• As a child, Milo Varon could be compared to both of his parents easily. He was rambunctious, flighty, and always one who sought knowledge. His cheerfulness could oftentimes be traced back to his father Lyón’s boyhood, and his kindness to Isaac. However, he was not entirely an angel as he grew up, taking great elation in causing mischief all about the area he lived in. Nobody was safe from his practical jokes—regardless of the preemptive measures taken, Milo always found a way to turn things in his favor.

    Most of his actions came from the constant craving of attention from parental figures in his life. Unlike his older siblings, he’d barely been able to know his parents personally. The only way he was able to remember Lyón and Isaac was through stories told to him by family friends and relatives. His older brother and sister didn’t know them any better than he did, but they had been fortunate enough to be able to remember the faces of their parents. The tales and adventures told to them as children always provided admirable images of their fathers, both of whom had been the leaders of a rebel group that participated in bringing about the end of a world war and removing a vengeful dictator from power—who, coincidentally, happened to be their grandfather. Lyón and Isaac had been heroes. What could possibly be better titles for one’s parents to have?

    Milo grew older and wiser. Having idolized both of his fathers since his brain could function properly to do so, he sought apprenticeship with a magician at a ripe twelve years of age with the desire to be just like the both of them. Neither of his siblings had considered magic seriously, but when Xuan Yuezhi took Milo under his wing as an apprentice, a bitter rivalry erupted between the boy and his older brother Luneth. Suddenly becoming the better of the two became top priority for both boys. At one point their hateful attitudes and gestures toward one another (and eventually their sister) called for intervention; Milo was sent away to Xuan’s manor to live with him as he continued his apprenticeship.

    During the time away from his siblings, Milo developed a remarkably serious, focused disposition—by the time he was eighteen, his personality had changed completely from that of a wily boy’s to a mature adult’s. Perhaps too mature. With that came numerous bouts of teenage angst and questions posed toward authority, especially Xuan’s. He was respectable as a young man, but had developed a constant habit of brooding during whatever precious free time he had. Accompanying that was a violent temper—both characteristics were inherited from Lyón’s adulthood. Without young people of his own intellectual level to interact with, Milo became detached from his emotions and often remained secluded in Xuan’s library. Over time, he even began to refuse audience with his own sister—people as a whole disappointed him.

    At nineteen years of age he had complete his apprenticeship, was given the name Selenelion, and began considering taking on pupils of his own. Xuan was strongly against the idea despite the boy’s incredible magical prowess, insisting that there was still much more for him to learn. In reality, he knew the boy would never be able to properly educate somebody to their fullest. The boy expected much more from people than they were often capable of, and in turn was crestfallen when a person did not live up to his expectations. Not only that, but the lack of self-control he had overall—especially when it came to his anger—had potential to lead to numerous problems. Selenelion was beginning to catch on to Xuan’s concerns with his “lack of experience” as well.

    By the time he was twenty-three, the boy may as well have been Lyón himself.

    If he wasn’t in either of the libraries, he could be found sitting deep in thought near the recently erected statues of Lyón and Isaac in the palace square of Nagasawa. By word of Xuan and other people that had known them, their physical structure was one hundred percent accurate. True to looks or not, the hollow, expressionless faces of the sorcerers Penumbra and Imbrium gave him a sense of longing. He knew his parents hadn’t abandoned him. Tragically, the both of them had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. They lived as heroes and died as heroes; they made people proud, even strangers. If they had lived, they would have raised him, Luneth, and Iris with utmost care, and they would have been a happy family… He wouldn’t have to remember his parents through stories and photographs. They would be right there with him.

    But now, all the remained of them was carved in stone. At the very least, they would be together until the end of time. That was enough to keep Selenelion happy. They were dead and gone, but they were watching over him somehow, somewhere.

    “Heishi-ko, stay out here much longer and you’ll find yourself with heat exhaustion.”

    Selenelion looked up from where he sat on his bench to discover Xuan hobbling towards him, leaning heavily on his cane. Without even considering it, the brunette rose to help his teacher get to the intended destination beside him on the bench. He should have known who it was—Xuan was the only person who used that silly name for him.

    Today it was rather hot, and he was probably correct about the threat of heat exhaustion. Wearing thick winter robes didn’t improve Selenelion’s situation. He remained standing as Xuan slowly lowered himself to the polished vermillion wood, taking his teacher’s hands and clasping them tightly and only letting go when Xuan assured him that he was comfortable. For a man approaching his eighties, Xuan was in remarkable physical shape. His hair had turned very gray and was finally beginning to thin and fall out, but his muscles remained firm and toned. His frailty and weariness simply came from age.

    Xuan leaned over his cane, bringing up one hand to shield his eyes from the bright, beaming sunlight. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a beautiful day like this one,” he said, smiling.

    “Yes,” Selenelion agreed, “It has.”

    “I remember when Lyón came here as a child with all of his little friends… The day that they left, the sun was shining and streaming like it is right now. You know, I’m very fortunate to have met him as a boy.”

    “Why?”

    “Why?” Xuan repeated, and laughed. It was a dry, rattling sound. “Without him, I probably wouldn’t have been able to carry on with my life.”

    Selenelion looked down at the ground, dark hair falling in front of his thick glasses. He’d picked up on the vague allusion to Xuan’s deceased daughter, who’d passed away long before her time. He allowed a moment of silence out of respect for her, lifting his head when he felt his teacher’s eyes on him again.

    “Heishi-ko, you shouldn’t keep to yourself so much.”

    “I’m fine.”

    “Learning is a wonderful thing, but what will you do when I am dead and gone? It is love outside now in the summer… Visit your sister, or the emperor. It has been so long.”

    “Again, I’m fine,” Selenelion repeated bluntly, eyes following the movements of every person that passed the. People were so foolish… They never understood anything, therefore fearing what they could not comprehend. One of the last things Selenelion ever intended to do in his life was go about making friends with such idiots. That seemed to be what Xuan was implying… Either that or finding a potential love interest. Feh, like he’d do such a thing! Frailty was a woman’s name!

    “You are so young and handsome. Any girl would be charmed by your dark, mysterious nature… And oh, how the thick rims of your glasses shine in the sunlight!”

    “You’re being sarcastic.”

    “I know.” Xuan burst out with a shout of laughter, patting a hand on his knee with great amusement. Selenelion scowled at him, eyes narrowing thinly to the point of making him look like a native of the country. “If anything, you’re pretty, Heishi-ko.”

    “Pretty?! Oh, toss off, you foolish old—”

    “Now, is that any way to speak to your teacher, Selenelion?” Xuan put a hand on top of his head and ruffled the already messy brown locks, a gesture that made his pupil tense up. He removed his hand at once and sighed, shifting around in his seat for a moment before the much younger man leaned into him, clasping his hand before setting it back in his wild tangle of hair. Xuan understood and put his arm around him, rubbing his shoulder affectionately.

    “I miss them,” the young sorcerer admitted. “I barely remember them, but I know they were together. And Lyón, he would take me and my brother all about Yallam… That’s one of the only things that’s there in my mind. I wish I could have known them as long as Luneth and Iris.”

    Xuan nodded sympathetically. “I wish you could have as well. They were wonderful people… They would both be very proud of you—all of you. I bet they’re watching over you.”

    Selenelion looked up into the face of the immovable Lyón. “Hm…”

    “Surely you believe in some kind of afterlife.”

    “Perhaps. I cannot say for certain.”

    “You’re awfully pessimistic as of late.”

    “Am I?”

    “You are.”

    Selenelion considered this. He didn’t associate his outlook on life with pessimism, preferring to look at it as plain truth. Nearly everything Xuan said was full of wisdom and virtuous life lessons… Perhaps the observation was somewhat correct. Selenelion would give his mentor the benefit of the doubt for the time being.

    “Master, why won’t you let me call you ‘Father’?”

    “Because I’m not.”

    “But you’ve been there like one. You’ve always been a father to me.”

    “I’m flattered, but I still don’t want you to call me that. I’m simply here to be the person in your life you can always come back to. But I don’t want to take the place of Isaac and Lyón in your mind.”

    “Then…”

    Xuan tilted his head in question when he knew his pupil was looking at him again. The brunette eventually shook his head and instead moved away from him to sit up, contemplating a few things to himself without verbal indication. He leaned back against the bench and Xuan turned his head to the side to watch Selenelion over his shoulder, taking note of the sour frown displayed on his face. “Then what, Heishi-ko?”

    “Nothing. Tell me a story.”

    “Awfully impromptu of you to make that request. Why, Heishi-ko? Why are you upset?”

    “I’m not upset. Tell me a story,” he restated, resting the side of his head against one fist, elbow on the arm of the bench. He glowered at nobody in particular but did not look up. “Tell me how my parents met each other.”

    “You’ve never asked that one before.”

    “I know. I’d like to hear it.”

    “Well, I don’t know everything…”

    “Tell me how jealous you were when you found out Lyón decided he was going to stay with Isaac the rest of his life instead of you.”

    Silently, Xuan turned his head to view Selenelion completely. For a moment he looked somewhat offended by the explanation of the question, pursing his lips to speak before closing them, wetting them. “What ever do are you talking about?”

