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Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

“She figured it out on her own. Or rather, she simply didn’t believe Cyrilo’s story. She’s keeping quiet because she doesn’t want me and Cyrilo to get in trouble. It’s not fair to her, to have to bear this sin with us. Honestly, I’m no different. I’m grateful to Cyrilo for everything she’s done for Alexis and me, and without her, our literature program has no future. Our dream is to change the world by granting everyone the gift of knowledge, but is noble sentiment enough to make up for what we did? Is it wrong for me to protect her? To protect myself? To escape punishment under the excuse that we’re trying to make a better world?”

Then, I would help him with his alchemy, and the things I learned amaze me to this day. To see the world in its smallest shards, it changes you. Before I met him, I lived in a tent in the grasslands, and now I’m being taught how the universe works and how to turn worthless dirt into priceless gems. It’s both humbling and encouraging. And when he wasn’t fighting the Profane, he was helping Welindar advance in farming, mining, and sanitation, almost rebuilding it from the ground up. For him to know so much, this man who was recognized by the spirits, it was awe-inspiring. I wanted to entrust everything to him, to follow him forever, because I knew whichever direction he went was the right one.”