, go," he urged her.

  Zora left the tent, leaving the three men alone with this macabre revelation.

  "I can't do anything," Mediah murmured. It didn't sit well with Jericho.

  "Master, you must be kidding. Lolth gave you all the proof needed!" Jericho was losing his patience.

  "Calm down, boy, he is right. We can't do anything," Jaer interjected, attempting to inject some calm into the heated exchange. He understood Jericho's frustration but also recognized the precariousness of their position.

  "How? Why!" Jericho demanded, struggling to accept their seeming inaction.

  "Because Shuri is the link between us and the threat. If we accuse her, we might never know the information we need. When, how, and numbers," Jaer explained calmly.

  "Probably the rest of the crew was on the ship or... who knows," Mediah said, pondering.

  "They did say they had a way... but they never explained what," Jericho added.

  "We should prepare a plan to evacuate as many people as needed. And then build several plans for whatever we need to face," Mediah declared.

  "What about the numbers?" Jericho's brows furrowed as he contemplated the implications of their manpower against an unknown enemy force.

  "I built this Trial with the idea that only two Magis are necessary against a thousand men," Mediah responded, his gaze locking onto Jericho's. The last time he used those words was when he faced Ulencia before she left for the Kaspian Castle.

  He could still vividly recall her tears, her fear for her life and the lives of everyone in Yeso's settlement, and the sacrifice she had made. Back then, his words had been a promise.

  Now, speaking to Jericho, those words were a fact. This human, with his youthful fervour and stubbornness, reminded Mediah painfully of Ulencia, his first love. But why?

  

  In my admittedly voluminous reading on the Trial of Elements, as understood in the VI century, it becomes clear that its evolution was not the result of mere happenstance. Magi Mediah, though brilliant in his strategy of minimizing manpower in battles via the use of Ulencia’s Swords and their wielding techniques, faltered when it came to transforming mages into Magi. Yet, it is often through missteps that a master truly matures and gleans wisdom. His initial folly lay in attempting to replicate the pedagogical methods of my father, Yeso Sternach. What Mediah overlooked was the advantage my father had: travelling alongside seasoned Magis who guided young mages in mastering their powers—an advantage Mediah lacked, save for Jaer’s solitary presence. The Trial of Elements only fulfilled its intended purpose when it ceased to be perceived merely as an educational institution and was embraced for what it truly was—a Trial. From this crucible, over the course of nine full moons, mages tirelessly had to prove their mettle and secure their places within the ranks of the Ophius. It was no longer a participation price but a right. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer