Magesitek

  Noun

  Translation: Magic-enhanced weaponry

  Definition: "Magesitek" refers to a class of weaponry that combines traditional human arms with magical enhancements. These weapons are not merely tools of war but are intricately crafted artifacts that uses magical energies from the mage to offer greater power and utility. Developed during the initial decades of Winter, Magesitek represents a fusion of artisanship, science and traditional magic.

  Cultural/Contextual Background: The origin of Magesitek dates back to the challenging years of the first two decades of Winter, a period marked by technological and magical innovations in response to the harsh conditions of the Long Night. Lord Tariq Keplan, a renowned artisan and a pivotal figure in the history of Magesitek, was instrumental in advancing this technology. He is most famous for crafting the Summerqueen, Eura Berdorf's golden bamboo stick, a legendary Magesitek that epitomizes the pinnacle of this craft. These weapons are highly prized not only for their combat capabilities but also for their symbolic significance, often representing the prestige and power of their wielders.

  Muna had barricaded herself in her father's study for days, surfacing only for brief meals and occasionally to glimpse Orlo's status. Surrounded by walls laden with books and the history of Mir-Grande-Carta, Red Sea and Ormgrund, she was deep in her work, barely acknowledging the outside world.

  She painstakingly manipulated geometrics, recalculating over and over, but the pieces just wouldn't fit together. With each attempt, her results grew increasingly chaotic.

  In a moment of sheer exasperation, she slammed her pencil down and buried her face in her hands over the sprawl of schematics. She was agonizingly close, yet the solution evaded her. And the one person who might help her was the very person she had to avoid, Orlo—this project was intended as a surprise for him. The frustration gnawed at her, building a storm of helplessness and irritation with herself.

  "What am I doing wrong?"

  A gentle knock at the door prompted Muna to straighten in her chair, smoothing her blouse as she sought, attempting to appear composed. "Come in," she called.

  Lisa, the maid, entered carrying a silver tray adorned with tea and freshly baked biscuits. "I've brought you a little snack, Miss Muna."

  "Oh, thank you, Lisa."

  With a deft touch, Lisa set the tray on the corner of the mahogany desk, careful not to jostle the array of crumbled papers, ripped sheets, and schematics spread out before Muna and began to pour the tea. "How is your project going?"

  "It's going horribly! I'm completely stuck and can't seem to solve it," Muna confessed, pouting her lower lip.

  "Is it not possible to seek Mr. Orlo's help?" Lisa suggested as she handed Muna a warm cup, the fine porcelain clicking gently against the saucer.

  "No, it's supposed to be a surprise for him. I could write to Papa for advice, but by the time his reply arrived, Orlo would be already eighteen," Muna explained, taking a sip of her tea, her brows furrowed in thought.

  "Well, if I may ask, what exactly is the problem?"

  "Oh, Lisa... I don't mean to offend you, but it involves complex engineering principles. I don't think you would grasp the concept or understand..." Muna replied, apologetic.

  Lisa pulled a chair closer and sat down with a calm demeanour. "Miss Muna, understanding the technicalities might be beyond me, but discussing the problem might just illuminate a solution. Sometimes, a fresh perspective is all it takes. And besides, it is not my place to understand but yours."

  Lisa's affection for Muna went beyond the duties of a maid; it was a deep, maternal love, the kind she never quite felt for Zora. In Muna, Lisa saw a reflection of herself, which only deepened the bond between them.

  Since Muna's early childhood, Lisa had been a constant presence, guiding her through life's challenges—especially womanhood. It was this deep-rooted connection that infused their relationship with warmth, far exceeding the formalities expected between a maid and the daughter of her employer.

  Muna, for her part, often found herself captivated by Lisa's presence. She noticed the subtle elegance with which Lisa moved, the way her hair, interspersed with silver threads through time, glinted like woven moonbeams, and how her eyes, rimmed with smile lines, would crinkle at the edges, reaching to connect with those near her mouth. These lines, crisscrossing from various directions to meet at points of joy and experience, told the story of a human in the Mir-Grande Carta.

  Lines.

  During one such moment, Muna felt a surge of affection. She put down her mug abruptly, the ceramic clinking softly against the desk. She stood and leaned across the desk, her eyes locking onto Lisa's. "Lisa, smile for me!"

  "Sorry?"

  "Just smile, please!"

  Taken aback, Lisa offered a hesitant, confused smile, but it achieved what Muna was looking for. The smile lines around Lisa's eyes became more pronounced, as did those around her mouth. With that simple expression, a web of wrinkles connected, mapping Lisa's story on her face.

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  Muna turned to the side and extended her arm as if she were wielding a gun, "So my issue was how to focus energy inside the cannon, and all I was doing was targeting the energy at the handle, but it wasn't directing out of the cannon. However!"

  "Yes?" Lisa asked, clearly intrigued.

  "If I can establish a connection to the nervous system, like the ley lines from one ormsaat to the other, Orlo could also channel energy along those lines, which would gather at the very beginning and then bang!" Muna explained enthusiastically, imitating a gunshot, “I just need lines that mimic the flow of his energy and translate it into line. From his hand to the trigger and from the trigger to the end. Just like a ley line!”

  Lisa didn't say anything at first, but she smiled without being prompted.

  Muna caught up in the excitement of her breakthrough, hugged the maid. "Thank you so much for bringing me tea!"

  "Well, I'm glad I could help," Lisa replied, standing up and preparing to leave. But then she paused, turning back to Muna. "Miss Muna, if I may offer my two coins," she said.

  "What's wrong?" Muna asked, sensing Lisa's hesitation.