    “Before they met, you and he wrote letters back and forth to one another. The last one you sent contained you professing your love for Lyón, requesting that he come and join you here in your homeland with his sister as well. He was preparing a reply for you but never sent it because he met Isaac, I assume.”

    Selenelion turned his head so they could see each other. His mentor appeared to be at a loss for words. Seeing that the opportunity was ripe, he felt the inside pockets of his emerald robe in search of something. Paper crinkled and he withdrew an aged letter that had been sealed for many years. He held it out to Xuan, who after recognizing the handwriting on the yellowed envelope, promptly reached for it. Selenelion took it from his grasp just as his fingertips ensnared its corner.

    Frustrated, Xuan narrowed his eyes and held his hand out palm-up. “What does it say?” he asked.

    Selenelion batted his master’s hand away and held the letter up to the light, wondering if the sunlight would make the envelope transparent. “I’ve not the slightest idea,” he admitted. “First, tell me why, and then you’ll find out.”

    Xuan eyed him warily before sighing, shifting in his seat to face toward the statues. “Please, Selenelion. Let me see the letter.”

    “No. It is mine. If you want to see it, then you must tell me of the past.”

    “Let me see it first.”

    “I don’t want you to get emotional and tell me something incorrectly.”

    Again his aging teacher tried to grab hold of it, but Selenelion simply extended his arm in the opposite direction over his shoulder. Xuan had had enough after that, having no patience to deal with the games of his student. With a grunt, he stood and steadied his weight on his cane before walking off rather heavily. Selenelion remained seated, surprised that his eternally mild-tempered guardian had lost composure so quickly. Had prodding for such information really been that offensive to him? Selenelion thought that since it involved so much of his family, he had an honest right to know. He was maddeningly curious about how deep the relationship between Xuan and Lyón had actually been before Isaac had come into the picture, or even when Isaac was around. And Xuan was a father figure to him no matter what he insisted… How bad could it be?

    He slid a finger beneath the cheaply made seal on the flap of the envelope, pondering whether or not to break it. Perhaps it wasn’t so much of his business after all if Xuan had been agitated by mention of it. Selenelion made a decision quickly, rising to follow Xuan before he was out of sight. “Master, wait!” he called, and Xuan, although somewhat hard of hearing, turned to acknowledge him. “Here, I’ll give it to you. Won’t you please tell me about it?”

    Xuan mulled the request over, watching Selenelion’s extended hand and the ancient letter it held. “Why are you so persistent to know about an affair that doesn’t concern you in any way?”

    Selenelion stared at Xuan openmouthed. That was something he hadn’t expected, having the question turned on him without warning. “I… uh… err…”

    “You don’t have an answer,” Xuan noted and snatched the letter from the young man before he could go back on his word and keep possession of it. Selenelion did not make an effort to protest this time, standing there with his feet shoulder-width apart in the middle of the plaza. Xuan stared at him coldly, clasping both hands one over the other at the head of his cane. They stared at each other for what felt like ages until Selenelion finally turned his gaze downward and lowered his head in defeat, submitting. He would not verbally admit it, but he began to realize his actions had probably been very wrong. Without speaking, Xuan turned, his footsteps accompanied by the “thunk” of his cane as he walked home.

    Suddenly the younger broke into a run. “Master!” he called again. “I want to know everything! I have a right to!”

    “No, you do not!” Xuan snapped without stopping. “It is none of your concern!”

    “It is so!”

    The immaturity present in Selenelion’s last response made Xuan turn around, his expression full of agitation. He scoffed at his pupil, brandishing his cane. He cried out in exasperation, “Why, Milo? Why?” as he shook his head, setting his cane down again.

    “Because… Because I can’t tell you!”

    Xuan eyed him strangely, but his voice was calmer. “You’re being foolish.”

    “No, I… It’s difficult to explain.”

    “Is it? Then do what any sensible person in this day and age would do,” Xuan replied, turning away for what would be the final time. “Think about it.” With that, he left, and Selenelion did not follow him. He decided that there had been enough of a quarrel about the letter. It probably didn’t say anything worth of interest in the first place. He was irritated with Xuan’s oversensitivity to the subject as much as his teacher was annoyed with his prodding.

    What was the harm in it? Was his own philosophy coming back to him? Was Xuan afraid of saying something to him that he wouldn’t be able to wrap his mind around? Surely nothing about a relationship was that complex. They hadn’t even had one; it was simply flirting, passing glances and nothing more in the forms of written material. Xuan was a father figure to him even if he said otherwise… It made him wonder if the relations with Lyón in the past had something to do with the refusal of allowing him to call his teacher “father” for so many years.

    The day was still young. Selenelion decided he would take his teacher’s suggestion from earlier—perhaps Iris would have some encouraging words for him to hear.