Winter was now in full swing around Fairgarland. The relief of the students was now replaced with the merriment of the coming Christmas. Many had traveled to their homes for family gatherings and celebrations, while others surrounded themselves with friends. Still a few remained on campus, some having nowhere to go and the rest having no interest in such things. Xavos Daldomel looked out of the magicked window in Zucarius' office to observe the movement of these few students. Part of him was still antsy about anyone walking outside alone. 
	"You know, people watching isn't going to set your mind at ease, my friend," Zucarius broke the silence between signing paperwork and smoking his pipe.
	"Neither will getting lax. I will remain vigilant where our security may fail," The red wizard replied. "Had we been more observant we might have caught that fey creature sooner."
	"Aren't you being a little extreme?" The dean asked.
	"Aren't you being a little too placid for what nearly happened to our students? And under our watch?" Snapped Xavos, turning away from the window to face the illusionist.
	Zucarius took a puff from his pipe before replying, "Xavos, I have placed invisible copies of myself every three hundred paces from here to the outskirts of the train station. I am taking this all quite seriously but you need to rest your mind. You are not to blame for what happened."
	Xavos furrowed his brow, "We were completely unprepared. Our students' safety– or lack thereof has brought Fairgarland under serious scrutiny. We're under the watchful eye of every arm of the government now and some. The board of magical education, the DHIF, hell, the International Mages Assembly was here a few days ago. I felt like I was about to be teleported straight into prison. Again.”
	"Is this about our students or is this about Yilandra?" Asked the dean. 
	Xavos clenched his teeth, "So what if it is? I don't want that happening to any student nor faculty ever again. And before you try to insinuate anything about my emotional state, as a wizard, I am in complete control and rational. I'm more baffled at your approach to this than anything."
	Zucarius blew another puff of smoke upward before scratching a signature on another document, the two sat in silence for several moments before Zucarius cleared his throat, "Have you seen our applications?"
	Xavos rolled his eyes and turned back to the window, "Have we any left after the whole thing went national?"
	The dean allowed a smile to cross his face, "They have gone up after hearing the news that this 'Butcher,' as Carly Haelstorm coined it, was defeated by our very own students. The public found it all so inspiring. I am quite proud of her, her story was covered coast to coast and has brought new faces to our academy. People say that if our students are so powerful then it must be due to our tutelage."
	"Yeah. Too bad about the ones no longer in attendance," Xavos grumbled, "I cannot say I blame them. I would leave too if I was a student to incompetent fools."
	Zucarius sighed deeply, "Xavos. Why don't you walk the grounds and see what our students think? Take Harold with you and see their faces light up at one of their heroes."
	"I would love to, but the prince has gone home for the holidays," The red wizard changed the display of the window to a group of students.
	Zucarius paused, holding his pipe short of his mouth, "Did he?"
	"You should make those clones of yours every two hundred paces apart instead," Xavos added before he cast a teleportation spell and vanished, whipping up the papers on Zucarius' desk. 
	The dean took a deep breath before puffing on his pipe again with a sigh, "Perhaps you are right."

	. . . . .

	“Master Harold, you have hardly eaten your food,” The old live-in butler, Thomas whispered to the prince who simply waved him away. Harold sat at the far end of a long table that stretched from one end of the dining hall to the other. His chair was the furthest from the head where his grandfather Garnalga Babarry sat overlooking the spread of the family Christmas feast. Harold’s father, Horace Babarry sat to the right of his grandfather at the head of the table, his eyes never once passing over him.
	“He has the right of it, Harold, you had best eat,” His younger brother, Edgar urged from beside him.
"I'm not hungry," Harold grumbled, a twinge of pain shooting through his ribs.
	"Is… something the matter?" Another of his brothers asked. It was Stewart, only a year older than Edgar who sat across from him. His troubled expression gave Harold reason enough to at least try some of the food set before him. He quickly stuck a cut of the turkey in his mouth and chewed.
	“There, now cease your worrying, both of you.” Harold said between bites. 
	“And why shouldn’t they be worried,” Said Gregory, the eldest brother, “After all, they have such a disappointment for a brother.”
	“That’s uncalled for, Gregory,” Stewart hissed at his elder.
	“Is it? If the papers are to be believed, then he has disgraced the family name once more,” Gregory replied before taking a sip from his wineglass.
	“And what of his victory over that so-called butcher? Is that so easily scoffed at?” Edgar retorted. Gregory rolled his eyes before placing his wineglass down and sizing Harold up.
	“Does he look like he was victorious? Head to toe, he looks like a battered dog sent away from his master.”
	“Brother, you are shameful.” Stewart glowered at their eldest.
	“Father, would you say something, please?” Edgar mewled.
	“Hold your tongues, the both of you! Do not defend your brother’s faults!” Horace Babarry bellowed, cowing the two younger brothers into silence.
“Is it true?” Their father spoke from across the table, “Were you really bested by that first year?”
	Harold’s head hung low as he willed up the courage to reply to his father. He swallowed, forcing himself to look up, “It is true,” The face of his father reddened, his brow narrowing, causing his second eldest to panic, “He is no normal man– of this I am certain! He could best Gregory, much less me!” Harold tried his best to convince his father, but it was already too late.
	“Gregory was not the one who was bested, you were! You let some vagabond waltz all over you and tarnish our good name! How many times must you bring shame to our house? Are we not burdened enough by the fall of Babarry?"
	“Perhaps if he was not so occupied at playing celebrity at his academy he might have actually stood a chance,” Gregory added.
	“I have held the title of champion for years, only now do you actually care that I lost it,” Harold snapped, “You talk of our good name yet all you do is grow fat and old on the laurels of our ancestors, Gregory. You are a swollen sow at best compared to Loxley. Go and drink yourself to sleep with your mistress!” At once Gregory stood with his fists at the ready, Harold meeting him with a wand in hand, forcing his brother to back down and furiously take his seat again. Harold smirked at him from across the table, “That’s better, Gregory. You’re learning, for once.”
	“Loxley? Is that the man who bested you?” His father Horace growled, “What, are we consorting with our foes now?”
	“Loxley is my friend.” Harold found himself saying with more force than he had wanted. He had not thought about it before, but after everything that had happened, he felt the duelist was the closest thing he had to a peer, much like Sean. 
	His father was not amused by his answer, “I would send you away from me for the rest of my days if I could,” Horace scorned his second son.
	“Then it is good that you cannot.” Harold’s grandfather, Garnalga Babarry answered for him as he stood from his chair. He was a tall man, his shoulders broad. Even for a man of his many years he was stocky with a trimmed beard and glasses resting on the narrow bridge of his nose. He looked every part the royal visage of a ruler of Old Babarry, humbled by the calamity of the old world yet still he held himself up as the foundation for their family. The rightful King of Babarry, Garnalga III, the man Harold looked up to most.
	“Now hold your tongues, all of you. You have done nothing but make fools of yourselves, and on such a holy day. Harold, come. I would speak with you,” At once the second son of Babarry followed his grandfather out of the room, glad to be away from such spiteful creatures one might have called ‘family.’ 

	"A young man with fiery-red and orange eyes," Garnalga Babarry recounted the description Harold had given him in his letter, “This man is the reason you did not return home for Thanksgiving?” 
	His grandfather studied his face, searching for an answer before Harold nodded. “I needed to know more about him. I needed to grow stronger to defeat him. I needed an explanation for how I was beaten. I wanted to know exactly who he was that he could best me in a duel.”
	Garnalga nodded slowly, coming to understand his meaning, “To prevent your fool of a father’s outburst tonight, I presume.”
	“You know me so well, Grandfather,” Harold could not help but smirk.
	“But something changed,” It wasn’t a question, Garnalga already knew from the prince’s declaration of fellowship with the man, but now his expression demanded explanation. 
	Harold took a deep breath, “A lot has changed.”
	“The so-called Butcher?” Guessed his grandfather. The prince nodded again, quickly collected himself and continued, “When that fey began attacking and kidnapping people, we put our differences aside and worked together. I wanted to know his identity to absolve myself of my failure, but I do not care to explain myself to my father anymore, I only want to know who Loxley truly is so I can know who it is I call friend. He must be the son of a powerful wizard, there is no other explanation.”
	“Perhaps he is the humble sort?” Garnalga offered. 
	Harold shook his head, “This goes beyond humility, Grandfather. Why would he deny who he is?”
	“An interesting question. Am I to assume you have asked him yourself?”
	“Of course, and recently, mind you. I wanted to know who he really was,” Harold sighed.
	“What did he say?” His grandfather pressed him gently.
	“Well, beyond his snappy response, I believe he told me I ought to worry about more pressing matters, like the student makeup finals,“ Explained the prince, laughing at such a ridiculous answer. 
	His grandfather chuckled at the thought as well, “He sounds like an intelligent young man. I am happy to hear you have taken a liking to him, it is good of you to surround yourself with men of good wit," He sighed, his mind wandering toward the door leading to the dining hall. He looked to his grandson with a frown, "Your brother ought to learn a thing or two from your example, had he not taken after his oafish father he might have turned out a respectable member of Babarry.”
	“Forget about them, Grandfather. I want nothing to do with them.” Harold grumbled, “I have no time for their needless bickering.”
	"Tell me, Harold, have you heard the phrase 'blood is thicker than water?'"
	Harold hesitated, unsure of what he meant, "Of course I have, grandfather. You're right… I spoke out of turn, I apologize–"
	"Have you ever heard the whole phrase before? It is not one from our old world, but I found wisdom in it. It goes, 'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.' Curious, is it not? What do you suppose that means?" Harold had never heard that version of the saying. It was strange to him, but the meaning came to him and he understood. His grandfather smiled knowing this.
	"You spoke true, Harold, you do well without them. As it is, from what I read in the papers it seems you have chosen good companions. Now then, let us continue our discussion of your friend, Loxley, was it?” Garnalga beckoned him to follow into their family library and study. Inside the shelves were packed with extensive knowledge on a great many things, much like the library back at Fairgarland. The knowledge collected over the years by the Babarry royal family and passed down generation to generation lined the walls, books that dated centuries and beyond kept in pristine condition through magical means. The two walked toward a collection of comfortable chairs and couches at the center of the library, a place made easy to recline while studying or to host guests surrounded by the immense collection of tomes to ingrain just how old and powerful the Babarry name was in their minds.
Garnalga found his seat in a rather large, red felt chair, its soft cushions half-engulfing the older head of house Babarry. Harold took his seat beside him, his chair much more firm and to his own liking. Garnalga brandished a wand from his sleeve and gave it a wave across a much smaller bookshelf nearby, pulling from it a single thick tome, "Tell me, Harold, have you already looked into this Loxley fellow?" Garnalga Babarry had asked him as he opened the book.
	"I have, but I found nothing. No noble family had such a son named Galahad." Answered the prince, "Though he could easily be lying about his name."
	His grandfather stroked his beard for a moment before giving his reply, "I thought as much myself, however I know you are more clever than your father would care to admit. Have you any leads?"
	Harold felt a swelling of joy in his chest, an eagerness returned to him, "I have a few. As I said, he knows how to chain his spells together in quick succession. Only nobility and war-magi of the old world know how to do that."
	"If what you say is true, you are correct in your assumption. Good. To cast so swiftly in the heat of a battle is something few know, I shall narrow it down for you further by marking off those who do not know such skills." Garnalga took his wand and began making scratches in the book on several pages, crossing out many of the families with a magicked red 'X' over them, "That may be necessary if I am incorrect, however I am certain now of who sired him," Harold explained before stopping his grandfather by placing a finger upon the page. He pointed directly under Arthur Maxamillion's photo. 
	"Maxamillion?" Garnalga stared at the photo, blinking several times as though that would change his perspective, "What makes you so certain, Harold?"
	"Beyond the chain spellcasting? Loxley knows not one, but both of the grandmaster's signature moves. Maxamillion only showed it to us the day before we fought the butcher, but Loxley seems to have already mastered it. He sucked the air right out of five score students I wager."
	"Maxamillion’s Breathtaker?" Garnalga asked.
	"Grandmaster Arthur never did tell us its name during his demonstration…" Harold admitted, "but the name alone perfectly describes it."
