Chapter 72: Veiled Dream

“I hope you have recovered well enough to carry out my request,” said Dreamweaver Prisca as she crept into our house.

“I’ve been well for a long time, Magister,” Mum answered. “As for the matter you are worried about, as long as you can provide what I need, you have nothing to worry.”

A girl, perhaps only a few seasons older than me, trailed behind, her fingers clutching the hem of the older woman’s robes. She stood a head shorter than me, even with the long pigtails adding to her height. Her skin was pale, her features serene and symmetrical, but what caught my attention most was the striking pair of eyes, like nebulous silver pearls. It was impossible to read any emotion in them, and the way she stared made it seem as if...

She’s blind, isn’t she?

“That eases my heart,” said the old woman, “although my request might be a bit tricky.”

Mum led them to the study, saying there was still plenty of time for serious discussion.

“Little Sprout, don’t think I didn’t notice you,” the dreamweaver called out to me. “I hope those blighted nightmares aren’t plaguing you no more... Hmm, and who this might be?”

“I’ve been well,” I said, then introduced Eran. “This is my friend, Eran Stonecutter.”

Eran dipped his head in greeting. Even he could tell that the old woman before him held a position of high authority.

“Such a polite boy, but—” She paused, her gaze lingering on Eran a little longer than felt natural. Then she sighed, exchanging a look with Mum.

“And where did you abduct this little angel from?” Mum asked, stooping near the girl.

The girl flinched slightly, her grip on the hemline tightening, but otherwise remained still.

“This is Iris, my little apprentice.” Prisca flopped down onto the main couch. “I’ve been taking her to visit a few places before she joins the academy next year. Well, I’ve been meaning to. Your place can be considered the very first.” She laughed, guiding the girl to sit beside her. She was about to continue, but her eyes wandered to the painting that hung on the wall opposite. A look of intrigue shone in her eyes. “That’s a nice painting.”

Mum beamed, patting my shoulder. “My little Pumpkin drew it for me.”

“Prodigious, indeed,” the woman laughed, then fixed her eyes on me. “Little critter, it looks like you’re not far from Noble Class... hmm, perhaps you can attend the Academy with my Iris.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I only nodded, sneaking a glance at the girl. She didn’t just reach Noble Class, the essence threads under control were well over a hundred. All that with Dream essence, which wasn't known to be an easy essence to grasp.

“Oracle Academy?” Mum replied on my behalf. “He’ll attend, but not for another couple of years.”

“Haha, then if nothing goes amiss, he’ll have an upperclassman to rely on when he does.”

She continued chatting with Mum, mostly boasting about her apprentice, who, by contrast, remained completely silent, her cheeks only reddening a little under the steady stream of praise.

Eventually, they carried their serious discussion to another room, leaving us to make friends. Iris stayed seated and motionless, not even touching the plate of fruit Mum had laid out.

I exchanged a look with Eran, who clearly expected me to start the conversation. I scowled at him, but he just pulled a book over his face.

“You’re holding it upside down,” I said.

“What?” —he fumbled with the book, glaring at me— “I am not!”

He really wasn’t, but the way he scrambled to fix it proved how little he was concentrating on the act. Honestly, He could hold a full conversation with Diana and everyone else, so what was different about Iris? She couldn’t be that much older than us.

I sighed. Why do I even feel awkward, though? Is it because she’s blind?

Determined not to let that linger, I cleared my throat. “You’ve already advanced to Noble Class... congratulations.”

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I was tempted to ask her class name, but that felt a little too intrusive, so I reined it in. Still, the girl only inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement.

Hmm, maybe I should start with a question, give her something to respond to.

As I debated over the questions, Iris rose and crept over to the window. Her pace was slow, but she hardly showed any hint of her impairment. She stood there for a long moment, prompting me to glance at Eran once again.

He leaned closer to whisper into my ear in an almost inaudible voice. “Is she mute?”

Iris caught it with ease. Her Noble Class was not a joke. “No,” she said at last, her voice as faint as a whisper, “I’m only blind.”

Under our gaze, she stepped across to stand in front of my painting, observing it.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Eran blurted out, “I’m... I’m sorry.”

Iris said nothing, her eyes still locked onto the painting.

“Do you like my painting?” I asked, and immediately realised the blunder in my question. I felt like slapping myself.

Are you a blighted fool? I scolded inwardly. She clearly said she’s blind... even if the painting was magical, it wasn’t magical enough to let--

“Your painting,” Iris replied, catching me off guard, “it’s very... symmetric.”

“Umm, thank you.” That sounded like a compliment... Well, for any runesmith, it was one. Every rune line needed to be perfectly balanced to function properly. Ha, did she know that? Probably not.

“I can’t glimpse into common paintings or art,” she continued. “But this one has a lot of essence in it, enough for me to... peer.”

“You can see essence?” I asked.

The girl gave a faint nod. The answer should’ve been obvious, but I was evidently my most daftest self today.

I wondered what the painting looked like through her eyes. Was it anything like what I saw with my Fractal Sight, the bare skeletons of rune lines and etched symbols?

“Can you draw more of these paintings?” she asked, turning to me, a glimmer dancing in her hazy pearl eyes.

“Um, certainly,” I said. We lingered in the silence for a moment, and only then did it occur to me to ask, “Do you want to see me draw?”

Her still head gave the faintest nod.

“Let me bring my stuff, then.” Swiftly, I scurried off to my room and returned with a banded canvas and my Aetherbound Quillpen.

I set the canvas near the window, placing a stool in front of it, ready to mark the surface with my engraver. Only then did I realise I needed a subject to draw.

I looked at the girl. She stood nearby, seemingly focused on the engraver in my hand, waiting. A piece like the one on the wall would take time, not to mention the drain on my Will and emotions. I wasn’t sure if I was up for it or if she even had the patience for it.

“What do you want me to draw?”

Iris tilted her head. “Whatever you like.”

Well, that didn’t narrow things down. I closed my eyes and thought hard about what to choose. The first image that came to mind was obviously Father in an imposing sword form, blade raised mid-strike, but that wasn’t something she’d probably like, nor something I felt right to give her.

I considered making a portrait of her, but it wouldn’t be satisfying—not unless I spent a lot of energy on it. I wasn’t exactly a prodigy in painting.

“You don’t have to draw me, if that’s what you’re considering,” her voice stirred me from my thoughts. “Draw something from your heart.”

Something from my heart? I closed my eyes and searched...

My engraving pen touched canvas, the tiny essence nib stroking in thin lines, as an image began to take shape in my mind. I quickly laid out the large strokes when an inspiration struck.

My high mental faculties helped me slip into the flow state, letting everything else fall away as I focused entirely on the piece.

Draw something from my heart, she said. The image I had in mind wasn’t clear, but it posed a strong feeling in my heart.. I followed that thread of feeling, letting it guide my hand. With the haze of inspiration settling, I tried something audacious.

Pausing Midway, I rested my pen and smeared black ink across the centre of the canvas, letting it dye the fabric fully.

“What?” Iris asked—at least, I thought she did. I didn’t respond.

Essence threads spun from my palm, weaving into simple wind and heat waves. Once the ink dried, I began etching the micro light runes into the canvas.

I’d already developed the skills—grinding over sixty hours for the piece I made for Mum—but even still, I started slow. My pace only picked up as the image shaped fully in my mind.

Working on the painting felt like reliving the fleeting moments. My true memory of it was obscure, a dream veiled in the obscurity of the fog of time. I couldn’t be sure if the emotion I poured onto it was natural, the theme I invoked was truly there, or was something I forced upon it. I didn’t even know if it's real, and if so, how much of it.

Time stretched and slipped by unnoticed. Maybe I noticed Mum returning at some point, though I couldn’t say for sure. I didn’t even know if Iris was still watching. When I finally emerged from the flow, I found the room no longer empty. Everyone was present, including Father. Over an hour had passed, and though the painting wasn’t yet finished, its form was clearer.

Iris still stood at my side, her eyes radiant with an incandescent glow, so very like, and yet unlike, the eyes of the woman in the image.

As I carefully worked the final touches, Magus Prisca crept closer, peering at the canvas. “And who’s this girl you’re painting?” she asked. “Feels oddly familiar... Ashlyn?”

Mum stood silent, watching me closely.

“Where have I seen this?” the older woman murmured, scratching her temple. “My old age hasn’t made me this senile, has it?”

“Saint Irielle,” Iris said softly. “I think.”

My engraving pen froze mid-stroke. I stared at the image, at the woman as a whole. Saint Irielle?

“Ahh, yes... There is a clear resemblance,” Magus Prisca said. “But she looks younger here, doesn’t she?”

I didn’t answer. Slowly, I finished the last of the engravings.

A woman with incandescent hair and eyes sat in a dark canvas, a small bonfire burning beside her. Yet her form shone brighter than the flame, illuminating the inky darkness. She was tucking a loose strand of radiant hair behind her elven ear, her expression soft and humane, bereft of any ageless indifference.