Rewriting His Past

Letters

The hall master's office was always summed up in one word: chaos. The office was wide and spacious, and behind the large oak desk stood floor-to-ceiling cube shelving. Filled with books, scrolls, files, and other necessities. That came with running the whole hall. Yet, despite, or more like because of, that shelving, the desk was a mess. Books were stacked in piles around the desk sides. From floor to desktop, the books stood. They almost appeared to be part of the desk designs. Paperwork was in too many piles on the desk. There were definitely more paper stacks there than yesterday. Pens and stamps were scattered in a semi-line across the top of the desk.

Instead of seeing a grand room. With its rich black carpets, gilded paintings, and posh seating area. It was, in spirit, a grand space. Not despite that, but more because of it, Dusk saw a man who was working very hard. He also saw a man who was very good at what he did. There was nothing wrong with that, though it was the first time he had seen it. He had seen the dark-tanned hall master drop a few shades in color. His parents never saw the chaos of the everyday workings of the space. The small room that sat alongside this one was kept clean; he only used it to dump all the chaos when his family visited. Dusk had even helped him move things in there on occasion.

Dusk felt that the organized chaos was homey. The office felt more lived-in than his own room. He had never seen the hall master not be able to find anything; he always knew where something was when he needed it. Dusk had vowed to give it a try once he had his own place. He wouldn't dare try it before then. Like Sage, he feared the response of not his father but his mother. Thinking about it gave him a deep shiver, like the curse of someone walking over his grave. That was his mother to him. A cold and fearful wrath that could befall at any moment.

"Dusk," a puff of smoke, popped up from behind the mess. A brown, graying head lifted itself out from behind it. Soft brown eyes sparkled at him with ingrained happiness. That reflected his son's kind nature. Standing up, he came around, revealing a firm, toned body that was a clear result of his hard work in cultivation. Dusk held no talent in cultivation; being a mage by blood, magic would be his expertise. Even if only the basics were open to him now.

"Hall, Master Sage," Dusk said. Forgoing the slight bow in the hall master's previous request, "Thanks for having me,"

"Always so formal," Sage chuckled, dropping his outed pipe to his pile of paperwork. "Please call me Sage, at least for this last day."

"Last day?" Dusk asked, and he could hear the hopeful voice in his own voice. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed. "Did the letters come in?" Sage ushered Dusk to the sitting area. Between a couch and a chair was a stone table. Without the aid of magic, he doubted he would be able to move the table. Made from the same material as the building itself, it blended well into the room. On that table sat two letters.

"See for yourself," Sage said, settling himself into the chair with a creak. Dusk felt his heart skip a literal beat. It took all his willpower not to ravish those letters. His pride wouldn't let him; he didn't have much to call his own. All he had real control over was how he presented himself. And by the laylines, Dusk would not let that go! Walking over with a calm and easy pace, Dusk sat down on the large couch across from Sage.

"Which should I open first?" Dusk said, his palms sweating at the million thoughts running through his head. Most of them were negative.

"I would recommend the one on the right," Sage tapped his finger on the pale white envelope. It was thick and tied with a fine ribbon that sparkled in the light. He took that one with trembling fingers. He saw his first name scrawled in large script. Flipping it over, he could feel the paper was more like cloth. A thick wax seal was on the back in an unusual pastel blue color. The design inside the seal had his breath catching in his throat. An outline of the classic cut of a round diamond. "Here, use this." Sage handed him a small silver letter opener.