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    “1925 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition


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    The journey to Ostesh was set to span seven days, beginning at the Antares station in Spiyles. The route would wind through various places, including a stop at Keblurg and a brief pause at the Ole Metro city train station, before finally reaching its terminus in the province of Quebaca, nestled in Ostesh.


    Only twenty-five hours into the trip, Orlo was already feeling the discomfort of his cramped seat. He attempted to distract himself with a book. It was an essay analysing the different types of blood. However, he found its scarcity of reference to human blood as frustrating as a lack of taste and know-how; to him, the book seemed outdated and poorly written. It was a terrible choice to bring in such a long trip.


    Disappointed, Orlo abandoned it midway through a chapter and turned his attention to the artificial light landscape speeding by outside the window.


    "Master is awfully quiet," the little mouse observed from his shirt pocket.


    "Not feeling great," Orlo confessed, his hand instinctively moving to his belly.


    "Not feeling great, as in missing Godmama and Claramae?" the mouse inquired.


    "Not feeling great, as in I think I''m going to throw up," Orlo complained, rubbing the back of his neck with the other hand. "I''m just so tired."


    "Why don''t you take a nap? I''ll keep watch over everything," the mouse suggested.


    "I think I will," Orlo agreed, settling his head back against the cushioned seat. He placed both hands over his belly, applying slight pressure to ease his ache.


    However, the persistent clatter of the train on the rails and the constant shaking of the wagon prevented him from finding a comfortable position.


    It was impossible for him to drift off. Instead, he felt like he was being tossed and turned in his seat.


    Until suddenly, everything changed. The once persistent noise of the train ceased, and the light posts that had been rushing by outside the window were replaced by complete darkness. Orlo noticed that the sound of the train on the rails had diminished to a mere whisper, creating an eerie, almost surreal atmosphere around him. But that was something the boy was used to.


    Orlo realized that his luggage had vanished, and there was no sign of the little mouse either. Just then, a man seated in front of him spoke.


    "Here," he said, extending a paper bag towards Orlo.


    "What''s this?"


    "It is what it is. You''ll need it later," the man replied cryptically. In the very fainted light, Orlo could make out the man''s attire - a brown tailored suit. He noticed that the man was redheaded, like himself, and had an ember-coloured eye, while the other was covered with a black eye patch. The wagon was almost completely dark, but even in the faint light, Orlo could discern the glint of a gun in the man''s holster beneath his elegant blazer and an unusual cane that seemed more like a very thin rifle.


    "Thanks, I guess," Orlo said, accepting the paper bag.


    "You''re welcome," the man replied, his voice tinged with a dry chuckle. "Now is the time for questions."


    "What questions?"


    "Look around you."


    Orlo did as instructed, but all he could see was darkness. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming, but there were no familiar elements like whales, cities in the sky, or anything he would typically find in a dream.


    Yet, an overwhelming sense of familiarity enveloped the scene, almost as if he had lived through this moment repeatedly. A looping sense of déjà vu, over and over again.


    "A dream?" Orlo asked, trying to make sense of the situation.


    "Sort of, but yes, it could be classified as a dream," the man replied.


    "So, this isn''t the first time," Orlo stated, more to himself than as a question.


    "It is not," the man confirmed.


    "You said questions... I guess it''s me who''s supposed to ask them," Orlo surmised.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "So it seems," the man agreed.


    "But I don''t have any."


    "Or perhaps you have too many?"


    After a brief pause, Orlo asked the most fundamental question that such a situation required. It was, after all, a matter of politeness, "Who are you? I mean, what’s your name?"


    The man rubbed his thumb against his nose and leaned forward, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I''ve reached a point in my life where I have so many names, I am unsure which one truly is me."


    "Is Orlo one of them?" the boy asked.


    "Yes," the man replied, chuckling as he leaned back against the seat, settling into a more relaxed position. "They say it''s good for the heart to talk with your past self. Asking them if they''re proud of what you have become."


    “I do not know what we have done… to be proud or not.”


    Orlo straightened himself in his seat, coming to terms with the realization that this was definitely a dream, but not just any dream. It was the kind of dream that transcended time and reality, a feat he knew he couldn''t achieve in his present state.


    "Do we become teachers?" Orlo asked.


    "Yes, we do and more."


    "Do we like it? I mean, really like it?"


    "Yes, each semester is like undertaking a new adventure. There are always new faces, new questions, and new challenges. Sometimes, we find ourselves learning more than we teach. And to us, that''s what makes it fun," the man explained.


    "That does sound fun, the way you put it. Next question..." Orlo''s gaze then shifted to the place where the pot containing the faerie had been previously, a concern too evident betraying his voice, "Is Maggie okay?"


