The troop got moving without waiting for daybreak.
They marched through the dark wasteland, feeling only the premonition of sunrise. Progress was sluggish. Dragged along in the wake of the others, Majic hung his head, looking down at his own feet while he walked.
Before them lay a black forest that seemed to melt into the dark sky around it: Fenrir’s Forest, with its jet-black foliage. It was still far away—despairingly far. He sighed for the umpteenth time.
“You tired?”
Majic jumped when a concerned voice called out to him. He groaned, realizing the reaction came in part because he had gotten unused to people showing concern for him. He turned around in time for Isabella to begin speaking again.
“You should have just ridden on the Deep Dragon with Krylancelo and your friends.” As she spoke, she indicated the enormous wolf walking with them a short distance away. The black beast that moved without making a sound seemed like a walking shadow.
Majic responded quietly without looking up at Orphen, Claiomh, the lord, or the two dwarf brothers who rode upon the beast. “It’s fine... I feel like I’d be more tired riding up there.”
“Oh yeah?” Luckily, Isabella didn’t pursue the matter any further.
Feeling guilty, Majic murmured, “Oh, I’m sorry... If I weren’t walking, you wouldn’t have to walk to keep me company, would you, Miss...Assistant Professor Isabella?”
She smiled. It was a sunny smile, with just a bit of shadow in it. “Don’t worry about it. If I were with Krylancelo, we’d just end up talking about Irgitte...and that would be painful.”
“Umm, you’re a sorcerer, right?” Majic suddenly asked her. A beat later, he realized what a stupid question it was and flushed red. It was like asking a hawk “You’re a bird, right?”
Sure enough, Isabella nodded with a bit of a mystified look. “Yes. I’m a sorcerer. I wasn’t in the same class as your teacher Krylancelo, but I’d say we’re contemporaries.”
“Umm, well...what I really wanted to say was, you’re a really amazing sorcerer, right...? Like, capable and strong...”
“I’d say I’m as good as your teacher, sure.” After saying the words, she shrugged, a chagrined smile on her face. “No, maybe not. I’d never try to stand up to Pluto, after all.”
“How good do you suppose Orphen is?”
“Huh?”
“Well, he’s the only other sorcerer I know, and I can tell that he’s really impressive, but I don’t really know how impressive he is...”
Isabella gave him a wide-eyed look for a few moments, but eventually moved closer and said, voice low, “It doesn’t sound like you’re just asking to make small talk. I’ll give you a serious answer, then. That depends on who you ask.”
“It depends?”
“Objectively speaking, Krylancelo has some serious sorcerous ability. Anyone would think the same, watching the way he fought yesterday. But to me, he’s just the younger brother of a person I considered a rival a long time ago, and to Miss Maria, I bet he’ll always be a kid. How do you see him?”
Majic wasn’t sure what to say in response. He looked down and eventually managed, “I don’t think I’ll ever compare to him, no matter what I do.”
“I see. You might be right about that, but you also might already have something that surpasses him.”
“Huh?” Majic looked up and Isabella smiled.
“I said the same thing before, didn’t I?” she continued. “If you’re a sorcerer, then I’m going to treat you like one. But frankly speaking, you look like a novice, and I’m not expecting much from you. Krylancelo, however? It seems to me like he’s trying to change the way he sees you, like he’s trying to acknowledge you as an equal.”
“He is?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, since I’ve never had an apprentice of my own...but I bet it’s pretty hard for the teacher to deal with their student becoming independent too. If you don’t try to change the way you see him in the same way, you might end up being the one left behind in the end.”
Majic walked silently for a time, ruminating on her words. He felt his emotions rising, but an actual answer to his question still eluded him. After several false starts, he eventually managed, “I wanted to stand on my own as a sorcerer.”
“I see,” Isabella said gently.
Majic hesitated briefly, but eventually shook off his indecision and gestured at the crowd walking a short distance away—the frightened, tired, helpless crowd. Just as frightened and tired as them, he went on, “But are these really the strongest black sorcerers on the continent? It’s shameful...”
The Thirteen Apostles, the court sorcerers, stood above all other sorcerers as the pinnacle of their kind. But half of them had fallen before even reaching the sanctuary, and the other half marched on haggardly now, fully convinced that the enemy they were about to face could wipe the rest of them out with nothing more than a thought. They dragged onward with resignation, not moving forward so much as allowing momentum to carry them the only way they felt they could go.
Isabella looked back at her companions like Majic and sighed. “You’re right. It’s pathetic.” Her voice contained not a hint of sarcasm.