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Four years since the war, the land and people carry scars, Tan read aloud, squinting at the page through thick spectacles designed to hook under his horns. 'Beasts horrid beyond imagination stalk the world, and the fabric of magic itself remains in tatters. Red lightning warns of death from tentacled storms, farmers check their barns for stray harpies, and what can only be the footprints of giants are being cast in plaster 'round the Skyknife foothills. Truly an age of madness has begun. "Mangrove has ever had a gift for the melodramatic." a gentle voice said from the library door. Tan started suddenly, dropped the tome. "Father Abbot! My apologies. I seem to have fallen behind on the inventory." Brother Montrose, abbot of Ermine Redoubt, spiritual leader of the Order of Erminic Penitents, and brewmaster of Redoubt Stout, smiled at his charge. "None are as surprised as I," he said. "My own fault, I suppose, putting you in charge of cataloging our collections." He smiled, warmly.

2013 and 2014 were some big years for me. In those two years I struck my best marks in high school, rising above the Honor Roll to the High Honor Roll. My final grade on the Senior Project—mine was a comprehensive review on the history of war crimes and crimes against humanity and how the United Nations could curtail them in the future—was a full A. I was even the Student of the Year in the Subject of History, something I was very proud of. To this day, I still haven’t read the gift that came with that award: Benét’s Reader’s Encyclopedia: Fifth Edition. Sometimes, when I glance at my massive blue bookshelf, I see its maroon jacket and the miniature image of a young man in a long coat and shako with his head bent over a book. It was in this time frame I suffered my first two true heartbreaks. The first was in 2013, after a tantalizing and tumultuous courtship of a girl in the class ahead of me. She was short, brown-haired, wore glasses, pursued art, and had an issue with acne. For