    "Yes, well... she''s still the same. Meaning, we''re still waiting. She is still a flower saying hello to the sun until sunset in the living room."


    "Is it true that... you know, like my mother and father... was I... are we hexed?" Orlo ventured cautiously, almost whispering the question as if it was a dirty secret.


    "Why do you think you need that paper bag?"


    "Oh, really? So early?" Orlo was surprised, "I don''t know if I''m ready! Do we like her?"


    "No, we don''t like her," the man said, pausing for a moment.


    "No?" Orlo echoed, his confusion evident. How would it be possible that he would dislike his own Hexe?


    "We love her more than we could ever explain," the man''s words interrupting the mist of thoughts that Orlo was instilling.


    "So, do we have a family?"


    The silence that followed Orlo''s question stretched on, almost becoming a presence in itself. Finally, the man took a deep breath and answered, "I think we can call it that."


    "We don''t have children?"


    "Yes, we do," the man confirmed.


    "So why do you seem so sad?"


    A smirk crossed the man''s face, followed by a chuckle. "We always ask the same question," he mused.


    "What''s the answer, then?" Orlo persisted, eager to understand.


    "One day, you''ll be so mad, so deeply disappointed… hurt. That you won''t find it in yourself to forgive her," the man revealed.


    "I already forgave Godmama, she..." Orlo began, but his voice trailed off until he understood that this wasn''t about Godmama.


    The man interrupted Orlo, "When it happens, just try to remember, to find a place in ourselves to forgive her. To understand why... well, we also will need to listen to her side. It''s going to hurt so much... but just... remember, it hurts her too. Just... forgive her, please. She loves us too, more than we can understand."


    "Oh, you mean... my Hexe?" Orlo asked, his understanding dawning as he connected the dots.


    The man simply nodded.


    "Well, I''m never really mad, and what could she possibly do to make me mad? If she''s my Hexe, she''s perfect, and she couldn''t do anything wrong. It doesn''t make sense," Orlo argued, every single word reflecting his na?veté.


    "We always say that."


    "Don''t worry, I won''t be mean to her."


    "We say that too," the man repeated, implying that Orlo couldn''t yet foresee. He still was only a kid.


    "Will I be tall?" Orlo then asked, shifting the topic.


    "Do I look tall to you?"


    "Hey, kid! Kid, wake up!" Orlo was abruptly awakened from his sleep by a large orc dressed in a blue uniform. The orc, sporting large fangs touching his funny moustache, was shaking him rather roughly.


    Orlo, startled, realized that the train had come to a stop. "What happened? Is there an issue with the engine?" he asked, still disoriented.


    "What are you babbling about? We arrived thirty minutes ago. Get up and out with you!" the conductor said, sounding impatient.


    "We arrived? But it''s only been a couple of hours," Orlo responded, still confused.


    "A couple of hours? Kid, you''ve been sleeping for the whole ride!" the orc exclaimed, "I had to check on you a couple of times to be sure you weren''t dead!"


    Quickly, Orlo started to gather his things, but a sudden wave of nausea overcame him. Unable to control it, he turned towards the conductor and retched over his blue uniform, overwhelmed by the unexpected motion sickness.


    Orlo coughed and glanced at the conductor, whose face was now flushed green with anger. "I''m so sorry, I..." he began, but his apology was cut short.


    "You have a bloody paper bag in your hand; next time, use it!" the conductor snapped.


    Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Orlo hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and carefully picked up Maggie''s pot. He turned back to the conductor, who was attempting to clean the vomit off his uniform. "I''m really sorry..." He tried to apologize again.


    "Out with you," the conductor shouted.


    Orlo stepped off the wagon, and the cold air of the long Night hit him, but it did little to calm his nausea. He felt dizzy, teetering on the verge of fainting. As he made his way through the station, he abruptly stopped and dropped his bag on the floor, bracing himself to vomit again. But just then, he heard a girl''s voice.


    "Are you Orlo?"


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    I made numerous attempts to tame the tempest within, to cultivate a sense of serenity. Yet, how does one influence tranquillity in a kid convinced of his own omniscience? Besides, there was a secret I couldn''t bear to share, not even with her—my Hexe. What if my revelations altered the course of events in such a manner that I would no longer dare to approach her?


    Each solitary trip to my past became a debacle, a reminder of my fallibility. Yet, paradoxically, it served as a moment of redemption—a chance to confront my shortcomings and concede, "I was just a kid." In the end, I arrived at the arduous realization that the most taxing exercise of all is the act of self-forgiveness. I''m still working on it. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


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