	“What else can you tell me about him?” Asked his grandfather.
	“Other than his eyes match those of who I presume is his mother, nothing.” Harold answered.
	“Ah yes… Nambra Faith. They have had children and every one of them had eyes just as you described. Why, that wily old wizard!" Garnalga laughed, "I cannot believe my old friend managed to keep this son of his under wraps! How did he manage that?"
	"I suspect some kind of memory altering spell," Harold guessed. 
	Garnalga held up a hand, "No… too powerful, it would require an insane amount of mana and grandmastery of divination to even attempt such a thing," he replied.
"But it isn't impossible." Harold pointed out. His grandfather nodded and thought for a moment.
"Let us assume that it did happen. We may not know how, but that is not important. What is important is that we know how to undo it."
	"You do?" Harold asked meekly.
	Garnalga Babarry nodded solemnly, "I do, and in a few moments you will as well," He answered, and with another wave from his wand he pulled a book from one of the higher bookshelves off in a corner of the room. He turned the pages until he got to one that gave detailed explanations on mind altering magicks, "Though I do not yet know how this may have happened, every memory spell has an anchor.”
	“The Butcher’s charm spell ended when the Butcher’s curse was cleansed,” Harold recalled.
	Garnalga nodded, “That is similar, in a way. Charms are different than the spell we speak of, they rely on the caster as the anchor instead of what is usually an item, but in either case if the anchor is destroyed or dispelled–"
	"Then the spell breaks with it." Harold inferred.
	"That is the simple part. Discovering what the anchor is will be much more difficult. I suspect your friend may keep it on his person– he may even be compelled to, given that it is tied directly to him and on such a grand scale," Garnalga explained.
	"Then I simply dispel the item?" Harold asked. 
Garnalga nodded, "Yes, but I fear that is the end of our little adventure. Again, if we assume that this is all true, should you really go through with such a thing? There could be very personal reasons that your friend Loxley would not want his identity revealed. I would not cross your friends in such a way if you wish to keep them." He cautioned the prince. Harold was taken aback. He had not truly considered that even now when it was simple curiosity. He looked to his grandfather who eyed him through his glasses.
	“Then it will remain a curiosity of mine and nothing more.” He declared, “I swear it.”  

	. . . . .

	The food inside the oven sizzled as Root peered in through the transparent front. The motherly goblin hummed a Christmas tune to herself as she returned to preparing vegetables. Within the Raxpedallia household, the ever excitable goblin children were playing with their new toys. The older goblins had mostly gotten books, clothes, and anything else an older goblin might need. Rald took the potatoes off the stove and used a hand mixer to turn it into mash. The goblin witch wore a red knit sweater with an ugly, melting snowman on it. Root’s apron said ‘Deck my halls’ and was worn over a brown sweater with cute red and green gum drop looking buttons and a black skirt. Rald turned the mixer up a little too high as she put in half and half, “Damn!” She groaned as she splashed herself.
	“Rald!” Root snapped, “This is a Christian household and I will not have you ruin my children’s virgin ears!” Rald stared at the words on her mom’s apron but bit her tongue and went back to adding the half and half, cottage cheese, and butter to the potatoes, “Why didn’t you bring your new boyfriend?”
	Rald’s face went from a dark, lime green to cherry red, “H-he’s not my boyfriend!”
	“You said you slept with him.”
	“MOM!” Rald screeched, “I fell asleep after he did while watching a movie! It's not like I was on his lap or anything!”
	“You don’t gotta tell me anything, Rald. First you sleep with him, then you’re popping out five of his half-goblin babies. You’re getting older, Rald. Right now is a good time to find a man,” Root explained, “I’m not gonna get mad at you for dating a human. I know my dad said to ‘marry green,’ but your father and I have come around on the idea.” 
	“Oh my Go-ob,” Rald’s face was buried in her hands. At that moment, the front door of the home swung open. Hope swelled in the goblin as her rescuers had come.
	While wiping her hands off on her apron, Root went to greet the guests. Blud was up the stairs first, wearing a thick coat and knitted hat. Reccoa was next, the sectare woman wore a red cloak to keep warm, but had a festive green long-sleeve with a reindeer on it underneath. Next was Miss Manus, who had changed out her usually blue and gray clothes for a green and silver dress. It was fairly modest with layers of folds covering her nape to her breasts like a big scarf. The only real skin it allowed was her six arms as they needed their freedom. Galahad was last in a thick, dark gray winter coat and jeans. The boy’s skin looked pale and he shivered even in the warmth of the goblin home. Over his shoulder, he carried a large burlap sack, “Welcome!” Root greeted, “I’m glad to know my son managed to actually collect you despite being addicted to that new toy he got.”
	“Blaad played it during all ride here,” Reccoa tattled with a little smirk.
	The goblin looked up from his red handheld gaming console and frowned, “It has sixteen bits! Sixteen whole bits! It's radical! Its–” The goblin looked at all the confused faces around him, “None of you would understand real gaming.”
	“But what does mean? Sixteen bit?” Reccoa asked.
	Blud’s eyes flicked down to his handheld for a moment before he mumbled his reply, "... I dunno."
	“Thanks for coming, Manus,” Root ignored her child.
	Miss Manus had a weak smile on her face, “Of course. I would not wish to miss more of your cooking.”
	“And Lox–” Root frowned as she saw the man’s more ghoulish appearance, “Still feeling sick?”
 While Galahad merely nodded slowly, Manus cleared her throat, “He has been very quiet since…” She looked down and wrung her hands underneath her silver cloak, “He has hardly spoken a word to anyone.”
	“Oh, poor thing must be ill. Dealing with dark magic can’t be good for you,” Root sighed, “Go sprawl out on the couch, I’ve got just the thing for you.”
	Once his head moved in a motion that could somewhat be called a nod, Galahad went and found a spot on the loveseat, slowly beginning to open the large sack, and rifling through it. Miss Manus gave him space and found a seat on the large couch next to the fireplace where Blud and Reccoa also sat. The tall sectare leaned against the goblin as she stared over his bald head at the games he was playing, “There’s my boy!” Crud Raxpadalia cheered as he walked in, dodging a few of his children that charged past, “And Blud.”
