Chapter Text
The year 9:38 Dragon started like any other year. Professor Emmrich Volkarin was pleased to teach the attentive students of his post-graduate level classes and was not surprised to be annoyed by the introductory classes he was still required to teach. The University of Nevarra was open to students of all ages and backgrounds, and despite his decade plus of teaching there, Emmrich had not yet distinguished himself enough to be able to reach that ultimate goal.
Tenure.
Everyone told him he was young, but at thirty-eight, he grew older faster than he hit milestones along his planned career path. Each year, the students were younger and younger and he felt older and older. Each year, he searched for opportunities to distinguish himself from his colleagues in the hopes of finding something that would gain him attention, but it remained hidden in the shadows.
In the dark hours of a normal day in 9:38 Dragon, the something found him.
***
It was late but typical that Emmrich was seated at his desk grading a never-ending stack of introductory class papers when there was a light knock on his open office door.
“Myrna?” he greeted his friend in surprise. It was rare that Lady Myrna ventured out of the Necropolis. The entrance was not far from the University, and with his apartment inside the Necropolis due to his duties to the Mourn Watch, it was very strange for her to be at his office door.
“Emmrich. Here you are. I need your assistance, quite urgently,” she said, her voice matching the tension in her shoulders. “Please, will you come?”
Emmrich looked at the papers to grade and pushed them aside without thought. “But of course. What happened?”
Myrna said nothing as she led him out of the building, through the University campus, past the entrance to the Necropolis, and into the edges of Nevarra City. The shops along the main street were dark and the streets mostly empty. Emmrich could see his breath in the air and, most annoyingly, the signs of grey appearing in his moustache in the reflection of the glass. Frowning at it, he missed when Myrna turned down a side street and hastened to catch up.
“Vorgoth has alliances,” she said in a volume just above a whisper. “I was partially aware of this one; however, the request for assistance was unexpected even by Vorgoth. He and I both believe that you are the best person to help.”
A rush of pride swelled up in his chest, with a touch of anticipation that maybe this would be the opportunity to rise him into tenured status, but he quickly swallowed it down because whatever this was, it was not about him. Someone needed help. “Can you tell me what has happened?”
“You’ll see shortly.”
A few blocks later, she stopped in front of a large brownstone on the end of a row. A wrought iron fence stretched around the street corner; the open space within it hidden under trees and shadows. There was nothing obviously different about this house, yet Emmrich felt a chill run down his spine as he followed Myrna up the stairs to the door.
The door opened as they approached. A young elf with dark curly hair falling around her shoulders ushered them inside. She looked no older than his undergraduate students.
“Thank the Maker,” she murmured.
“Emmrich, this is Andarateia Cantori of the Antivan Crows,” Myrna said once they stood in the entranceway. “Teia, this is Professor Emmrich Volkarin.”
“A pleasure,” he said but the young woman was already walking up the stairs.
“This way,” she called over her shoulder impatiently.
She led them up three flights of stairs carpeted so lushly that all footsteps were silenced. At the top of the stairs was a narrow hallway with doors on both sides and one at the end of the hall. She gestured them into the first room on the right.
A small bedroom held a fireplace with two leather chairs set in front of it, a writing desk set under the window opposite the door, and a large bed and wardrobe to the left. Leaning against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his chest, was a young man wearing dark leather clothes much like Teia, with wavy dark hair and a pointed beard. He too looked barely older than Emmrich’s youngest students, but when the man looked at him, his blue eyes bore into him as if he trying to see inside his soul.
“That’s Viago,” Teia tossed out casually before sitting on the edge of the bed. “This is Gemma.”
Emmrich was happy to turn away from Viago’s piercing gaze to crouch next to the bed, upon which an elven child so small the blankets and pillows seemed to swallow her up lay in a unnatural stillness. The gold bangles on his wrist chimed through the quiet of the room when he brushed yellow-blonde curls off her forehead to rest his fingers gently on it. She was hot, but her breathing was steady. He reached for his healing, sensing and listening for what might be wrong.
“I gave her a standard Crow sleeping draught,” Viago said from behind him. “It knocked her out for our journey here.”
His magic told him nothing of any significance. The child had a fever and was dehydrated, but he sensed nothing that could explain why Myrna had brought him specifically. It was one thing to feel old in this room full of young people, but he hated more being uninformed.
Sitting back on his heels, he contemplated the child and asked, “What is wrong with her?”
Teia reached out to touch a blonde curl. “That is my story to tell.”