36. Tristan: Aftermath

  When Tristan opened his eyes, he was on the move.

  Rosalina was carrying him over her shoulder, running – very fast. Perhaps even too fast.

  He was naked – wrapped in what looked like a picnic blanket – but that was the least of his concerns.

  He could smell it.

  Smoke.

  Thick and sharp in the air, clinging to his nose, or was it coming from inside of him? He couldn’t tell.

  He lifted his head weakly, just enough to see thin plumes rising in the distance from Ireveus Academy’s library.

  The structure itself seemed intact. That made sense. The explosion was underground. In fact, what shocked Tristan the most was that it hadn’t collapsed inward, burying everyone inside – including them.

  “S-stop…” He croaked, his voice hoarse.

  “Not now, Little Devil.” Rosalina replied, her breath heavy but controlled. “We’re not yet far away enough.”

  Tristan noticed blood mixed with dust on her forehead.

  “F-from?” He wheezed.

  “Not now.” She repeated.

  Tristan tried to speak again – to demand a proper answer – but his vision was already blurring. His eyelids dragged downward, his body unwilling to obey.

  Before he could finish his next thought, he lost consciousness again.

  ***

  The next time Tristan opened his eyes, the world was quiet.

  He lay on a rough, stone-like bed, covered by the same picnic blanket from before. This time, he was clothed. The fabrics were loose over his body, fit for an adult rather than a child.

  The room was dim, lit only by the light coming through the cracked window.

  It was almost entirely barren. Just the bed he was in and another one on the opposite side. The walls were gray, their paint peeling. Truth be told, there was a lot more mold on them than paint.

  Between the two beds stood a plain wooden chair.

  Rosalina sat in it, hunched forward, her face buried in her hands. A makeshift bandage made from the same fabric as the blanket covering him was wrapped around her forehead.

  Tristan shifted slightly, making practically no sound.

  And yet her head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto him like a hawk.

  She stood up and rushed to his side, kneeling beside the bed and placing a firm hand over his. “Oh, thank the gods, you’re alive! I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t waking up, and I – “

  “Rosie, I’m fine.” Tristan said, cutting her off.

  He wasn’t fine. Every muscle ached, and his chest still burned – but that didn’t matter as what hurt most was his pride.

  Right now, he just wanted answers.

  Rosalina didn’t scold him for the nickname she hated, which told him just how shaken she truly was. Instead, she sat back down on the chair with a tired, but relieved, smile.

  “Where are we?” Tristan asked.

  “Hmm? Oh – one of our safehouses.” She replied casually. Then she shook her head. “Never mind that, Little Devil. What the hell happened back there?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.” Tristan replied, propping himself up slightly. “Give me the long version.”

  “Me?” Rosalina raised an eyebrow. “Sure…”

  She folded her arms, leaning back against the chair with a deep breath.

  “Well, after you went inside with that girl – Azmira Morvain – I got the – “

  “Morvain?” Tristan cut in again. “As in General Morvain?”

  Rosalina nodded. “Yep. Our dear friend Viki told me she’s his daughter.”

  “Interesting…” Tristan muttered.

  “Well, she’s dead now, either way. No way anyone inside had survived that explosion.” Rosalina replied, shaking her head, then her voice snapped. “What interests me more is you blowing up the Classified Wing, Little Devil!”

  Tristan thought about Azmira. She tricked him, mocked him, but still…he felt bad knowing she died because of him – because of Gartan. Well, he couldn't bother thinking about for long...

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Rosalina asked, breaking the silence.

  Tristan considered lying, but Rosalina had already continued, making any lie he had brewing up in his mind clearly insufficient to convince her.

  “The explosion was so intense it tore through the walls, ripped the damn metal door off its hinges! Not enough to bring the entire library crashing but it was very close to that!” Rosalina shook her head, her eyes wide. “It almost killed me, really. But it also destroyed the Enkindling Basin, and with it the enchantment that blocked the entrance. So, I ran in, thinking I’d find your body…”

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  She paused, eyes narrowing. “Everything was burning. Charred, still burning bodies strewn everywhere. And then I saw you – just lying on the ground. Clothes gone. Not a single burn on your skin. But by the looks of it, and I’m certain, you were at the very center of it all!”

