“1,844 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  Orlo walked in the silent corridors of the school, scanning his paperwork for the room number he was assigned this week — room forty-four.

  As he meandered through the hallways, he kept an eye out for door signs, but so far, he found himself disoriented. Glancing around, he noticed the absence of anyone else in the hallways, an eerie quiet pervading the space. He reviewed the documents handed to him by the Dean, double-checking the location of his new classroom and perusing the list of students who would be under his tutelage this week.

  Toward the bottom of the list, Orlo spotted the name Zora Dagurstea, sparking at the prospect of finally meeting her. He has been living with the Dagurstea for over two moons now and still hasn’t met her.

  Just then, a squeak from the floor caught his attention. "Master, I found the room!" exclaimed the little mouse, a little too much excited. Orlo followed his Spirit, and there it was at last: Room forty-four.

  He stepped inside and was immediately confronted with a reality far beyond his expectations. Orlo has played as a substitute teacher for second to fourth graders. Everything has been smooth so far, but he didn’t expect this at all.

  The students before him spanned a wide range of ages; three appeared to be around eight or nine Winters old, five seemed to be about twelve Winters, and several were close to his own age, if not older.

  This setup was unlike any classroom he knew of. Typically, children of the same age group would learn together, following a standard curriculum. Clearly, something was amiss. Why was he assigned to this class this week?

  Positioning himself in the centre of the classroom, he introduced himself, grappling momentarily with his new identity. "My name is..." There was a brief pause as he swallowed hard; he was still not used to saying the words. Gathering his courage, he continued, "My name is Sterling Dagurstea. You may call me Teacher Sterling, just Teacher, or Mr Dagurstea. This is my first day with you all, and I'm hoping you all can help me start this class on the right foot and emerge wiser by the day's end than the day before." With that, he bowed respectfully before the class.

  The diverse group of students, ranging from humans to elves, faes, and Menschen, all rose to their feet and returned the bow to their Teacher in a unified gesture of respect.

  "Now, can someone explain to me why this is a mixed class?" he inquired, making his way to his desk.

  A student, who appeared to be older than him, spoke up, "We are the outcasts, Teacher."

  "What do you mean by 'outcasts'?"

  "We're here because the law mandates schooling until the age of eighteen... that's the only reason. All the other teachers have given up on us," the student explained, "We are too dumb, too stupid and..."

  Orlo surveyed the room. He was baffled. There were children who had known nothing but the long Night, and yet, it seemed adults had already written them off.

  "Why?"

  "Well, in my case, I missed a lot of classes because my mum was ill, and I had to help out at the shop. Annie there," he gestured towards a little girl, unmistakably fae with her pretty alters and darkened nose, "She struggles with reading. She only switches the letters from places, sometimes. And then there's Nuch, who failed math last Winter. Essentially, nobody... nobody wants to give us another chance. So, we end up doing whatever we want all day... and you don't really have to worry about anything except marking us present," the student explained.

  Orlo found himself at a loss for words. Glancing around, he counted eleven students in his room. Determined to make a difference, he stood and approached the board, drawing several vertical lines before facing his students again. "Okay, class, this time, it is going to be different. But for me to effectively teach you, I need honesty from all of you. No lies! Do we agree?" Some students nodded in agreement, while the older student leaned back in his chair, seemingly indifferent.

  "Who in this room doesn't know how to read?" Orlo then asked, writing a sentence on the board to illustrate his question. "Who cannot read this?"

  After a few moments of silence, one hand tentatively raised, followed by another, and then another.

  "Okay, you three, please gather at that table over there. If you need to move the tables around... actually, you," Orlo addressed a boy with pinkish cheeks who likely was human, "what's your name?"

  "Bernard," the boy replied.

  "Bernard, could you help them set up, please? Thank you."

  Orlo faced the board and jotted down a basic addition problem. "Who doesn't know the result?" This time, no hands were raised. Making the problem a bit more complex by adding parentheses, he asked again, "What about now?" This time, a single hand tentatively went up. "Okay, stay there; I won't forget about you. What's your name?"

  "Polly," came the soft reply.

  "Oh, that's a pretty name, just like you," Orlo complimented. The student blushed at the kind words.

  Returning to the calculation on the board, Orlo added a multiplication by zero. At this modification, two more hands went up, belonging to students who then joined Polly in her corner. Orlo dedicated the entire morning to pinpointing each student's specific difficulty, organizing them into groups based on the subject where they faced challenges.

  By the end of the session, three older students remained standing, their challenges not related to academic ability but rather to behaviour. Recognizing their potential, Orlo decided to assign them roles of responsibility.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Each one was tasked with overseeing a group. Every positive achievement by the members would result in extra credit for these older students. This strategy was met with agreement from the class. Orlo then made his way around the room, assisting with questions and guiding the older students on how to explain concepts more effectively.

  The first day ended on a successful note, with the children appearing cheerful as they exited the classroom. That was until one of the older students, Monica, approached his desk. "Teacher?"

  "How may I help you, Miss Monica?" Orlo raised his eyes to the girl with a beautiful round face framed with wild, frizzy hair.

  "It's about Zora."

  "Oh, yes, she was absent today."

  "Yes... she won't be coming to school until next week," Monica revealed, biting her lips with a nervous tic.

  Orlo met Monica's gaze, unsure of how to respond. "Could you tell me why?"

  "Zora... she... she's going through a tough period... and she's attempting something that's really, really difficult. She made me promise not to tell anyone. I understand that after three strikes, she fails school and... well, she'll fail if she doesn't attend. The other teachers just marked her presence, so I was wondering… if you could do… the same?"

  Orlo leaned back and gazed out the window, focusing more on his reflection than the pitch-dark exterior. "Is she in danger? Or is she hurting someone?"

