heart of the underdog
Why did he teach her magic? Because he just couldn't say no to the little prodigy who wanted a niche, a place to belong. - eurenth, edea
Eurenth was – as much as he hated to admit it – getting old. He could feel it in his bones, hear it in the numb silence of his slowly dying eardrums and see it in the mirror every day.
It was a pain in the behind.
The only good thing that came with being old, he thought often, trying to comfort himself, was the experience, the knowledge and the connections he had built up and established over the years. He could be called the Wisest of the Nova without the title being empty words.
Wisest of the Dragon Race or not, right now he wasn't sure whether to laugh or take the little girl in front of him seriously. "I'm sorry?"
"Teach me magic," the little girl said imperiously, both hands planted firmly on her hips.
He wanted to laugh. He really did. The sight of her, acting all grown up and important, was something childishly innocent and rather adorable. "How old are you, little girl?"
A scowl rumpled her tiny face. "I'm not a little girl. My name's Edea and I'm five."
"Well, Edea, I'm sorry to say that you've come a long way for nothing. I'm retired, you see, and I don't like teaching people."
"You'll have to make an exception for me, then," she said bossily. "I need the best teacher possible in order to leave others no choice but to acknowledge my existence and value."
In retrospect, that should have been his first warning. "Are you sure you're five years old?" he asked, squinting and trying to get rid of the dimness that had come over his eyes with age. Being wise was nice and all, but when he couldn't see and admire the beauty of life or examine the possible forgeries it meant bad things.
Edea nodded once sharply, still glaring at him impatiently.
As far as he could see, she wasn't some magician who had decided to shrink herself down into a youngster for some bizarre reason. "Is there a reason why you want to learn from the best?"
"So you admit it?"
Admit? This wasn't a matter of admitting, this was a matter of acknowledging. "Of course I am. Now answer my question."
The young girl looked at him, measuring something. Her eyes were sharp, and piercing – if she hadn't given it away with her sophisticated language, he would have been able to tell her potential from her eyes – they were just too sharp and world-wise for a five-year old girl's.
Apparently, he was deemed worthy in some scale of hers. "I need to be the best."
"Why?" he asked, curious at why such a sharp girl would want to learn from him. Aside from his talent and his looks, of course.
"If I become the best," Edea said, "they'll never be able to replace me just because I'm different."
She said it so matter-of-factly it was as if she didn't really care. But Eurenth knew better. This was a clever façade of hers, something she built up after being rejected for her differences so many times in her short, young life.
It was also blatantly obvious in the way her chin quivered and her fists nervously bunching up the cloth at her sides shook.
Little Edea had realized far too young that the best way to be accepted in society, other than being normal and fitting in, was to be exceptional, so exceptional and necessary that society would have to create a niche for her.
She reminded Eurenth of himself.
". . . Alright," he sighed.
Edea smiled then, and she was a bright star glowing, eyes all lit up like the six moons and dimples showing adorably. She looked like her age.
Later, when Eurenth would deal with her temperamental attitude and steam to himself at the disrespect she showed towards him, he would always think of the moment when she had brightened, and steel his resolve again.