Of the Green--Prologue
The dark haired seven-year old named Rhea happily twisted and turned the complex puzzle-sphere as her father looked on, amused. His daughter loved puzzles and riddles, but this one would probably take her hours to solve. In fact, it had already been at least an hour and a half.
He’d worked on it for weeks in secret, even infusing a bit of magic within the wood to make it glow when it was solved, and had given it to Rhea as a surprise birthday present...
"Ooh! Daddy, look! Look!"
He turned to look behind him, startled, as he beheld a glowing wooden orb in his beaming daughter’s hands.
His wife looked at Rhea from across the narrow wooden table, not sure she believed her husband. But there was the puzzle-sphere, dimming slightly, and she did know the girl was unusually clever--perhaps taking after a relative, for the woman was sure there was someone in her family with the same precocious aptitude. She sighed, accepting the peculiarity, then asked, "What should we do?"
"Perhaps we should send Rhea to the academy."
There were only two magical schools in the general area, and both were hostile rivals, so there was no mistaking either academy for the other--even when the names had long since faded out of disuse and the memories of those still living. The reason for the competition had also been forgotten, but it still went on, usually out of the way of anyone not involved.
The academy that most parents wanted to send their children to was the one with the white-robed students. It was an open, friendly place, and had a very good reputation. Most children went there simply because parents did not fancy sending their own flesh and blood to the other.
There was a vague sense of unease about it, where the children were first clad in black and the dawn took far too long to break through the dark cloak of night. When it finally did, the sky was almost always gray, and the sunlight was thin and gave little warmth when it fell, like moonlight.
Rhea’s father cleared his throat, wanting to hear his wife’s opinion. She bit her lip, thinking, then nodded reluctantly. However, parting with her daughter at such a young age severely went against the grain of her maternal instinct, so she added to soothe her conscience, "But we should wait a year, at least. Rhea is only seven, and too young to leave us."
The relieved look in her husband’s eyes satisfied her, for it meant he felt he was not yet ready to part with Rhea, either. "Very well. We shall wait a year, then send her to the academy."
There was no need to ask which academy their girl was to attend one day.
Chapter One
Tempus Sans--Home
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