  "Well, I do understand that you're working on a very interesting project, and I have no doubt Mr. Orlo will love it. However, you need to realize that a man needs to feel the presence of a woman. That's often how they are drawn in," Lisa explained, "And not just by good intention."

  Muna, who had settled back behind her desk, looked up at Lisa and said, "I don't understand.”

  "Mr Orlo has been spending a lot of time with your sister, and, may the Holy Mother bless her, I think she might be clouding his judgment. Perhaps a little nudge from you might be favourable to your interests."

  "I still don't understand," Muna repeated, still puzzled by Lisa's suggestion. “Zora doesn't play on the same team as I do.”

  "Well, that is true until proven otherwise. It's obvious that Mr. Orlo is the perfect match for you. Both of you are brilliant and educated and can challenge each other intellectually. But you need to up your game," Lisa explained, gesturing towards Muna's attire.

  "What's wrong with it?" Muna asked, looking down at her blouse in confusion.

  "The Holy Mother blesses women with several attributes that can be used to their advantage."

  "Attributes? I'm working on Magesitek... what other attributes could I possibly offer?"

  "Well, for starters, you might consider dressing a bit more strategically," Lisa suggested, her gaze averted as she spoke. Modesty is reserved for spouses, so maids can be… defiled, showing more skin and less decorum."

  "Skin?" Muna questioned, clutching her high collar. "It's winter!"

  "We all need to make sacrifices for the greater good! For our greater good, and besides, if you're successful, you won't be cold for long," Lisa replied. She turned and, holding the door handle, added, "I'll make some adjustments to one or two of your blouses for you to try."

  With that, Lisa exited the study, leaving Muna to lean back in her chair, bewildered. "That woman has lost it... suggesting I show skin in the middle of winter... she's crazy. She finally lost it…"

  Not long after, she stepped out of the study room, clutching her schematics, design, and technical drawings rolled and bound tightly with a linen ribbon. The corridor was empty as she made her way. At the entrance, she grabbed her coat in a swift motion and shrugged into it. Stepping outside, the patio lay under a thin veil of frost, the air filled with the gentle descent of snowflakes, each one seeming to float down in slow motion. She quickened her steps, her breath visible in the chilly air, heading towards her car. Her stride, however, was abruptly interrupted by the sound of laughter.

  She didn't need to lift her head to recognize that it was Zora and Orlo strolling around the property. A twinge of jealousy struck her, though she knew it was irrational. Zora had always been clear about her preferences since childhood; she liked girls. So why did she suddenly feel threatened? It had been an ongoing frustration for her, trying to show Orlo that she could be more than just a friend. On several occasions, he seemed to reciprocate her feelings, yet there was always something—an excuse, a hesitation—that she couldn't fathom.

  She slid into the driver's seat of her car, her hands pausing over the ignition key as a wave of anger coursed through her. Frustration knotted her brow, and the reflection in the rearview mirror showed a face contorted by savage emotions she couldn't rationalize. It was all so illogical, this burning fury without a clear cause. Lisa's earlier words echoed in her mind, and she wondered whether and why her character, intellect, morals, and values weren't enough.

  With a forceful twist, she started the car and rolled out from the forecourt. Zora and Orlo appeared along her path; he raised his hand in a friendly wave, but she barely glanced at him. Her foot pressed harder against the accelerator, making the car's speed climb as she left them behind. Now, with the road stretching out before her and the hum of the engine as her only company, she was left to wrestle with her thoughts for the time of the drive.

  After driving for a long minute, she finally arrived at Mir-Alma, a town alive with the daily hustle. The streets teemed with activity; people leisurely strolled, students ambled towards home, and shopkeepers meticulously fine-tuned their window displays. Amidst this lively backdrop, she effortlessly located the distinctive sign she was seeking: a hammer crossing a mountain, the emblem of The Keplan Weaponsmith.

  She parked her car and, clutching her rolled schematics, stepped into the store. Immediately, a wave of heat enveloped her—the room was thick with the aroma of burning coal from the roaring twin furnaces. She began to unbutton her coat as the temperature inside clashed with the coolness of the Long Night outside.

  A dwarf was deeply absorbed in his craft, hammering diligently on an anvil. The relentless racket from the furnaces filled the air, masking her arrival. She tried to get his attention by leaning over the counter and waving, "Excuse me... sir? Excuse me." Yet, her attempts went unnoticed. The dwarf's focused hammering continued, its reverberations drowning out even the fierce crackle of the furnaces.

  Driven by mounting frustration, she called out louder, "Sir? Sir!" to no avail. Resolving to take a more drastic measure, she fetched her car key from her pocket, approached the shop's glass vitrine, and pressed the key tip against it. With a slow, petty motion, she dragged the key down the glass, releasing a piercing screech that sliced through the barrage of noise.

  

  Reflecting on my life while living in the Dragustea Household is woven with unavoidable circumstances and personal choices, the latter of which I sometimes profoundly regret. Among these, my relationship with Muna stands out, marked by remorse that I will never attune to. Muna was an extraordinary woman, and her and her health conditions, challenging as they were, never diminished the essence of her incredible spirit. I was captivated by her presence, her intellect and her beauty. Under different circumstances, I could have loved her sincerely and wholly. However, my own lack of awareness of Muna's feelings and needs and honesty with the lack of self-awareness prevented me from being truthful with her. I harboured a selfish notion—a misguided belief that one could uphold another's heart without consequence. This belief contributed to Muna's downfall, an outcome I hold myself accountable for. In Muna Dargustea's story, I was the villain. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer