Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 11/02, Recreated Here

Spica

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ1004/006

Title: Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 11/02, Recreated Here

Author: Spica

Date: Written approximately 11/02, Year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One letter, three pages long

To Jasmine, my sorrow and regret:

These pieces of paper are a poor confessional. If you knew the truth, you would never read another letter of mine again. Perhaps that’s why I write this, knowing it’ll never be sent. I would have hung my stars in your sky had you ever let me come so close, but now I fear that you are the brightest day and I darkest night. The dawn will never come for me, just as these letters will never go to you.

These letters would be better sent to the Keeper of the Forge, maybe. It’s ironic, how I now dwell in one of the holiest places in all the land and yet I cannot dare to write His name. 

We arrived at the Tending Grounds a few days ago. Trainee Embers from all across the land come here to learn how to best serve His Eternal Warmth. Upon our arrival, the maelstrom within me temporarily ceded to my burgeoning excitement. Pina and Deodar had described the Tending Grounds to me countless times, and I finally had the chance to see it for myself. I expected to see a towering spire at the center of the grounds. Dorms packed full of trainee Embers from every corner of the land. Laughter in the mess halls and young hearts hoping for a sparring partner at the combat grounds. 

Instead, I am faced with a hearth that has long since grown cold. The majority of dorms lay empty. Even the mentor quarters for established Embers are only half-filled. The grounds should sing with the swing of swords and the chatter of young trainees, and yet they lay silent more often than not. Only the aberrations sing to us, wails of death and destruction outside our walls. I wonder if more Embers come here to defend this empty land than to teach the budding talent within. From the number of guards I see standing at the top of the walls, the potential truth seems to be a somber one.

The dream I had once longed for now feels so… sour. Every trainee here is years younger than me. I knew this would be the case, but to experience it is a new kind of shame. Embers typically receive their sparks between the ages of twelve and fifteen. The peer closest to my level of experience is thirteen. My bunkmate is one of the oldest trainee Embers here, and even she is only seventeen. That, and she expects to be Branded at the upcoming ceremony. 

Worse still, I have not seen Fir since arriving here. She introduced me to the man who oversees the Tending Grounds. His name is Ash. He’s an older man, all sharp angles and cruel eyes. If I had to guess, he looks to be in his fifties. Certain Embers are blessed with a slightly lengthened lifespan due to His Eternal Warmth’s magic, so I would not be surprised if he was older. 

She wanted Ash to oversee my training. I found it strange that Ash agreed. He did not seem as though he wanted to. 

Fir then said she had other business to attend to, and that she would see me later on. She has been… close to me, since we first met. I don’t know what to do with her attention. No one, not my father, nor even you, has ever paid me that level of attention. My father always had his books, and you had your lighthouse. 

Fir has untold amounts of power. I hear it in the way Ash defers to her every word. I see it in her glowing eyes, in the way our god-king’s magic has transformed her. I feel it in the searing warmth of her body whenever she stands close to me. I see it, of course, in the brand that overtakes her cheek. But it bleeds into the rest of her — the gentle glow under her fingernails, the constant embers that leap off her body, the way her dark hair moves like smoke gathered around her head.

This would be easier if she was still here. I don’t know if Fir is a comforting presence, but better to barely know one person than to know no one at all. 

The other trainees judge me. I can tell. As mature as my bunkmate is, even she looks at me with confusion. I feel like a fool sparring with these children. I feel like a bigger fool when these children surpass me at magic. They can feel His Eternal Warmth with an ease that I cannot.

We have to use our weapons as conduits for His magic. Trainee Embers are given practice weapons imbued with basic magic. Only when they complete their Branding Ceremony do they receive their permanent weapon. Unlike the children, my permanent weapon is already at my waist. No matter how badly I wish I could be rid of it, I am burdened to carry this cursed sword for the rest of my life. Whenever I try not to use it, I am reprimanded. Each swing of the blade slices into my heart. 

I am done with training for the day. Abiegni is out with her friends. I am alone in our dorm. I have trained every day since I was a girl, and yet the past few days have rendered my body sore in ways that I could not have imagined. I barely have the energy to write this, but writing is the only way to keep myself sane here. There is no one I can talk to. 

I wish you were here, Jasmine. I wish to tell you this all in person. I wish to apologize to you.

Are you alright, on your own? You must be still up in your lonely lighthouse. You did not deserve to be left alone. You didn’t deserve…

I am sorry. I— I cannot. 

[There are a series of marks below, rendering the rest of the page unintelligible. The letter continues on a new page.  -Ellsyx]

Before she left, Fir insisted that my nerves would calm with time. She said the transition is always rough, but that I will grow to accept my new life. That all trainee Embers feel some level of trepidation at leaving behind their old lives. But that I shouldn’t worry, as I am marching right into the arms of destiny. 

If you were here, maybe you could help me answer this question. If I am marching into the arms of destiny, then why does her embrace feel so wrong? 

-Spica