  "No, no, I swear. It's nothing illegal or harmful at all, I promise."

  "Is she working on something? Like a business? I don't mean to pry, but I need to understand," Orlo pressed gently.

  Monica shifted her gaze to her shoes, fidgeting with her feet, before finally revealing, "The Circus Mir-Lune is in town. They've opened auditions, which last a moon. After that, they will leave Quebaca, and... this is her only chance to be recruited."

  "As a clown?" Orlo asked, half-joking, half-serious.

  Monica grinned, "No, Zora dances with blades. I believe they're called Ulencia's Swords."

  "Oh, a dancer?" Orlo was intrigued.

  Monica nodded, her expression growing serious. "She has worked so, so, so hard, but if she's not selected... I can't bear the thought of her failing high school as well."

  "Can she do homework?"

  "I guess so... I can deliver them to her."

  “I mean, can she actually complete her homework?"

  "Yes, and I'll make sure she does," Monica assured, nodding her head.

  "I'm not going to make it easy on her. If she doesn't attend, she will need to double her efforts at home.”

  "I will take full responsibility!"

  "Well, one thing is certain: not many people have a friend as dedicated as you." The girl’s cheeks flushed, and she stammered slightly—a reaction Orlo would only come to understand later fully.

  Orlo left the school with empty hallways bared from the day's chaos. With each step, his cheeks grew warmer, a flush spreading across his face, betraying his excitement and the nervous flutter in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies.

  As he stepped outside, the Long Night was pierced by the bright beams of a dark brown car parked just ahead. With its headlights casting long shadows on the ground, the sight of it brought an instant smile from ear to ear. There she was.

  As Orlo quickened his pace, drawn like a moth to a flame, the car window smoothly lowered, "Ready?"

  Leaning forward, Orlo rested his arms on the edge of the window's car, allowing his head to dip inside, closing the distance between him and her—Muna.

  There she was, breathtaking. Time seemed to slow as he took in the sight of her, still marvelling at the beauty that had captivated him from the beginning. Her raven locks, soft and lustrous, cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of the dark night, framing her face in a way that accentuated her features.

  Her eyes, a vivid blue, sparkled with mischief, and then there was her smirk, a curve of her lips that he had come to adore.

  "Are you waiting for someone?" Orlo teased.

  "Well, I have to pick up a cute teacher. Have you seen him?" Muna responded.

  "How does he look like?" Orlo continued, leaning a bit closer, drawn in by the game.

  Muna chuckled at the words that danced with a bit of sarcasm and a bit of flirt that had lingered between them during this moon. "Well, he's a redhead... with weird eyes, you can't tell what colour they are."

  "Weird?" Orlo feigned offence, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

  "Well... good weird," she clarified, casting a sidelong glance at him, her smirk broadening. "He looks older than what he is."

  "Muna Dagurstea, are you into younger boys?" Orlo teased, faking shock.

  "Come inside; it's cold! I'm freezing."

  Orlo obeyed without hesitation, opening the passenger door and sliding into the seat, positioning his bag carefully over his lap. As he settled in, closing the door and embracing the warmth of the car's interior, he noticed a change in Muna's demeanour.

  Gone was the playful banter, replaced now by a serious, almost contemplative stare directed at him.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, sensing their shift.

  "Nothing," Muna replied. "Let's go home." With a decisive turn of the key, she ignited the car's engine, skillfully manoeuvring it into a U-turn to join the main road.

  "Do you know what Zora is doing or where she is?" Orlo ventured to ask, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "She was supposed to be in my class today. She wasn't present," Orlo clarified, gripping the door as Muna accelerated. Her penchant for driving fast was well-known to him, and she often pushed the boundaries of his comfort zone with her confident, if not slightly reckless, approach to the road.

  "Well, Zora has plans for her future, and my mum and I respect that. It's hard to make someone do things when they are not blood-related."

  "Didn't she grow up with you? I mean, wouldn't you care?"

  "We have nothing in common. I like logic; she likes arts. I like science; she likes war."

  "Arts and wars is a strange combination," Orlo commented, almost lost in the hum of the car's engine and the rush of the wind outside.

  Tinged with a bitterness that seemed to go beyond mere sibling rivalry, Muna replied, "She is weird; don't try to understand her. She acts like she hates us. She almost never shows up for meals or anything we invite her to. Her only obsession is to become a Magi. That's all that girl wants."

  "Become a Magi? That is not what I heard."

  "What did you hear?"

  "She wants to join a circus, I think," Orlo revealed.

  Muna burst into laughter at the notion, the idea of Zora aspiring to circus life striking her as utterly absurd. "The circus? Oh, that is a good one. I must tell Mom."

  Muna's laughter continued unabated throughout the remainder of their journey; it wasn't until they arrived at the estate that she, still wearing a grin, proposed an unexpected outing. "We could go!"

  "Where?" Orlo asked, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion.

  "The circus. It's time you meet my sister."

  

  No matter what happened between me and Muna, the truth remains that she taught me things that transcended the pages of any book. Her presence alone strengthened my confidence and made me feel acknowledged in ways that reshaped my understanding of myself. Being with her, discussing ideas, or simply sharing silence, I felt a rare equality. I clung to the belief that Muna was meant to be my Hexe—that it was nothing short of a cosmic error that we were not partnered as such. My mind insisted on this, a logical error in the grand scheme of things. Yet, nestled deep within the quieter chambers of my heart, I recognized it wasn't the truth. The heart wants what the heart wants. I never hated Muna, not even when our circumstances grew dire. I harboured no ill will, no desire for retribution. Muna was not the enemy but a victim of cruel fate. The trials she endured, no enemy, no matter how loathed, should ever face. My only wish for her is for her to be okay, if that is possible. I wish I could tell her my door will always be open for her. But I won’t. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer