The boy finally got to escape from his bed, unpatient and still slightly tired from his lack of sleep, missing vital hours of rest due to running into the royalty in the middle of the night. Midas aimlessly stared at his door, sitting on top of his rug, folding his fingers into each other to think about the task that was placed on him.
Weirdly, as the royalty mentioned the eastern storm, his tone shifted to be much more genuine, as if he were begging the boy to take care of the matter for him. Even admitting to being overwhelmed by managing multiple matters at once, probably all of them urgent, since he is tasked to defend the country, move masses of people around cities to protect them, as well as having to find a solution to calm the storm before it would consume the Fort in the East. His eyes flashed for a short second as he remembered him talking about a great sun cycle.
Some sort of measurement, the „great" being a part of it suggesting being multiple of these „sun cicles," which upon further thinking must be the term for a completed day, describing the length of time that needs to pass until the sun arrives at the same spot, ending its cicle, continuing another.
Looking back to the circular window, he saw the first few sunrays shine onto the fibers of the rug he laid on. Standing up impulsively to grab ahold of the wooden handle nailed onto his dorm door, passing by the tiny table filled with different books Midas used to tighten his grip on the language of this folk. By the time, easily spending around 30-40 sun cycles reading through different books, scribbling and pronouncing different words he noted onto paper.
Midas made sure to hold onto the many papers he smeared with ink, in case he wanted to look back onto certain words, normally studying the bundle of old vocabulary that lay ontop his tiny stack of books, instead, confident in his skill, leaving for the door to confront Jihid instead.
The boy left his room with low-level excitement, not trying to act too lively while walking down the hallway, heading for Alma's office, composed, greeting the few guards he passed as he climbed down the staircase. Stopping in front of the door to knock against the heavy wood before slowly opening the door, Alma met his conscious gaze through the thight creak between the door and its frame as the boy slowly pushed against it to enter.
"Sarbahrm a'far." Midas spoke, his tone soft as he peaked further into the dimly lit room, his body slightly hidden behind the wood, as he locked his eyes onto Alma, looking up to face him, seemingly interrupted inmidst him writing some sort of letter, holding onto a white feather, softly shining back the candles light. The feather that the bearded man always used when writing something of importance, as its stroaks were much finer than the feather he let the boy use.
"Sarbahrm a'far, A'khadit, Midas." Alma welcomed the boy in, his tone soft, as he looked back onto what most likely was a future letter, his eyes looking downwards onto the paper again, the ink dimly glicening, before sinking into the fiber of the paper.
"Forgive me if I interrupt you. I am interested in learning more about Mana. I was thinking you might have a book in your possession, which could help me in that regard." The boy crossed his hands, laying one on top of another as he spoke to the busy man in front of him, watching him stop moving his feather, slowly looking up again while hardening his expression slightly and stressing the boy.
"That's quite sudden to hear from you. Where did this interest of yours come from?" Alma put the feather back into the metal ink pot, the stem of it lightly sounding against the thinly forged bronze. "I see—the child of the Sarbahr'ivid must've told you. Nothing escapes your ears, it seems. Sounding much more reluctant than the boy had hoped for, Alma stood up to come closer, scanning his gaze for a short moment, before turning to the piled-up paperwork and literature that accumulated at the corner of his office.
Crouching down to the many books, some resting on top of each other, others falling to the ground, sitting admidst many stacks of different heights, most covered in dust, he took a while to stare at them, closing his eyes, before standing up to face the boy with a stern impression. "I fear—I lack any real book describing the steps a beginner would need to take to learn more about Mana. What I do have plenty of is literature from the north—enough to study their language as well." Trying to make up for what he lacked, slightly ashamed to not be able to meet the boys whistling.
Lightling up at Almas suggestion, Midas had raised his view upwards again: „I'd greatly appreciate that—please, do give me some of these books if you can." Voicing his intrigue to extend his linguistic knowledge beyond the desert boarders, encouraging to fetch him the books.
With two new books pressed to his chest, the boy opened the entrance again, Alma trying to hold onto his attention again before he'd leave for good. „If you do decide to delve deeper into Mana, make sure to always get the appropriate rest—never shall you underestimate its effect on your body if you go beyond your capability." He sounded his remark clearly, voicing his light resentment towards the boy studying Mana.
„I promise to you." The boy nodded, facing the concerned man, before finally heading out to leave. Swiftly staching the two new books Alma handed to him, both telling the same tale, translated to different languages. Perfect for the boy, as he needed something to translate the foreign symbols into. He didn't take long before leaving again, as he left to go into Jihid's room, hoping for awnsers, as the old man might be the only one able to grant him the awnsers he'd needed.
Trembling in interest, he slid the door to Jihid open, quietly entering his lit room, much brighter than his, as the sun had arisen much faster than he had thought. „Sarbahrm a'far Jihid, please forgive my sudden appearance—I am in dire need of an answer to a question. You seem the only one to be able to answer me as well. Trying to sound as polite as possible, slightly running out of ideas to voice his question to him, he approached him.
„Listen, you good for nothing. I told you, I never learned to write, so stop asking me about grammar." He was met by the hiss of Jihid, slightly clenching onto the thin blanket covering his lower body, his brows sharply pressed against each other.
„This isn't about that. Teach me about Mana, please. I need to know how to fill in a debt I have placed on myself." Eager to win him over, he bowed without any word given, placing his head and hands onto the mud floor, begging him to hear the boy out.
Jihid raised one of his brows, looking back at Midas as he mentioned Mana. Out of all the people he approached, now even on the floor begging to him, he grew slightly cautious, unknowing what excact debt the youngling had loaded onto himself. Brushing over his tired eyelids with his fingers, he groaned, "Well, look how determined you are, begging an old man like me to teach you." How do you think this will work exactly? You are foolish if you think I am able to just get up from here to teach you."
"Just don't worry, I will make things work—I will carry you if you need to be." The boy pressed his forehead further into the ground, his willpower clearly resounding in his words, since the person laying in front of him is most likely the only one to help him get rid of the burden Midas had to take care of.
"Carry me..? Are you making fun of me?" Jihid exclaimed, "Get up, you good for nothing." Come closer, so I can make you useful!" angered, he talked to him, his hands forming a fist, as the elder complied with teaching the youth. As the boy came closer, he placed his fingers onto his forehead, sending an invisible impulse through the body of the boy. He closed his eyes, his brows stressed. As Midas' eyes began to widen, his mind shook by the sudden influx of foreign energy flowing through the many channels of his body, sending a shiver through the boy's spine as he came back to his senses. The man softly shifted his gaze to the side before redirecting his sight onto the boy, his boney fingers grabbing a hold of his wrist.
"Painfully underdeveloped..!" He shouted, flashing the boy once more, as his voice sounded through the room.