	“Thanks, dad,” Blud sighed and continued his game.
	“Piece go there?” Reccoa asked, backseat gaming and pointing at his screen to the puzzle he was trying to solve. Blud shushed her and pulled his game away.
	“Champion to hero! You’ve done real well for a first year,” He chuckled, “Supposed first year, at least. Thanks for savin' Blud and his girlfriend. I’d ask ya to marry my daughter but she’s got her eyes on a president now,” He grinned as his daughter shouted something from the kitchen.
	Galahad’s smile was weak and he made a crescent motion from his waist, to his chest, and then out by his chin as an expression of thanks. He gripped his shoulder after making the motion, wincing in pain. Blud frowned, “Try not to exert him too much dad, he’s not doing great.”
	“Ah, I get it. Oh, your presents are under the tree. You too Ma’am,” He smiled at Manus, “And don’t try to turn it down!”
	Miss Manus smiled softly, “Thank you very much, Mister Raxpedalia.”
	“Blud! Be useful for a sec and get our guests their gifts!” 
	The goblin groaned, paused his game, and handed the device over to Reccoa. The small christmas tree was dotted in little silver bulbs and wrapped in golden tinsel. Baubles hung from its branches, shining reds and greens among sillier ornaments like pickles or little plastic goblins with giant candy canes. Blud used his magic to pull each present out. Galahad, Manus, and Reccoa all got a gift each of the same size. Each one was wrapped in red, gingerbread-clad paper. Miss Manus tore into hers out of curiosity to reveal a thick, handmade blanket made out of black fur, “Oh, it is lovely,” She said as she removed her cloak and wrapped herself in it.
	Galahad got a few more presents. Gifts from Rald, Blud, Root, and especially Crud. Even some of the other siblings got him some small things like candy. The duelist had brought out the gifts he had in his bag and was already handing them out to each goblin. The fledgling wizards got ‘my first wand and spellbook’ kits. Those less magically inclined got books if they were older, or toy cars or dolls if they were younger. Presents for the goblin patriarch and matriarch were magically placed under the tree along with those for the few absent goblins. Blud and Reccoa were given presents, along with Miss Manus and one was set aside for Rald. Reccoa happily sliced the packaging of her’s open to reveal a small stack of books of her own, the fronts of which depicted several kinds of orcish chefs, cooks and bakers clobbering one another with some form of kitchen utensil or another. She was surprised to see that the covers had all been translated to Japanese. Her chest fluttered with excitement as she read them aloud, showing them to Blud, “Blaad, look! Gorester’s Haadcore Core Foods and Recipes! Mince Meat with Mitch Heat!” She shuffled the books before pushing one towards him excitedly, “Ohhh! Eat tha Whole Cow! We have to try!”
	The goblin cackled and took the book, skimming through the pages, “Oh, hey look! It’s in both our languages! Fancy that, I wonder what genius thought to pick these out!” He grinned widely.
	“Blaad open his?” She said, putting her new books aside.
	Blud nodded slowly and opened his own present after setting his game aside. The wrapping paper was torn to shreds and tossed aside to reveal a wooden box. North Star the box read with twisting vines beneath the cursive text. He felt nervous as he felt the heft of the present. His eyes glanced at Galahad who was watching intently. Blud slowly undid the latch and pushed it open. Blinding silver light poured out of the box, grabbing everyone’s attention until it was open fully. An instruction booklet sat on top with a handwritten note stuck to it, ‘I thought this would fit your casting style a little better. We can train with it later. PS: If I hear you used this in your house I will personally come to take it back. -Lox.’ The goblin set the booklet aside and gaped at the present within. A rare weapon and even rarer casting implement. It had a wooden grip engraved with a small pattern of a crowned lion rearing up on its hind legs to help the wielder grasp it, the mark of a Royalty Arms gunsmith. Its sleek black frame had a mountain with a shining star etched onto one side and a glowing silver rune on the other. The barrel was long with a simple wand etched into the side, and the chamber opened with the smooth pressing of a latch. The small goblin could feel the power in his hand. It was a firearm, “Oh my Gob!” He cried, looking down the trench sights, and inadvertently pointing it at everyone in the room, much to Galahad’s dismay. Blud shut down his game and looked back in the box. Six silver cartridges, each with a tiny wooden tip and were all etched with runes, ready for whatever power Blud would bestow them. He plucked one from its red velvet cradle and rolled it back and forth between his fingers.
	“How does it work?” One of his siblings asked.
	“Uh, well…” Blud looked impatiently at Galahad who merely gestured to the instructions, “Ugh. Well, what I do know is that these are like little wands,” He showed them the bullet, “And I put spells in them, then the gun empowers it a little more when I put the bullet in here.”
	“Blud,” Galahad called out as the goblin was about to put the bullet in the chamber. The duelist’s voice was raspy and dry, but it held a tone that warned Blud of a thrashing if he kept messing around with it.
	Blud bit his lip and placed the bullet back in the case, “I’ll show ya sometime.” He hurriedly replied, “Anyway they should be reusable. But repeated use of one bullet can slowly break it down and then KABAM! It blows up on ya.”
	“Is my brother going to explode?” Rald asked with a worried look on her face. She took her apron off and sat next to Galahad. 
	“Not if he acts responsibly,” Miss Manus replied.
	Blud finally put it away, “And you can tattle to Lox if I don’t ‘act responsibly.’ Did you get Rald somethin’ Lox?”
	He nodded quickly and handed over another hefty gift. The lady goblin carefully pulled it open, removing the tape and then unfolding the paper. She gasped excitedly at the massive tome that laid before her, “No way! How did you find this!?” It was Magetastic’s titular Book of Magical Compounds. It was this decade’s version too, “I didn’t think people like us could even see these!” With hands that shook with excitement, Rald opened the book to a random page. Coral. There were many pictures of various coral species. There were a few tiny bits of coral that began to float in the air for her to examine. Removing them from the space and letting it go made them zip back above the page like a rubber band. Rald began to giddily read about the magical applications of coral including using specially bred, paper-like coral to make a waterproof spellbook. Meteors, precious metals, synthetic materials like rubber, and many, many others were listed in more than two hundred large pages. There was even a functional enchantment on the book that would read it aloud voiced by an elderly gentleman whose years of wisdom brought the words to life, “I can’t believe it… I'm not even gonna ask how you found this thing. Thank you, Lox! What did you get, Manus?”
	The fey-witch turned to her duelist. The present she had gotten for him was still in her dorm room, it was something she would give him in private. Galahad looked down and picked at his fingernails for a moment before sending over a small box wrapped with a bow. Removing the bow, Miss Manus found a note ‘Complications with gift. I'll get it to you soon. Please enjoy these chocolates for now. Sorry,’ The fey-witch glanced at the chocolates inside the box and nodded, “Perhaps we should exchange gifts at a later date?” Galahad’s gaze was directed downwards, but he nodded in reply. It was a little disappointing, but even so the chocolate was delicious, and it wasn't as if her gift for him was there to give, either. She could not help but notice that he had avoided her gaze. At least he wasn't ignoring her now. Perhaps he was still sullen about their ordeal… though now he was quite sickly, it made sense that he would avoid her. Maybe he felt something worse coming over him before and he wanted to remove himself to keep her from getting sick? If that were the case he might not have been there now… Manus shook the thoughts from her head and watched as the rest of the goblins played with their gifts.
	Root stood up and held her arms up, gesturing towards the dining room table, "Alright everyone, everything is ready so find your seats and prepare to eat! Galahad, you can rest out here if you like and I will bring you a plate," The man nodded and wrapped himself in the thick, furry, crimson blanket they had given him.

	From Manus' view the table spread was immaculate, for a goblin household. There were all kinds of foods, a roast turkey that was the center of the spread and more than big enough to feed the whole house. A honeyed ham was placed beside it cut into thin slices, buttery garlic mashed potatoes with an accompanying boat of gravy that looked like an old galleon, broccoli casserole whose contents were fused with a delicious coating of cheese, sweet potato casserole that smelled of brown sugar and was topped with melted marshmallows that glued it all together. It was all so mouthwatering that even the fey-witch was anticipating filling her plate with a little bit of everything, and that was just the food for the non-goblins. There were half a dozen plates of foods that incorporated all kinds of viscera, sweet bread was made again, Blud got his cow heart that he craved, there were deer steaks that were practically bleeding but for a tiny amount of searing on the outside and there were even blood sausages. It was any wonder that Root knew how to cook just about anything. Manus would have guessed that she had been some master chef in her past, or even currently with the way everything was presented. By the goblin cook's order the plates were magically whisked away to fill up from each dish they passed, Root separating the goblin foods from all their guests but Reccoa, who she piled on everything for, much to the sectare's delight.
	Crud stood at his end of the table and held up his hands, "Oh Gob, thank you for all these good friends and family gathered here to join us for our feast! Let our days be exciting and our lives long and our love for one another eternal!"
	Every goblin gave an 'Amen,' and everyone began their feast. It was all as delicious as Manus had hoped, all of it warming her cold body to her core. She watched as each goblin child ate and played with one another, that is until their mother gave them her own version of the Evil Eye that would put them in line until her gaze went elsewhere, then the games were back on. It reminded her of her youth among her fey siblings who were always so playful and carefree. She missed them every now and then, wondering if one day she would return to the Fey Lands to visit. Perhaps she would take her friends along to see it for themselves, the ice plains, the snow hills, the vast, frozen crystalline waterfalls and the river that lead to the Star Lake, the mountain where her family's castle resided over the land. She hadn't thought of home for some time, even by fey standards.
	“Uh, Manus, you’re class president, right?” Crud asked, setting a bit of food aside.
	The fey-witch shook her head and smiled very softly, “Sean is our student body president. I merely represent house Karak-Albrac as their president.”
	“That sounds hard,” One of the younger goblins said between bites of breaded and deep fried cow’s heart.
	Another shook her head, “Imagine the power. Presidential power,” She smiled, “Can you make Lox do anything you want?”
	The fey tittered at the young goblin's question, "Oh no, I could never do that. He merely acts in our house's interest as well."
	“What!?” Another cried, “You have the strongest wizard alive as your underling, and you don’t even use him? You’ll never make it as a super villain!”
	"Hush, she’s not a villain. Bossing around wizards is Rald's job," Answered Root with a laugh, "She didn’t even have to ask Lox and he came to help her! Speaking of, I'll be back, better plate him up something to eat!" The goblin matriarch plated up some turkey, ham, and some potatoes and vegetables and took them to the living room.
	“Cooking is good,” Reccoa complimented aloud.
	“Thank you!” Root smiled as she returned to the table, “Rald helped as well.”
	Rald nodded, “Your english is getting really good, San.”
	“Thanky,” She gave a seated bow, “Blaad has been teaching,” She leaned over to Rald, “Bad teaching.”
	Blud put his fork down, “Hey! I’m trying my best!”
	Miss Manus giggled, “I am sure you are making a valiant effort, Blud. How has your sorcery training been, Miss Reccoa?”
	The sectare shrank slightly, “Not well.”
	Crud shook his head, “Shoulda gone to bard school,” Root hushed him quickly.
	There was a little pause and head tilt before Reccoa continued, “No teaching of power. Only learning control and discipline and medi- medal- meditation.”
	“Yeah, it's bull,” Blud agreed as Reccoa slightly smoldered. Root mouthed ‘language’ at her son who shrank away with a nod.
	“Well,” Miss Manus cleared her throat, “Those are the teaching sorcerers generally need. Learning to stay calm and collected despite your emotions is a very good thing.”
	Reccoa folded her arms and gave a frown, “I am calmly. No flame here.”
	“Well, you are smoldering a bit, dear,” Root pointed out, “Not that there is any issue.”
