“Sure, I guess,” I answered, slightly nervous as to what he wanted to ask.

“What do I smell like?”

I paused to assess his question. I was sitting far enough away from Ilian that his scent hadn’t been that apparent to me. Hesitantly I scooted forward to get closer to him. Positioned a foot away I inhaled deeply and allowed myself to take in his scent. My stomach rumbled in response to the way he smelled and I felt the fire grow behind my eyes. Fearful I might accidentally hurt him, I quickly moved my chair back to where it was originally. Closing my eyes tightly, I covered my nose with my hand.

“Geez that bad?” Ilian piped up.

Shaking my head, I spoke from behind my hand, my voice muffled, “No, sorry. I thought I would be able to handle that better because I ate this morning. It kind of takes me by surprise sometimes how quickly the hunger springs itself on me. You don’t smell bad at all which definitely doesn’t help. It’s harder to resist when someone smells good. The sweeter smells seem to pull me in more, and you smell really sweet.”

“Ooo, sweet like candy, or sweet like a fruit?” He pried, now far too curious about something that in all honesty should be appalling to him.

Removing my hand from my face I gave him a confused look, “Why are you so curious about all of this. You don’t find it maybe a little weird.”

“Would you prefer if I were weirded out by it?”

“I mean, no, but I just don’t understand it I guess,” I said.

“I’ve always been curious about things that are new to me. There is so much in this world to learn from so why shy away from things just because I don’t necessarily understand or agree with it. To do so would be a hindrance to my ability to grow as a person. It’s why the shadows have never really scared me. They operate in a completely new and separated world from our own. A world that I don’t think anyone completely understands where it is, why it came into being, or even if we as people can access it. And something like that, that's exciting! You are exciting. You are experiencing something that next to no one else in our history has ever experienced. Something that very few others will ever be able to experience after you. Even if it scares you a bit, are you going to tell me that you aren’t the least bit curious and excited by it?” Ilian spoke, often waving his hands for emphasis. 

For someone who couldn’t be older than sixteen, Ilian seemed mature far beyond his years. I pondered how someone so young could be so open to these new experiences and concepts. The only person who had shown even the slightest bit of enthusiasm for my affliction had been the librarians. That to me, made sense. They lived to catalog our history and a living blood mage was undoubtedly that. But Ilian wasn’t a historian. He was a boy who grew up spending his time on the fishing docks.

“You aren’t used to someone being so open about all of this are you?” Ilian asked, pulling me back out of my thoughts.

“Honestly, no. Your acceptance is kinda throwing me through a loop. There hasn’t been a second's hesitation in pretty much anyone’s disgust so far,” I responded.

“Palaemon and Finney don’t seem disgusted.”

“I think they have just seen worse honestly,” I said laughing.

 I could only imagine the things the two of them had seen. War, death, a slew of pissed off mages that had just had their lives uprooted.

“I wouldn’t doubt that. Did you hear them talking about the wraithwing earlier?” Ilian said switching conversations.

I recalled how upset Palaemon had been to hear about the loss of his soldiers. The anguish that shimmered in his eyes when he spoke. The pure hatred that burned at the idea that the aristocracy would leave those poor souls to face against something they should have never been in contact with. The same shame that filled me earlier, flared in my gut, knowing that just months previously I had been one of those turning a blind eye to the Forsaken’s pain. I know I’m just a kid and I have never once in my life had any control over the decisions my father made. But that doesn’t mean that the guilt of his actions doesn’t burn a mark on my soul. There was a grave injustice that shrouded this isle, and it was pure karma that the sole heir to the throne be subjected to its mercy.

“I remember them talking about the colosseum fight, yeah. But truthfully I don’t quite know what a wraithwing is,” I said.

“Oh I can show you! Hold on,” Ilian said, clamoring to his feet.

Baffled at what he could possibly be doing, I turned to watch Ilian approach the Librarians. Their hushed conversations unheard through the distance between us. Taurin offered Ilian a weak smile and got up to retrieve something from a wall of cabinets behind them. He returned to Ilian and offered him a small stack of papers with a single piece of charcoal. Offering his thanks, Ilian then promptly returned to our table.

“What is all of that for?” I questioned.

“Well I asked them if they had any illustrations of wraithwings and they sadly don’t. As it turns out, people don’t stay around them long enough to draw them,” Ilian began to explain, “But that's fine. One of the vendors, a woman named Fey, said she saw one once. I asked her to describe it to me. I’d like to think my memory is strong enough that I can give you some kind of an idea of what it looks like.”

“You don’t have to do all of that, I get the idea of what it is. Big bad thing that is good at killing people,” I said, not wanting Ilian to go out of his way for me.

“But I already told Taurin and Thyandril that I would give them the drawing when I was done. They said they don’t have an illustrator currently,” he said, scribbling on the paper.

I watched for a moment as the creature formed on the page. Using the side of the charcoal he dusted broad shapes at first and then angled it to start to fill in the finer details. Large misshapen wings spread out from the center of the creature's back. Its boney neck twisted up into an elongated jaw filled with sharp teeth. Similar to picture books I had seen as a child of the fabled dragons, the wraithwing held a vague wyvern shape.

“This is really impressive, Ilian,” I exclaimed, “Where did you learn to do this?”

Looking up from his drawing he looked at me, eyes glittering with pride, “I like looking at the pictures in books. I can’t read the story to understand their context or anything but I liked looking at the pictures and making up my own story. We didn’t have many books in the village though so I ran out of pictures pretty quick. That's when I decided to make my own. I’d take a big stack of papers down to the docks and let the workers and the vendors tell me stories of the things they saw and I’d draw them.”

The happiness in his voice when he spoke of his home filled my heart with a warmth I hadn’t known. His life seemed like it was so different from my own, and things that I wouldn’t have even paid attention to were things that he seemed to recall in great detail. Never would I have given a thought to the fact that I could read the stories in our library. That I had the luxury of having a story already ready for me to enjoy. It was something I took for granted every time I found myself stuck inside on a rainy day. Instead Ilian had to go out of his way to find a story. He couldn’t pull one off the shelf and start reading. 

“It looks scary, that is for sure,” I proclaimed as I sat in awe of Ilian’s talent.

“And done!” Ilian said, presenting me with his finished illustration.

I took the paper in my hand and looked it over for a few more moments, making sure to take my time to appreciate Ilian’s hard work. Even though he had only spent a few minutes on the piece I could still see the creature clambering to life off the page. 

A tap on my shoulder alerted me to Taurin and Thyandril’s approach. Their faces held a steady calm to them. Holding a hand out, Thyandril gestured for me to hand him the drawing. I presented them with Ilian’s art and watched as they spoke in whispers between themselves. 

Turning back to address us, Thyandril spoke, “This is a fine illustration, Isturn. Should you make rank, we will be sure to provide parchment to you so you can document your finds.”

Ilian gleamed, “Of course!”

Taurin turned to walk off towards the other mages while Thyandril stayed with us. He tucked the drawing into his cloak and motioned for us to stand.

“We are breaking for lunch, afterwards we will return to study till sundown,” Thyandril explained, “Though I notice there has been a slow study over on this end of the library. I’d make sure your time is used wiser.”

Ilian blushed, embarrassed to be taking up my time, “I’m sorry, sir. Kiri is helping me because I can’t read.”

Nodding, Thyandril paused for a moment, “Is that true, Isturn?”

Color flooded my cheeks at his accusatory tone, “Yes, sir. I didn’t want Ilian to fall behind as he has so much more to get through than I.”

“Hmm,” Thyandril murmured.

“Is there any way that maybe we can take some of the books with us when we head back to camp tonight?” Ilian asked.

Thyandril looked displeased by Ilian’s question as if it were blasphemy that someone would dare take a book out of their library. 

Worried Thyandril was going to lash out at Ilian, I interjected, “Only if that is allowed. I know that there aren't other mages that are going to be using our subjects any time soon. I swear we won’t allow them to be damaged, sir.”

Thyandril’s face lightened slightly, “I will allow one book each to be taken tonight. They are to return with you tomorrow. If there is any damage to either, even slightly, there will be a beating for both of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” We answered in unison.

“Good, now gather with the others and we will walk to the cafeteria,” Thyandril ordered.

We walked to the others, only to be greeted by their sneers and mocking jokes. I looked over to Ilian and saw that his smile had not left his face. Even in the face of mockery, his smile held true and his eyes did not waver from theirs.

As we made our way to the cafeteria I found myself still locked in thought over Ilian. How curious he was, how kind. I found myself imagining his quizzical stare. It was rather… charming when I thought about it. And while he seemed rather spacey on the outside, with the way his eyes were always wandering, I knew there was a mind eager for learning. A mind hungry for new experiences.

The cafeteria was incredibly sterile and blank. The tables were made from simple woods, large glass windows lit the room from the back wall. Small clusters of mages sat at each table. Their ages were all mixed as were their aesthetics. 

“Why is everyone else so mixed in age? Does Palaemon just have a thing for little boys?” Snickered the male water mage.

Turning abruptly Taurin struck the water mage, sending him reeling to the floor. Crying out he cupped his jaw in his hands.

“My jaw!” He screamed out, his words now incredibly muffled between his hands and the blood now pouring from his mouth.

The scent of his blood, a smell that reminded me of the beach on a stormy day, filled my nostrils and I felt my eyes flare in response. I had yet to eat any real food today and the hunger called out to me. I had noticed that any act of eating seemed to quell my need for blood, even if it was just for a few moments. But the lack of eating in its entirety, drove my desire for blood through the roof.

Stepping back, I feared what I might do to the water mage. I covered my nose and clenched my eyes as tight as I could, trying to focus on anything else besides the smell. I could hear his heartbeat pounding away in my ears, it was frantic. I could see the blood pumping in his veins, so much of it rushing to his new wound. With my eyes closed I could see that Taurin had fractured the boy's jaw with his hit. One of his teeth had shattered in the back of his mouth, which is where the blood was coming from.

My breathing was becoming more and more erratic as each second passed. The need filling every fiber of my being, it felt as if I was on fire. The part of me consumed with my affliction called out to me. Begging me to have a taste. Begging me to give in. 

He doesn’t care about you… so why should you care about hurting him. He plotted against you. He mocks you. Just give in. Have a taste, a familiar voice called out to me. I felt my nails digging into my flesh, my fangs tearing into the inside of my lip. The taste of my own blood flooding my tongue. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to feel his skin rip under my teeth. I needed to hear him beg, his screams would be like music to my ears.

I felt my resolve leave me and my feet started to move on their own as I made my way forward, eager to take my fill.