Crossing the border

"You have the same destination as me…?"

His muscles tired from sharpening his brows, the boy focused his sight onto the red-haired man. Without even knowing the town's name in which the university was, the foreign man seemed sure that both of them planned on visiting the same spot.

"Cascrenter—the only university willing to teach foreign people, the only one in this region at least… We don't have that long to get there—soon, the invitation exams should start…"

Getting to his feet, barely avoiding hitting his head on the cave ceiling, the man grabbed his sword—tucking it under his belt, his dark brown pants stained in dust. Just by the light stretching sounds the holsters of his bag released, Midas was able to tell how heavy his bag was.

Following his motion of standing up, Midas found his footing on the uneven floor of the cavern—his back itchy, aching under his movements, the leather strapped on him still hiding the cuts, three pieces of rope were bound around his torso—lightly restricting his breathing.

"Take it off if you want to. It honestly doesn't look all that comfortable to wear."

Out from his entrance, a slim path sloped down into another trench; the man spoke to Midas in a lowlaid tone—his attention clearly focused on the rugged path in front of them. The man scratched his head, unable to remember how or why he thought it was a good idea to choose this cave—his fear of heights somewhat getting to him.

"Wait—what's your name…?"

Midas chased him, humping his way out of the short cave room, following the man down the path extending out of the stone front, following its curvatures. Hesitantly jumping down armlong cliffs that lay on their way.

"Avalon."

"I see, Avalon… I was named Midas."

His response was short; the man didn't turn to the boy—nodding somewhat at his reply, his mind remaining occupied with finding the right path downwards. Before finally stopping halfway, turning to the boy, watching him lumpily jump down the sloping path—his fingers tightly grasped around the rusted sickle, trying his best to not lose it on the way.

"You were named… Midas?"

His eyes fixated on the boy, he looked at him close the distance; only now was Midas able to notice a small leather bag on his hip, its belt on Avalon's shoulder.

"Alma named me, of course… I wasn't forced—but, even if I had a name before that… There was no way for me to remember it."

Reminding himself of the dream he had before meeting Avalon, seeing the fractured glass panel of the enframed picture in his memories, Midas's gaze drifted off to the lush rift; the grass seemed much more green, the vegetation plentiful—seeming much healthier, the already broad rift seemed to open up even wider in the direction they seemed to head to.

Glancing at the boy, as he stood atop a higher-lying cliff, scanning his eyes—lost in the scenery in front of them—Avalon turned around, making a final leap down to the base of the valley.

"We crossed the border."

His casual tone puzzled Midas; the journey he took to cross the mountains was exhausting, yet—for some reason—his partner didn't seem exhausted or glad about the fact he successfully made it across.

"I thought Puertagua was the only way of crossing the mountains…"

His ankles beginning to ache slightly, he landed on the patchy grass that riddled the rocky soil; trees—their wood slim—were riddled along the sloping sides of the lush lowland, yellowish greens riddling their crowns.

"If you use a sledge that is… I assume the squadron you told me about includes people from the southern desert… If so, they are technically forced to pass through there."

His hand on the bark that wrapped around the thin stem of one of the trees surrounding them, Avalon spoke. His fingers caressing the flat surface of the plant, his eyes focused.

Midas stepped closer, watching the man's hand open up the brown bag, its worn-out edges an indicator of how long it had been accompanying him. Out of it, a tiny handbook—its leather cover matching the faded brown tone of his bag.

"Look, do you see these markings…? You can feel how rough they are with your finger—try it."

His hand grasping the flat bark again, he spoke to Midas, glancing down at him while the handbook remained close to his face. The grayish brown that sealed the fibers of the stem was riddled with tiny elongated dots, some longer, others broader; upon touching them, Midas felt the surface texture roughing up.

"A local species, they evolved to thrive in this warmer region once they had fully built up resistances against droughts… Their kind completely spread through the water kingdoms coasts—easily pushing other species out of these regions."

Midas listened to the man ramble to him in an almost teaching tone, reminding the boy of Alma. His hand automatically tightening around the tree, unable to make his hand grasp it completely. Sinking his head against the tree until Avalon stopped talking.

"Are you sure you want to go to this university, Midas…?"

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Midas's eyes widened slightly, feeling his glance down onto him—his tone dropped to sound much more direct.

"I have to; I need to learn this kingdom's language… I also plan on finally getting my mana under control. Plus, I want to find out more about the storm."

"All of these things, I'm sure I will be able to work on all of these things if I visit that place…"

Avalon stopped in his tracks to turn to the boy again, the two of them now walking through the valley, the man mustered Midas's stern view down onto the ground, keeping quiet for a short while.

"I see—yes… That makes sense—but I can tell you for sure—with your current skill… Passing the entrance exam won't work."

Midas raised his head slowly, unable to walk further, as Avalon stood in front of him with an uneasy glance.

"What…?"

His teeth clenching, the man saw the youth processing his words—his facial features quickly stressing as he moved his glance up at him.

"You see—the stream of people that come from the desert grows with every great sun cycle… Unfortunately for you, the region only has one university for all of these potential students… Which means the available places shrink drastically with time… And the competition grows."

"So—I ask you again… Are you sure you want to go to that university?"

Shutting his eyes—his head facing the dry, patchy floor again before speaking—Midas took a while to think. He won't come far without having any language skills; even if some of his kind roamed around, most of the people spoke a language he couldn't.

Buying things or getting a job to even earn the necessary money will be hard without any way of conversation—hoping to find a salesman that spoke his tongue was a risk he wasn't willing to take, especially if he planned to venture deeper into the water kingdom's land.

"What does the entrance exam contain…?"

"At its core, just a tiny grammatical exam… the other half tests your mana skills—how much are you able to store, how quickly are you able to shift that amount around your body… and, to what degree are you able to actually use it?"

Midas opened his lowered eyes; his pupils resting on his right hand, he was able to feel the numbness of the stone plate that inflated his flesh surrounding it, the sun shard beneath his bandages.

"Will I be able to refine my mana skills enough to pass that test on our way there…?"

Avalon watched the serious expression of the youth in front of him, glancing down at him as he raised his bandaged right hand to look at its stained bandage.

"Well, you have a major advantage here… That crystal, you used it before you were slashed, right?"

"Ah… the sun shard you mean…?"

The two of them set eyes on the bandaged hand; a quick moment of silence fills them before Avalon continued.

"The best way to get a feel for your mana is by using it; the more often it runs through your limbs, the better your feel of it flowing in your veins. Transporting mana will be an easy task for you; if you keep consistency, I won't force you to, but if you really decide on visiting this university, I will do my best to aid you in that matter."

Midas, surprised by his answer, looked up at Avalon once more. His mouth opening slimly, unable to ask why he decided to aid him—or how he found out about the sun shard possibly helping him. Watching him intently, as he turned to their path in front again. His eyes glancing back at him, speaking to the boy before shutting his lids.

"You said so yourself, didn't you...? The storm at the west bank... The eastern peaks of the mountains might stop it from spreading, but the gulf to its right is completely flat... There might be floods, extreme winds... Who knows what will happen to these people if no one finds a solution to it? Maybe you will be the one—the person who will find an answer to stopping it... Midas."