	“It is beyond your age, Reccoa, but have you heard of the city of Pelonaire?” Miss Manus asked, looking for a journal in her side bag. Everyone shook their heads, “It was a beautiful town. Marble columns, orchards, music, wine, and food, it was all in excess in this town. The beautiful people all lived very lavishly. A child was born, the most beautiful girl of all, Daora. She was a sorcerer born high in their castes. She lived lavishly, getting all that she desired. One day, the town was taken over by a rival kingdom. A horrible tyrant took everything from them. Daora, who had never learned the self control that was unneeded in such a lavish lifestyle, was pushed over the edge by a devious bard. Her rage from her gold being stolen and her parents' slain was only compounded. His vile musical magic on his heavy brass instrument pushed the little girl to the limits of her anger. Her magic exploded forth. The tyrant, the town, the bard, the gold, the little girl herself were all destroyed in the horrible thunderous explosion of uncontrolled magic.”
	Reccoa still looked indignant, “I am not spoiled child-brat.”
	The fey-witch nodded, “I know you are not, you are not like Daora in many ways. It is merely an example of the dangers. A more recent example from a more relevant source. A great and powerful minotaur sorcerer visiting Chicago lost control of his earth sorcery.”
	“And that caused the third Chicago fire, right?” Rald finished.
	“Yes,” Miss Manus sighed, “It was not nearly as bad as the first, but it still is an example of the dangers of sorcery.”
	“But power…” Reccoa frowned sadly, “I want for strength.”
	“I know not why you want this power. But it may come with age. The fire inside will grow for one reason or another, Reccoa. Please be patient,” Miss Manus gave her a little smile.
	“Fi-ine,” The sectare sighed.
	Blud nudged, “Don’t worry about it, San. We’ll figure something out. There’s gotta be some kinda of power-up for sorcerers.”
	“Like in game?” She asked, “Can I play?”
	“Mmm… Fine.”
	“No games at the table! Eat your food then go play outside!” Root ordered, “You’re gonna get fat and your mind is going to rot if you keep playing those games!”

	. . . . .

	A sigh escaped Suzie Bottomhill's lips as she rested in a chair in the warmth of  Karak'Albrac's main hall. She was tuckered out from her family's Christmas dinner and had returned to campus promptly the next day. Everything had gone the way she had hoped, and yet she felt a twinge of uneasiness inside.
	Most everyone was slowly returning to campus from their own holiday trips, Holmit had even returned in a drunken stupor. Everyone had come back but Fredrik.
	He was usually one of the first people to come back and yet it had been days and no one had seen him. With the way she had treated him, the gnomish woman couldn't help but feel responsible. If there was any hope for them before she had definitely ruined it, she thought to herself. When he did come back she would simply have to apologize to him and do everything in her power to make up for it. Some students filed out from the stairs, all underclassmen of hers. They were chatting with one another before they spotted her by herself.
	"Hey, it's Suzie! We're going into town to see the Christmas decorations before they get taken down!" One student exclaimed. 
	"You wanna come with us?" They asked together.
	The gnome took a deep breath and shook her head, "No… I'm not really feeling up to it."
	"Are you sure?"
	"It could cheer you up!"
	"I hear Lindiburg went all out!"
	"Hold on, everyone, go on without me," One student said, "I'll catch up in a bit."
	The student was an older man, Suzie recognized him as one of the first years that had started learning magic in his later years. As the others shuffled out of the door, he came over and sat across from her, crossing his legs and relaxing in his chair. A little, blonde furred kobold climbed up into the chair next to him.
"You're… Andrew, aren't you?" Asked Suzie.
	"Ha. I am surprised you remember me. We have not talked since the start of the school year. Since we all went out to dinner, I believe," He admitted, "I wanted to change that. So tell me, what's on your mind?"
	"It's nothing really…" She fibbed, shifting in her chair.
	"It must be something. You are always so chipper. If it is too personal I will not pry–"
	"It's fine… it's just… have you seen Fredrik?"
	"Fredrik? The golden wonder? No, I haven't," Answered Andrew as Phlenel shook her head next to him, "I figured you would have seen him first." 
	"Why’s that?" Asked Suzie.
	"He's mentioned you in passing more than a few times whenever we talk, told all us first years that you are ‘the most dependable member of the council for everything,'" Suzie giggled at the older man's impression of the masked wizard, it was pretty spot on to her ears.
	"He said that, did he?"
	Andrew nodded, "He did. So is that what has you down? You miss our Golden Wonder?"
	"No– well… yes, in a way I do," She admitted with a sigh, "I said some hurtful things to him during the whole… Butcher thing. I was being completely selfish and stupid about it all, but I wanted him to be there for me.”
	Andrew raised his brows when he heard this, "Was he not?"
	"He was. In his own way. He made sure I was safe, kept Galahad around me when he couldn't be– which was more often than I'd have liked– but it was thoughtful of him," Suzie explained, "I want to apologize to him."
	"I see. You must have feelings for him," The older man pointed out. Phlenel was quick to nod along with her master.
	Suzie was completely caught off guard, her ears turning red with embarrassment, "I– you– o-of course not!"
	Andrew laughed, "It is written all over your face!"
	"Okay, so what if I do?" Suzie hissed at her older first year.
	"Then you've come to the right decision. Things are hard enough as it is, so do not ruin what you have with Fredrik. He's a good man– a little weird, but good. Have you told him how you feel?"
	"No, of course not. How could I? He has that secret muse or whatever he keeps flaunting about."
	"I know it's usually the man's job to take the lead in these situations but take it from me: don't let him get away," Andrew warned, “If you think someone is going to steal him away then you had better act quick. I know how it ends if you don't."
	That gave Suzie something to think about, the gnome sitting beside herself at the thought that she would be sidelined and left alone.
	"I'm sorry that happened to you…" She finally said. Andrew shrugged and chuckled.
	"It was years ago. I'm an old man now and I have other things to take care of,” He patted Phlenel on the head. Her face was as vacant as ever, “But if it helps you make your decision, it was a long time before I got over it, so save yourself the heartache. Besides, I think you'd be surprised who this muse of his is," Andrew cautioned her before standing up and stretching, "Anyway, I had better catch up with the others."
	"Wait, what do you mean I'd be surprised," Suzie perked up immediately.
	"Bye!" Andrew chuckled again before heading to the front door.
	“BUH-BYEEE!” Phlenel echoed her master as she opened the door for him and the two left, closing the door behind them.
