Girl Meets Boy

It was almost too easy. Too predictable.

'Typical Nords...' Irinna remarked, disappointed despite her already low expectations.

The registration's parchment stared at her from the ground, the boy already long gone from the scene.

'Too easy to provoke.' She scoffed, reminiscing on her mother's teachings.

Her clothes swished in the air as she made to take the parchment then, flowing blond hair falling to the sides of her slim face. She put it over the booth, her signature one comprised of elegant lines and contours.

The crowd was once more chattering, now all talking about the boy's departure. Already, she could hear the low tones of pity and mock in their voices, none regarding the boy as an actual contender for the competition.

None. None but one singular girl - her eyebrows still tilted upwards in surprise.

"Pick it up, then..." She muttered to herself, then, after a beat of silence, whistled, "Damn."

*

*

*

The crowd became distant, nothing but a murmur in the background. The bridges, the roads - it all blurred together as Sevyn kept on walking. His pace was hurried, his breathing silent.

Before long, trees and shrubbery surrounded him, the encroach of a pinewood forest the only thing that registered in his mind.

Once, he had survived insurmountable odds outside of the city. Come out unscathed, he did not - but that was never an issue for him. He carried on, regardless.

And, then, pity. There, knees scrapped after falling to the ground, Sevyn fell for the first time. And what did he earn?

Pity.

They pitied him, as one would do with a stray scraping for food in the streets. As if he was incapable of fending off on his own.

A rivulet of Magicka coursed through his body then, clots and lumps of it weighing on the tip of his fingertips. The shrubbery all around him flinched and then went still.

His middle finger slid against his thumb - a loud snap.

Sparks came to life, shining and burbling with energy. A second. Two seconds.

His entire body lifted off from the ground, ears now ringing in distress. Wood bark bit into his back as he flew, and he heaved the air out of his lungs. For a moment or two, he lay sprawled onto the floor, ears still ringing.

Looking up, the sight of ashes coloring the forest greeted him, creating a stunning painting as it expanded outwards - as if color splashed against a blank canvas.

A giant pinewood tree lay fallen onto the forest bed, its trunk now split in half.

A long, trembling sigh escaped his lips then, in an attempt to calm down. His Magic, however, refused to stay put, drumming in his bones without rest. It ricocheted against the walls of his body, becoming faster and faster and more unstable with each revolution.

To feel that much anger wasn't normal, he noted.

Heaving another loud, lengthy breath, though, proved to be just as ineffective. It wouldn't settle down no matter what.

So, rather than trying to quiet down, Sevyn let Magic pull him up instead. It wasn't gentle or controlled in its aid, but it got the job done.

Instantly, he let it flow through him. He kept no lid on it, making no efforts to calm down. Channeling, he instead dived fully into his turbulent emotions.

The ashes on the floor surrounded him, the boy an epicenter to the caustic painting. Like a blank canvas, he poured it all out, exhausting his emotions as one would with a paint bucket.

This time, his feet remained dug to the ground, however. The explosion of flames expanded outwards, more controlled, and all he felt was the recoil on his arm and back.

The flames just as quickly fizzled out, and another tree slammed to the ground. Tiredness crept upon Sevyn, but he distantly realized that such practice was great for estimating his maximum Magicka output.

A twig snapped to his left then. At once, his head turned, locking onto the disturbance.

For a brief instant, she almost looked like part of the scenery. Where ashes once embroidered the green cover of the forest, she now stood at its center, her ginger hair a single blaze in the charred, crude artwork.

It was braided, flowing down her left shoulder as molten lava did from Vvardenfell's Red Mountain.

Yet, he remained silent, his black hair still disheveled after his last bout of magical prowess. Before the silence could grow any longer, though, the clothing the girl wore woke him from stupor - College robes, royal blue ones.

"Hey," She waved offhandedly, "You fine?" She asked, her voice a bit deep in timbre.

'Fine? Do I even know you?' He almost sputtered.

The girl looked nonplussed - entirely unfazed - by the two fallen trees, however, coming closer instead as if it were something one saw every other day.

"What?" Came his dumb response.

Regardless, she merely continued, looking around before whistling appreciatively, "Dunno, you looked hellbent on blowing up some shit."

'...'

"Trying to let out some steam?" Quirking an eyebrow, she even had the gall to appear surprised, "Am I interrupting? You wanna keep at it?"

'...'

"... So?" She put her hands on her hips after a beat of silence, tapping her foot on the scorched ground.

"No, don't worry," He shook his head, eyebrows raised, "You didn't interrupt anything, in fact... just stay right there."

Raising his hand, he feinted a snap of fingers.

She merely smiled, however, "Blow me up, and I will punch that pretty face of yours."

A current of wind went through the forest then, its sound the only noise one could hear, and they stared at each other for one everlasting moment.

"... Sounds like an invitation."