  Tristan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

  He wasn’t going to talk about Gartan.

  Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “And then?” He asked, brushing her words aside.

  “And then?” Rosalina echoed, incredulous. “Little Devil, tell me what happened! I thought you used a Worm, but there’s no way a level one Fire Magic Thread could cause so much damage – nor is it possible to use magic under the silencing enchantment. That explosion and its damage – “ she paused, eyes narrowing – “was on the level of what your father can create.”

  Tristan met her gaze, ignoring her concerns, his tone demanding. “Rosalina, tell me what happened after you found me.”

  She narrowed her eyes, clearly unsatisfied with his deflection – but she answered, nonetheless.

  “What else could’ve happened?” She muttered. “I carried you out and ran away. You might be Ifrit’s son, but I wasn’t going to risk the scholars of the academy taking justice into their own hands and executing you right there and then, before the Peacekeepers could even show up. So I ran. I carried you as far as I could. Got us hidden here.”

  “Hidden?” Tristan echoed, brow furrowing. “Is someone looking for us right now?”

  “They might be!” Rosalina snapped. “Little Devil, I don’t know much about that library, but something named “The Classified Wing” – something guarded by an enchantment – had to hold important knowledge. And you just burned it all to the ground! I don’t even know what to expect right now – but surely there will be consequences.”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You think someone’s really going to come after ‘Ifrit’s Son’?”

  Rosalina shrugged. “I don’t know. But I need to be ready for that possibility. Enraged mages, independent individuals, perhaps even someone from the nobility. It would be foolish to think this just goes away on its own.”

  She suddenly rose up, the chair behind her toppling with a dull clatter. A hand pressed to her bandaged forehead as she shook her head.

  “Well,” she exhaled, “at least you can use magic now…so it wasn’t for nothing.”

  “I can’t.” Tristan said plainly. “I still can’t.”

  Rosalina’s hand dropped. “What do you mean? Then how did you pull this off?!”

  Tristan remained silent.

  She knelt beside his bed again, her voice soft, her eyes pleading, worrying. “Little Devil…please. Let me in. You’ve always been special, and I never once questioned it – I just accepted it, and accepted you. But for the first time, I’m asking. Don’t leave me in the dark. I want to protect you, but I can’t if I don’t understand what I’m protecting you from.”

  Tristan met her eyes.

  And considered her words.

  They sounded genuine. But so had others, once.

  There was a time he would’ve believed someone like her. Trusted someone like her. Paid the price for trusting someone like her.

  There was only one person outside himself he could trust. But that person wasn’t here with him.

  In this world, Tristan knew one thing: he was alone.

  But being alone didn’t have to be a curse. It could also be freedom. It meant you never owed anyone anything. You took what you could and gave nothing back.

  His gaze settled back on Rosalina. A loyal ally. One he valued. One he wanted by his side.

  But truth? That was never going to be on offer.

  “I don’t know what happened back there, Rosalina.” He said, his expression neutral. “I wish I did. But I don’t.”

  She looked at him – searching his face. Uncertain. As if she wanted to doubt him…but couldn’t find a reason to.

  Tristan continued. “I’m going to find out what happened – how it happened. And when I do – I need you with me.”

  Rosalina’s expression hardened with purpose as she gripped his hand firmly. She nodded.

  “You’ll always have me. Always.”

  Tristan gave a single nod in return.

  And then he recalled something, making his heart race and his stomach twist.

  “My blood!” He blurted, snapping his head toward Rosalina. “Please tell me you got it from Viki.”

  Rosalina’s face shifted. Her grip on his hand loosened, and her eyes seemed distant.

  “I did,” she said slowly. “But…”

  “But?!” Tristan’s voice sharpened. He didn’t like where this was going.

