Verinia tapped a stick on the grass, running her thumb over the edge of the book in her hand.
"Who were the four families bearing the gift of prophecy in the old world?"
"Accryni, Lodarde, Rifthall and Zerafi."
Halen's shoulders tensed before he released the bowstring. An arrow pierced the through the air with a hiss before embedding into the heart of its target.
"Eye again." Verinia smiled, turning the page of the book and reading through the curves and lines of her own handwriting. "Whose was the longest reigning dynasty in the old country?"
"The Jaf-Kul'ai dynasty, having reigned for nine hundred turns of the twin suns." The young prince released the bowstring once again and struck true.
He moved quickly, using his deft little fingers to reload his bow before the target could even hit the ground from where it had hung only moments before.
"What tribe did the Jaf-Kul'ai belong to?"
"The Ruth-ja fire tribe. They were smelters and workers of leather, crafting gear and saddles for the dragon tamers and instituting the copper pipe system for the heating of water." He released the bowstring.
"Eye." Verinia tucked the book under her arm and spun her little brother around several times to disrupt the focus he had honed so meticulously. "Through whom was the prophecy of restoration cast before The Final See?"
"Sarsha Rifthall, the only Supreme High Priestess to also be Oracle since the Fallen Tears."
Halen stood completely still, turning his head to catch sound of the soft breeze that caressed the crowns of the lofty trees as it passed them by. His stance shifted again and he turned himself completely to the side.
Faster than a heart could beat he loaded and released the arrow between his fingers.
"Eye." The First Princess took a small target disk from the pocket of her dress soundlessly. "During what month was the prophecy cast?"
"The prophecy of restoration was cast during the sixth month of Siccrem to be fulfilled on the day it was cast."
Halen's body turned to the front at the very last instance, just as his fingers released the bowstring. The arrow whizzed through the air in an arch before piercing straight into the heart of the disk Verinia had thrown, anchoring it to a tree.
"You've been practicing in your spare time, I see." She neared him with the silent footsteps of a spectre to remove the thick cloth bound over his eyes.
"I have." The boy smiled charmingly when he could see her again. Two deep indents, the same as Syvia's, appeared in his chubby cheeks when he grinned.
Verinia had to resist the urge to squeeze his childish face in her hands.
"How was my performance?"
"I believe you're becoming master of a dead art, Halen." She put away the book and began helping him retrieve his arrows. "You will be fully prepared by the time you come to the age of ascension."
"Did the soldiers of the old world really learn Branthe, Ina?"
"According to my books, they spent one decade learning it once recruited." The princess began to replace the arrows into their quiver as she spoke. "And that is only the theory."
"Oh." The boy's face was perhaps brighter than the two suns combined. "Like me."
"You have an advantage," she replied gently, taking his hand as they began returning to the palace. Halen held her arm to the sun and admired her diamantine skin. "I have been teaching you since you were born, so what was learned for them is instinct for you."
"Sur Louren says I'm very fast to learn the art of sword and combat," Halen said solemnly. "Is there more Branthe for me to learn still?"
"There is. But you still have time for it, little beast."
"I quite enjoy the dead arts, Ina. They're fun."
"Perhaps you will know them all by the time you are seated." Verinia narrowed her eyes against the glare of the twin suns threatening to blind her on such a bright and cheerful day.
Through the ripples of heat in the air, Light Tower loomed in the distance like an imposing mirage against the further back-view of the Sea of Mirrors.
The Tower's polished sandstone shone under the harsh light of the suns, absorbing their rays and producing a glimmer that was similar to the glimmer of her skin, yet so much brighter.
"Do you remember what I told you of Light Tower's purpose during The Final See?
"The Fallen Tear atop the Tower lit Nefre to its very ends and guided our ancestors to find their new home."
"Precisely." Verinia smiled down at him. "Once, when you were a wee little baby, I was rocking you to sleep during a stormy night and I had a vision."
Halen laughed disbelievingly. "Only House Rifthall has visions."
"Not quite, child. All of us, of the Eight Houses, are direct descendants of the Maker. The Arcana may speak to any of us directly, should they so please, but they will only speak through House Rifthall, as they possess the hereditary trait of Oracle."
"I see."
Verinia squeezed her brother's hand in hers. Even though she couldn't feel much, the warmth of his little fingers reached the very pits of her rock-like heart and brought a ray of the overbearing sunlight into the miserable space.
"During my vision, I saw you as you are now— perhaps only slightly older. In your hands, however, you held a stone, brighter than the lesser sun. It was so bright that the world became white in its shine, and no colour could be distinguished."
The little prince's eyes were wide. "What was the stone, Ina?"
"A Fallen Tear. When I saw it, I understood many things, but only one is the most important. Perhaps magic will not be restored in our time, but you were chosen by Beroni, the wheel of fate, to be our light in darkness. That is all that matters, do you understand?"
"How will I be a light?" Halen frowned pensively. "Our days have been good and the continent has seen little trouble. I don't know how to bring more light to such fortunate times."
A solemn silence descended over Verinia, thick enough to drown the sound of twittering birds and rustling leaves.
It was true that their days were good. Life was good. But something in her marrow whispered from the muddled grey of the unknown and told her that nothing was as harmonious as it seemed to be.
"Times are changing," she said mysteriously. "People change. Traditions change. Chaos will come."
"That's not reassuring, Ina."
"But," she continued, "chaos will not stop you from completing your purpose. Destiny is a set path, little beast. You may not know how to bring light, but Beroni's end will be fulfilled either way."
The siblings came to the entrance of the palace through the barracks where the new knight recruits were completing their midday training.
Sur Louren, Halen's protector and instructor, was shouting with the entire capacity of his broad chest, a habit he seemed to develop miraculously only when recruits were present.
Normally he was a very deep-voiced man, so when he decided to start screaming, the birds would scatter.