 	The gnome was left to stew on his words. Did he know who Fredrik's muse was? Who else knew? Was she the only one who didn't know? Her mind was racing with these questions and more. As she thought and thought she spied Holmit coming down the steps with an icepack held to his head.
	"Holmit!" She called out to him. He froze on the steps, glancing over to where she was before slowly turning around, "Hold it right there!" She hollered before giving chase to the dwarf as he hobbled back up the stairs, "Get back here you!" She said, chasing him all the way to the top and down the hall.
	"What do ya want?!" He bellowed, "Can't a dwarf get some peace and quiet around here? I've a terrible hangover, woman!"
	"Oh really? Is that why you ran for it? Or were you the one to eat all of my cinnabuns last night?"
	"I did no such thing!" He barked, "I'd ‘ave hurled from all the sugar."
	"Oh, sure, and I'm sure you were always this fat!" She said, grabbing the dwarf by his love handles and shaking him. He swiped her hands away and booked it back towards his dorm, "Hey, hey, I'm not done with you! Holmit!" Suzie gave chase again, drawing out her wand. With a spell this time she managed to cut him off and bar the door to his room right before him. 
	"Alright, alright! I couldn't resist, so whatever ya want, just name it!" He held his head with one hand and his gut with the other.
	Suzie ignored his bellyaching, "Have you seen Fredrik? Heard from him? Anything?"
	"Fredrik? Uh…" the dwarf looked away for a moment before nodding his head, "Oh ya, he apparently went to climb some mountain o' his back home. Said it was to consult an elder or something like that. I didn't really hear him since… well," Holmit looked down at the floor before he swallowed nervously, "Look, it was the Eve of Christmas, I had been drinking and I cannot remember everything. I know he'll be back either today or on the morrow. Now will ya let me be?" The dwarf quickly broke away from her, dispelled the lock and slipped into his dorm, slamming the door shut.

	Suzie rapped her fingers on the table she sat at. She couldn’t focus on the book before her at all. Fredrik seemed to be the only thing on her mind now. He was an idiot, so why was he always sneaking into her thoughts? She rested her head down on the table, continuing to tap her fingers rhythmically. Maybe he had learned oneiromancy and was magically implanting himself into her dreams, Suzie thought. Dream magic would be right up his alley. Spread his golden message through subliminal messaging! Oh no, I'm starting to sound like Carly.
	The gnome jolted out of her thoughts as a cup was forcefully placed on the table before her with a loud clunk, “Ah, now you respond,” The chair next to her was pulled out and a man took it soon after, “A good afternoon to you,” It was Fredrik, of course. The grandiose tone in his voice was still gone. The golden wizard had traded in his long, flashy robes for a fashionable black coat lined with wool and a pair of dark brown slacks. His black boots were tied up tight. On his face was a relatively simple mask mimicking a Greco-Roman statue with a handsome, chiseled face, the only real gold in his wardrobe today. 
	“G-good afternoon,” The gnome looked away and to the large coffee cup that had been placed before her. It was a peach colored metal tumbler with a gold bow tied to it. A sweet, minty scent came from the cup, “What’s this?”
	“Oh, merely a little something…” He trailed off with a sigh, "I got it for you."
	Suzie slid the lid open and got a whiff of the hot beverage within. Peppermint coffee, her most favorite drink, “You remembered,” She whispered with a little smile on her face.
	“Of course I did! I brought you this coffee all the time when you fell ill in the past.”
	“Yeah, you did, huh?” Suzie felt deflated, “You’ve been taking care of me in the past… And I guess you were before the break too.”
	“Of course I–” Fredrik slouched in his chair, “I was spread very thin. We all were. There wasn’t anything between me and Miss Hamilton, Suzie, I swear it. She was out of people to ask for help, and I was the only one she could rely on. You understand I couldn't just leave her to fend for herself. What kind of man would I be?”
	"I know… I do like that about you." The gnome confessed.
	"You do?" The golden wizard was genuinely surprised.
	"Of course. How long have we known each other?" She asked before sipping at the coffee he had brought her. 
	Fredrik thought about it for a moment, "Goodness… how long has it been? A decade? No, at least two." 
	"Yeah, about that long. Maybe longer. Ever since I started here at the boarding school," Suzie said with a smile as she thought back.
	"Right. I was a year ahead of you." He reminisced, "You were so much smaller back then, people used to call you a pixie."
	"You used to, too," The gnome giggled, "But unlike everyone else you really meant it. You didn't say it to be mean or anything, you made it sound like fun, like we were part of an adventure. I kinda liked that, it was like I was already full of magic."
	"Well, you were cute as a button, a little gnomish girl barely half my height." He chuckled. "I recall us pretending to slay monsters in the forest… I never thought I'd actually give that a shot," He sighed, "Still… my masks back then were hideous."
	"They were not!" Suzie laughed, "They were adorable, your first few attempts at metalmancing. They were perfect!"
	"Ha, perfectly repulsive. I remember I once made one that did not have holes for breathing, or only one eye. Aesthetically pleasing to my younger self, but hardly practical at all! Now my masks have form and function."
	"I enjoyed them, every day all the way until now you always had a different mask with another outlandish design. As the years went by you got better and better at it. The masks may have never been the same, but deep down I knew that you were. I know you Fredrik, despite all those masks you wear, I know you're a good man." She said, burying her face in her hands, "I'm sorry for the way I treated you, you didn't deserve that. Can you ever forgive me…?"
	The wizard was silent for a few moments, watching as the gnomish woman hid her face from him. He smiled, lifted her hat and gently pat her on the head. "Of course I'll forgive you. We're friends after all. Can I tell you a secret?"
	"Oh, sure!" Suzie answered. Part of her became excited wondering if he would finally tell her about his muse.
	"Most of my masks are molded from the same one. They all have one thing in common: there's a little of myself in them, all the way from back then."
	"Is that so…?" The gnome was a little disappointed, but the other part of her knew he would not be so forthcoming. Still it was surprising to hear. She thought he would have had his walls lined with masks over the years.
	"It is. My muse suggested that if I couldn't show myself, then I should make these masks a part of my true face," He explained, "So if you look carefully you may catch a glimpse of my true face in my art. I owe a lot to her."
	"Can you tell me about her? Your muse?" Suzie dared to ask, "You don't have to tell me who it is, but what makes her your muse? I want to know what you like about her."
	Fredrik paused, his hand resting on his chin as he considered it a moment, "I suppose that is a fair question. Yes, well. My muse… she has supported me for years and years now, been by my side through thick and thin, inspired me, made me who I am. But it isn't just me, she has helped countless other students, she's taught people important lessons, stuck up for them, fed them and clothed them when they needed to. In my eyes she is very nearly a saint."
	Suzie felt a little more deflated upon hearing this, but she did her best to keep a smile on her face, "She sounds like a wonderful person, Fredrik. It's no wonder why you like her so much…"
	"Well, we have known each other for some time now."
	"Why haven't you told her how you feel about her?" She asked plainly.
	Fredrik was caught off guard by the question. Normally he would have played it off, but Suzie noticed the gears turning in his mind and for once in a long time she knew exactly what he was thinking, "I… truthfully, I don't know if… I'm good enough," He finally answered.
	"You're worried what happened between you and Sophia would happen again," Said Suzie. Fredrik tensed up for a moment, surprised by her pointed observation. He nodded, "I don't know if I can handle that kind of heartbreak again. I put on this acting part of myself as a form of escape. I truly love being this way, but the reality is… it still hurts." 
	Suzie scooted her chair closer to his, reaching over the table to place her hand on his, "I know. But you're strong, you're kind and you have your muse." She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. 
	He turned his palm up to hold hers and squeeze back, "T-thank you." He stammered out, "Can we… stay like this for a while?"
	Suzie's smile widened, "Sure."

. . . . .

	Snow gently fell across campus. The trees had lost their leaves and now accumulated white powder and ice dripping off their thick branches. Although the crisis of the Butcher was over, people still traveled in groups. But even with this small sense of unease, people felt free enough now to play in the snow. Igloos, forts, snowball fights, all played out on the outskirts of campus. Miss Manus was out enjoying the frigid cold and beautiful, glimmering snow. It was almost like home, it just needed icey, crystalline structures and more playful snow fairies to feel complete. The sight of her classmates throwing snowballs at one another would have to do. She was sitting on a blanket on a snowbank, legs crossed and draped in her cloak as she read her next book for her club: The Odyssey. Miss Manus thought of the ghillie dhu for a moment. She hoped he was alright. In that same vein, her duelist crossed her mind. He was still quiet, almost brooding as he went about his business, just now she spotted him crossing campus from the western side and going to the dorms. He was wrapped in two thick coats, a wool hat, cloak, and a scarf. His dark demeanor continued as he trudged through the snow. Miss Manus frowned as she watched him.
	“Now!” A cry rang across campus. From beneath the puffy snow and out of a mass invisibility spell came half of house Zucarius. Led by Rita, they began to pelt Galahad with snowballs. He hid under his cloak and knelt down. A glow came from his hands and he slammed them into the concrete. A blast of force spread out from him, throwing up snow, knocking all the students back, and covering the attacking students in it. The duelist stood, gripping his shoulder in pain as he picked up the pace. Glancing over his shoulder, he made eye contact with Miss Manus before looking down and stepping into the dorm. 
	The illusionists slowly pulled themselves out of the snow and helped one another heat up. Rita had a big grin on her face despite all the snow covering her, “This is going to be a fun winter!” She laughed, “Alright, that’s our Galahad quota done, get back into position and we’ll get the next one!” She cackled with delight. Despite the cold the color had completely returned to the imp, her purple skin contrasting vibrantly against the white of the snow. Miss Manus sighed with relief, simply glad no one got hurt. Had his intention been to harm them? Part of her admonished herself, how could she think that? But, the fey-witch couldn’t be sure. That look in his eye, she couldn’t explain it but…
	With the shaking of her head, she went back to her book. 

. . . . .

	An outdoor assembly had gathered around the large oak on campus. It was Sunday, a day before the new term officially started. Every returning student was back from their vacation and many new students were amongst the crowd. Fires and magical heat sources were dotted around to keep everyone warm as they waited for the dean to take to the makeshift stage. Four small platforms had been erected out of wood, each decorated with the banners of the ten houses. The headmasters and faculty were amongst the students and each person chattered quietly with one another. In a flash of light and puff of yellow smoke, four forms of Zucarius appeared, one at each stage. They moved in unison, first clearing their throat as the students gave him their attention. The dean wore a thick, gray wool cloak over a set of bright yellow robes. A matching conical hat sat on his head with fluffy ear flaps to keep him warm, “Good afternoon, one and all!” Zucarius’s voice boomed across the crowd, “For those of you who are new, may I be one of the first to welcome you to Fairgarland academy. And those who are returning, I thank you for staying with us despite the hardships we faced. I am sure you are all aware of the pain endured by the students and the bravery of those who remained to help one another, and the courageous few who delved into the monster’s nest to rescue the students and faculty,” Cheers and applause came from those in attendance, “I am proud of how you all came together, but I will not blame those who left campus. It was a trying time, and you have all come here to learn, not to suffer perils. But now I ask us all to come together once more. While the immediate danger may have passed, there are many questions remaining if there is another source. We have with us Grandmaster Arthur and his beautiful wife Nambra Faith looking into this very matter. There is no one better suited to this task so we are in good hands. That being said, I want to take this opportunity to instill in you: if you see something, say something. Anything unusual or out of hand, report it to our security, your presidents, headmasters, myself, or anyone at all. I know we have had issues of downplaying potential problems or even ignoring dangers in favor of pursuing knowledge, but I will be making many sharp changes to that, I assure you. For our faculty, future crises can be prevented if we work together and listen to our students no matter how outlandish it may seem. If it turns out to be a prank, a false alarm or similar error then no harm is done, but if we ignore them and are wrong… we do not want to repeat our past mistakes. For everyone, watch out for one another, and please be careful at night. Help your fellow students, make yourselves available, keep each other safe. Study, mentor, mold each other into the mages and sorcerers you want to be and you will do well here. I ask that you give it your all, and enjoy the coming semester.”