Mariella Kuibreza
“Polaz, am I right?”
I looked at the man with broad shoulders, back drenched in sweat as he dropped a bag. His biceps relaxed as it hit the ground, sounding like a bag of small chains. He faced me, eyes narrowed from the bright light of the sun.
“Detreeve.” He said, catching his breath. “Mariella?”
I averted my curious eyes from trailing down his back as he patted himself with a nearby towel that hung from the front railing of the bleachers. A few students occupied the seats, waiting for the activity to start while fawning over the men in action. Lunch had already ended, but the field was still full of students doing combat practice, using magick by the other half of the field.
“Kuibreza, but please, call me Mari.” I said, insisting. I found formalities uncomfortable, and Polaz certainly didn't owe me my whole name after everything that had happened. He gave me a nod.
“I would like to start over.” My cousin spoke from beside me. “I’m Klaus.”