  She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

  “I took it the moment you went in. But when the explosion hit – when the walls and door blew apart and away – I…dropped it. The vial shattered on the floor, and your blood was buried under bricks and dust.”

  She added quickly. “But it’s not something a blood mage could use! Not in that state. You have nothing to worry about.”

  But Tristan didn’t calm. The opposite even – he only grew more nervous.

  “If I have nothing to worry about,” he hissed, eyes narrowing, “then why do you look so concerned?!”

  ***

  When Tristan arrived at the estate, his father already knew what had happened.

  “The news about an eye-patched woman carrying an ashen-haired boy fleeing the academy after an explosion reached me before you two.” Ifrit said.

  He ordered Rosalina to stay outside, calling only his son into the fiery chamber.

  Tristan stepped inside, the familiar heat washing over him like hot water. He knew how to survive this – how to shift the conversation, how to feed the right words into the fire that was Ifrit.

  “I had an enlightening, Father.” Tristan said, guiding the topic toward the direction he needed. “My magic. For a moment, I had access to it. It was me. I created the explosion.”

  Surprisingly, Ifrit didn’t look surprised. That in itself nearly cracked Tristan’s control. It took effort to keep his expression still, his thoughts empty.

  “I see.” Ifrit said. “But was the Classified Wing a worthy sacrifice for this…enlightening?”

  “You tell me.” Tristan shot back – sharper than he wanted. A small crack in his fa?ade. But one that his father appreciated.

  Ifrit’s eyes widened slightly in shock. But then his lips curved into a grin.

  “Can you use it now? Magic?” He asked.

  Tristan shook his head, keeping his mind clear of thoughts for Ifrit to read as he continued lying. “Not yet. Not freely. I need more time to understand how I can reach that state again. To learn how to control it.”

  Ifrit nodded once. “You know what I want from you. Just get there. I don’t care how you do it.”

  Tristan nodded, then changed the subject.

  “What happens now? After the Classified Wing was destroyed? Should we expect…punishment?”

  “Punishment?” Ifrit echoed, voice calm. “No. I’ll make sure they don’t trace it back to us.”

  “But our descriptions – “

  “Irrelevant, Tristan. The people who matter will forget it.”

  “But surely something as important as the Classified Wing – “

  “Again, irrelevant.” Ifrit said, more firmly now. “The only ones who cared about that decrepit section were ancient scholars – older than the dust on the empty shelves inside that chamber.”

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed in realization. “You’ve been there before…”

  Ifrit nodded. “Of course. It was useful to me once. Long ago. But to most, the knowledge inside is – was – gibberish. It’s either written in languages no one can read anymore, or encoded in concepts the average mind couldn’t hope to grasp.”

  Tristan was reassured by his father’s influence and words, but something else bothered him.

  “My blood.” Tristan said, his voice shaking. He stopped, composing himself before continuing. “Father – my blood…I’m afraid they might have a drop of it…”

  Ifrit inhaled deeply.

  The flames surrounding them dimmed, flickering down to the floor. Then, slowly, he exhaled – and the fire returned to its usual height.

  “Going forward, make sure you never leave your blood behind.” Ifrit said at last. “Even if you’re wounded in battle. Especially then. Nothing. Nothing must remain.”

  Tristan swallowed hard and nodded. “But for now…?”

  “There are three mages in Stulan capable of using Blood Magic.” Ifrit said. “One of them is out of kingdom – in exile. Another is the High Archivist himself – that old fool Geldhart. The last one is…me.”

  Tristan froze. The flames felt colder as he realized Ifrit knew something like this as well.

  Ifrit continued before Tristan could ask anything.

  “Geldhart will come. He’ll see there’s no justice to be found through official channels. And so – he’ll take revenge. Personal revenge.”

  He paused, letting his words sink.

  “You made quite the enemy today, son.”

  Tristan didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.

  But Ifrit did.

  “I’d rather avoid direct confrontation with him. But if things do come to that…” He said, his voice unlike anything Tristan had ever heard before – excited. “I will deal with him. Personally.”