Chapter 24 Orwell of Lotheringwood

Orwell of Lotheringwood, or known by his peers and the Academe as simply Orwell Moscow, Lovellia Moscow's son. He earned his title 'Lotheringwood' by conquering the lost land of Lotherlien, an isle found in the middle of Magierstadt and Alte Stadt, the ancient city. Orwell is a biologist and a magical scholar, equipped with knowledge and mystical prowess.

His outstanding performance in the academy and his achievements granted him a the title Lotheringwood, next to the Academe's top student Michael Westfarthing, an Earl of Assiah, a country located in Zweite. Orwell remained in the Academy after his graduation, and built a mansion in Lotherlien to continue his research.

He is one of the few selected by the High Magicians to research and tasked to find the cure for 'Nightmare' with the exchange of his silence and disappearing from the public eye. It did not bother him much, for he liked to work alone, and be in solitude.

His origin was noble, coming from a family of a wealthy Baron of a father. However their title was useless—the Moscows were provincial lords, with only wealth but names not even recognized. On the other hand, Orwell's Mother, Lady Lovellia Woldenfreg, was the daughter of an Earl, a rather popular Earl owning a Tea Company, in league with merchants. At her youth she was very graceful and even until the age of her middle 30s, her demeanor was as blooming as ever.

This made Orwell a son of a rich Marquess. However in his early childhood, magic appeared spontaneously from his chubby, little hands as he was playing with his parents. His father, the Baron, did not like the idea of having his first-born son possessing magical prowess and soon he was neglected. His mother, however, saw this as a blessing.

And it was.

Orwell stared through the windows of his study. The manor built in Lotherlien grasped a spectacle as beautiful as one can be seen in history. Below him was a courtyard and his garden with roses the color of the scarlet dusk. Beyond was the sea and clear skies that appeared endless. But there was also a faint sighting of Alte Stadt, the ruins of the ancient city and Magierstadt, the school of magic. He was also in the middle of the two continents: Zuerst and Zweite.

The Island of Lotherlien was cursed with never-ending waves and it was almost impossible to track it, since with the magic contained in its lands were forming a barrier that made it vanish from a Mundane's sight. The magic formula was foreign and undecipherable... until Orwell discovered a new way to deduce its incantation and breach its walls. He conquered Lotherlien using his knowledge, skill, and experience. His own formula for breaching magical isles were added to The Book itself, and were taught to a new generation of magicians.

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He was a powerful scholar, a great contributor of knowledge.

"You are tasked to train Faustina Feuerlon, the youngest daughter of Duke Feuerlon. For Lovellia Moscow, Etiquette. The king has chosen you because of your outstanding grace. You also are to teach her a bit of Literature and Music. For Orwell of Lotheringwood, Magic, History and Philosophy."

Orwell tilted his head, as he read the child's biodata. "The child is already 16. Why must I teach her History and Philosophy? These are taught at early childhood. Magic, I can understand. However..."

Sheila, the priestess of the church raised her brow. "The king chose you because it is known that you prefer to be on solitude. I must say, he may be incorrect because you are rather inquisitive."

Orwell thinned his lips and then his gaze drifted towards his mother, who was staring straight ahead, unmoving but in suspicion.

"We accept."

"It is not a request, though." Sheila retorts with a snicker. Orwell's gaze locked upon the clairvoyant's magnificent staff. There was a ruby lying on the scepter's top, with branches peeking out like trees curving on roads of the forest. There were vines of flowers enveloping the staff's body. Orwell found himself mesmerized.

His staff was dull: a white wood with a blue stone at its peak. He was not that picky, and besides, aesthetics were beyond his forte.

They were visited by Sheila and the king's knights, three of them in Lotherlien. Orwell remembered their name: Sir Elliot, Elvis and Roth. Behind them were people wearing moss-covered cloaks. He knew these people as well: they are the Diener des Lichts, or in Mundane tongue, 'Servants of Light'. People serving the clairvoyants for a long time.

They left swiftly after teatime, and then Orwell was left with his mother at the study. Rain began to drip softly outside, the sunset being impeded by the grey clouds. The hindering dark skies made a soft mix of sapphire, crimson, and grey and a bit of purple into the entirety of firmament.

"The duke had two wives. One was the daughter of a Marquess, and one was a peasant." Lovellia says, her voice set silent. "It was a scandal talked about by ladies in my time back before I even had you. Now it's forgotten."

Orwell stood in front of the window, gazing at the scenery.

"It was said he had children with the peasant woman. His noble wife could not bear any offspring anymore."

"She was incapable?"

"She was, but she had young Bethrion and Lucas."

"Then is the child we will be teaching..."

"I do not quite know." Lovellia answers. "It is also rumored that the child was dead. Either way their name still speaks for its own. They are powerful, although a bit tarnished."

"What I don't understand, Mother," Orwell says in sheer confusion, "is that, why is the king going through such lengths for this child. It seems it is a female. Is it because he fell in-love? Does he desire to make this child a suitable consort? Sixteen, at that!"

"Perhaps, and perhaps not. I believe he is planning to enroll her to Magierstadt."

And then Orwell blinked. "That's right. It's only a month until the entrance exams take place."

"The child is possessing a black hair." Lovellia says. "We must not ask why. The king's order are absolute. I advice that you ask casually and by far the littlest way possible. I want you to be on guard, Orwell."

Orwell nodded.

'A Heilen?' He asks himself. 'That can't be right.'