Birds In a Cage

Sunlight, filtered through glass and leaves, dappled the humid air of the greenhouse. A deep voice, regal and hollow, pierced the morning symphony of birdsong. "How was your journey, Athena?"

Princess Athena, her fingers trailing the velvety surface of an Anthurium, turned with a practised smile. "It was quite enlightening, Your Majesty." Her voice, though polite, held a tremor that only the aroid's dark green leaves seemed to understand.

Emperor Ares, his eyes like faded jewels in a weather-beaten crown, "Five months, Athena, and you greet me with titles?"

Princess Athena swallowed the lump in her throat. "Customary, Father," she forced, her voice a strained melody. The greenhouse, usually her sanctuary, felt suffocating under his gaze.

His lips twisted in a humorless smile, his eyes pools of emptiness. "Custom? I am your Emperor, your father. Titles are for strangers, not family."

"It is duly noted, Father," the Princess replied, her voice tinged with sadness, though the Emperor couldn't have noticed. She followed him through the humid labyrinth of plants.

A flicker of hope ignited when she spotted the new leaves unfurling on her Anthurium Regale, their burgundy promising a future bloom the size of her torso. "Beautiful!" she exclaimed.

The Emperor asked absentmindedly, "What is it, my dear?"

"Winter's grip is loosening, Father," she said, her voice full of excitement. "Did you see these new leaves?" 

Emperor Ares finally focused, a spark of life flickering in his eyes. "Fascinating,"

Athena agreed eagerly. Yet, her father interjected, "Not as intriguing as our defiance of nature, don't you think?" His voice carried a dangerous edge. "These creatures of temperate lands wouldn't endure here without our sanctuary, the controlled environment within these walls we built."

Athena frowned, sensing the hidden meaning. "They thrive in their own habitat, Father," she countered softly.

"Not all," he argued, gesturing to a cluster of slender aroids. "The Spiritus Sancti, for example. Almost extinct before we rescued them. We orchestrate their survival, their very existence."

Silence settled, heavy with unspoken words. "Sometimes, Father," Athena ventured, her voice barely a whisper, "letting go is inevitable."

"Not when divinity intervenes, my dear," he replied, his gaze fixed on a distant point.

A sense of unease crept through Athena as her conversation with her father shifted into an ominous realm beyond the world of plants. Her father's surprising knowledge of botany briefly revealed the man he once was—the Crown Prince with sun-kissed hair and eyes that glittered like citrines, reminiscent of the flawless angels in palace paintings. However, that image had faded with time, replaced by the hollow shell before her—a marble statue sculpted by grief.

Much like her, he didn't desire the throne, but it was thrust upon him. Whispers about his youth circulated—his forbidden friendship with the late heir of House Azure, their striking contrast of moonlight and dark skin, a topic their servants loved to discuss in private. Athena remembered the tremor in her mother's voice, a storm brewing behind her eyes, when she dared to ask about the Prince of Azure's demise.

His questions about Silverkeep and her return were rehearsed, tinged with knowledge borrowed from the Duke's reports, not the genuine inquiries of a father seeking his daughter. They avoided discussing why she ran away in the first place and why it took him five months to search for her. Perched at the tea table, bathed in the greenhouse's sun-drenched dome, Athena realized she wasn't the only bird trapped in this gilded cage. The bars were invisible, crafted from unspoken grief and secrets, but the bars were there, binding them both.

**

The market's symphony of bargaining and laughter danced around Eydis as she trailed behind Sir John, her eyes flitting to every stall. A vial of "eternal love"? Perfect for the Duke, she thought with amusement, picturing the ensuing chaos. 

"These are mere gimmicks, Miss Eydis," John spoke, his voice as low as the dragon-hide boots he wore. 

"How about self-defence charms?" she countered, her eyebrow arching. The knight, a man of limited words and even less patience, simply grunted and continued his stride.

"Where exactly are we going, Sir John?" Eydis inquired, breaking the silence.

John muttered, "The Academy, Miss."

As cute as tall, dark, and broody could be, literally, she required more answers than that. She had toured the centre before; it was bustling with antique shops, museums, cafes, and salons, but it was definitely not large enough to fit a campus. "I remembered the examination building, and it's certainly not where we're headed," she reasoned.

"We are heading to the main campus," Sir John explained, as short and cryptic as possible.

The knight remained stoic, offering only another enigmatic grunt as his stride never faltered. Finally, they reached their destination: a quaint, copper phone booth nestled in a forgotten corner, triggering a strong flashback to Doctor Who.

"Doctor Who?" the knight finally responded, with impeccable timing.

"I, uh, meant Doctor You-know-who," she stammered, feeling her wit desert her. "The one I'm…meeting."

The knight eyed her in confusion but thankfully retreated back to his stoic shell. Squeezing m into the tiny phone booth, his clumsy, muscular body occupied seventy, no, eighty percent of it, leaving her pressed against the cool glass with awkward intimacy. Despite his clumsy attempt to arch his back, she could practically feel his breath on her cheek.

"Look, Sir John," she began, barely holding back a groan, "if you're about to tell me you guys can teleport, I'll be very, very annoyed!" She recalled the traumatising dragon ride that she hoped would be her last.

John stared at her like she'd grown a second head, then with a deadpan expression, punched in a passcode. Eydis, remembering the witches' flashy entrance to the Duke's palace, allowed a flicker of hope to spark. But before she could ponder the logistics of phone-booth teleportation, the booth lurched, defying gravity and rising into the air.

"Oh wow," exclaimed Eydis, clinging to the phone booth's edge as they soared into the blue sky. The familiar bustling hum of the Capital faded, replaced by the wind whistling in her ears. How could she forget? It's Terravale, land of earth sorcerers. They could possibly manipulate gravitational forces, allowing the phone booth to lift. 

As the booth breached the cloud line, a gasp escaped her lips. Above, a colossal island, cloaked in emerald green, hovered defiantly against the azure canvas. It wasn't a mirage; it was the Imperial Arcane Academy, and it was breathtaking.

The booth landed with a graceful clink on an ornate bridge. Stepping out, Eydis was met by a symphony of senses. The air buzzed with a subtle thrumming energy, the scent of exotic flora tickled her nose, and sunlight, filtered through the leaves of colossal trees, painted dappled patterns on the cobblestones.

Gothic structures, their facades laced with intricate carvings, circling the garden protectively. In the heart of this fantastical garden, a colossal rhombus-shaped gem blazed with an azure aura, casting an ethereal glow over the grounds. Its brilliance rivalled the setting sun, a stark contrast against the backdrop of a twenty-story tower that pierced the sky.

The buildings within the campus boasted sharp and vertical lines, giving them an imposing presence. However, the overall design was softened by the inclusion of a large circular structure embracing a smaller crescent moon. Positioned behind the main building, it added a touch of celestial elegance, emphasising the embodiment of divinity.

As Eydis marvelled at the breathtaking sight, she couldn't help but notice the intricate dance of light and shadow, the vibrant green hues of the meticulously maintained gardens, and the tall, slender towers encircling the outermost edges of the floating island. Each tower seemed to reach for the sky, providing both an aesthetic and protective perimeter.

Observing what appeared to be a mesmerising circular motion above the campus, Eydis turned to Sir John with curiosity. "What are those?"

"The lifeblood of this place," he replied, his voice tinged with reverence. "The force field, woven by earth magicians, that keeps the Academy afloat."

"Sir John," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves, "have you been here before?"

He met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "A lifetime ago," he said, his voice a mere echo.

**

The administrator cleared his throat, pulling Eydis from her reverie of floating towers and pulsating force fields. He rapped on an oak door adorned with a nameplate embossed with "Dean Swans." A curt "Enter" echoed from within.

Stepping into his office, Dean Swans was just as she pictured: lanky, a shade older than forty, too youthful for the legends that swirled around him. Despite the Academy's flamboyant Gothic grandeur, his office exuded a surprising intimacy. Deep mahogany walls embraced stacks of ancient books, their leather spines whispering forgotten tales. The air hung heavy with the mingled scent of old books, polished wood, and steeping tea, a warm lullaby for the inquisitive mind.

Eydis couldn't help but linger near a shelf housing rare first editions. Some, she swore, bore the distinctive markings of Duke Theomund's cherished collection. A subtle smile played on Dean Swans's lips, as if he'd plucked her thoughts from the air.

"Indeed, the rumours of your predicament were true," he said, his voice warm, having tuned into her thoughts. "Remarkable, though, that you recognize such treasures."

Eydis shrugged, a playful edge to her voice. "Duke Theomund isn't exactly... averse to a good book."

His smile deepened, momentarily nostalgic. "Yes, Theomund. One of our brightest."

Eydis nodded, familiar with the tale. The Academy's prestige lay in its association with the five houses and the imperial family. The heirs of duchies and marquesses mingled with royalty. The floating oasis offered a safe and exclusive haven for these nobles. Until the witches, with their unsettling teleportation, shattered the illusion of absolute security.

As Dean Swans poured her a cup of tea, his movements as precise and practised as the gears of his printing press, Eydis couldn't help but marvel at the man. He was a legend, despite being a commoner, a "Golden Boy Genius" who had revolutionised communication at age eight. His printing press had brought news and stories to the masses. His telescope had unveiled the secrets of the stars. And his pinhole camera had laid the foundation for a future where memories could be frozen in time. These weren't just inventions; they were windows opened onto new worlds, testaments to a mind that refused to be confined by the limitations of the ordinary. It was no wonder the Emperor himself had sought him out, hoping to harness this extraordinary intellect to bridge the gap between magic and science.

"I'm surprised by your admiration, Miss Eydis," he said, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

Eydis blinked, the teacup poised halfway to her lips. "Longjing? It's a…favourite of someone I knew." But the face behind the name remained shrouded in mist, frustratingly out of reach.

How odd, and unsettling.

"Indeed, a refined choice," Dean Swans chuckled, unabashed. 

"Unabashed? Oh my, I see how your curse can be troublesome at times, Miss Eydis." The dean spoke in amusement.

Flustered, she hastily defended herself, "My apologies, Dean Swans, for these inappropriate thoughts I can't seem to control."

The Dean's smile softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Let's leave the pleasantries aside, Miss Eydis. I don't interview every prospective student." 

"I suppose you have a reason for inviting me here, Dean Swans?" she replied.

He leaned back, his gaze unwavering. "I've invited you here to ask you two questions."

"And if I choose not to answer?" she challenged, a flicker of defiance in her eyes.

Dean Swans's smile widened. "The choice is yours, Miss Eydis. It will not impact your admission," he reassured. "Now, please allow me to proceed."

Dean Swans leaned forward, his voice a hypnotic whisper, "First, Miss Eydis, do you believe in God?"

 'Are we veering towards theology now?' Eydis thought, her lips curved into a sly smile. "My answer, Dean Swans, is written on the page."

Taken aback by her calm demeanour, the dean persisted. "That's the thing. You brought up God, but I wonder if it was truly out of sincere belief," he countered, his brown eyes piercing into hers. "Could it have been a strategic move to challenge the noble examiners?"

Eydis shrugged, sipping the tea. Although not her favourite, its fragrance proved calming, a remnant of her past. "Seeing is believing, and the visual evidence I've encountered convinced me of a higher power. However," She paused, her gaze locking onto his. "Appearances can be deceiving, Dean Swans. People aren't always who they seem."

He chuckled, a low rumble that echoed in the stillness. "Indeed, Miss Eydis. Especially you, I believe."

"Oh? How so, Dean Swans? I consider myself an open book," she replied, her lips hinting at a slight upward tug.

"Because, Miss Eydis," he said, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling knowledge, "I can't hear your thoughts anymore." 

Her mind, once abuzz with admiration and cryptic memories, lay eerily silent. 

"Please, Dean Swans," she purred, her voice dangerously low, "you should know better than to pry into a woman's secrets."

He blinked, a flicker of confusion erasing the unnerving glint. "Woman?"

Eydis flushed, caught off guard. "Well, 'girl' just...doesn't sound right," she mumbled, suddenly aware of the awkward creak of her teenage voice.

The dean chuckled, "Fair enough., based on your initial response, we could move onto a more enticing proposition, Miss Eydis."

"Is this the second question, or is there another one coming?" she inquired.

"The final question," he leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "Would you consider becoming my research assistant?"

The depth of her emotions surpassed mere surprise. The esteemed dean, known for maintaining distance, had never before taken a student under his wing, usually confining himself to guest lectures and marking papers he authored. The implications of his proposal were profound. Eydis would ascend to a prominent position within the academy and attract attention from the Imperial family, given the dean's revered status. Princess Athena's scrutiny was already burdensome.

Such an unprecedented offer, typically reserved for high-achieving students in PHD courses, carried weight, especially for someone with a modest score. "I appreciate the offer, Dean Swans, but I must respectfully decline," she replied promptly, carefully considering the potential consequences.

Dean Swans smiled, unfazed. "I suppose my instinct was correct; You seek anonymity, and my offer would paint you a vibrant target." Before Eydis could reply, he added, "But, Miss Eydis, given your audacious approach in the entrance exam, I assumed you'd be willing to confront any challenges."

Eydis, her smile replaced by seriousness, responded, "Dean Swans, there are calculated risks and then there are pure risks. I'm not foolish enough to dive into a risk I can't control."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her sudden shift. "Why then take such a bold stance in your debates when you could have easily followed conventional norms to pass?"

Eydis's lips curved into a smile. "It did get you to look, didn't it?"

"Pardon me?" he questioned.

Eydis shrugged, mischief returning to her expression. "While appearing foolish might buy me a quiet life here, I wouldn't want to be underestimated by… the right people."

Realisation dawned on him as she turned the tables. "Was I your target from the start?" he asked.

Eydis rose, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Perhaps, esteemed Dean Swans," she said, her voice dripping with double meaning. "We have much to talk about," she enunciated each word with a slightly unhinged smirk.

"Oh dear!" The dean exclaimed, their new student would be very interesting, indeed.