Myth. Fact. Very different words in many situations, but there were only very fine lines between these two things when tracing the history of a place like the Dome, Hunter thought. To his mind in the recent past, anything involving magic or the supernatural and the mystic would have been instantly classed as myth; but that was not the case at all when dealing with things here. These Guides...he had heard nothing of them before, but he knew so very little still. He was told nothing of his friend Lady Madrigal's experience at the Dome--had she had a Guide? Had she known one? There was no way to know.

He flipped through the pages of the book he held, running his fingers over the blotted pages and scrawling words as if he could glean some truth from them through touch. Detailed illustrations in oil paints and ink depicted various types of Guides; fairies, nymphs, and sprites, all humanlike, but smaller, and more magically-inclined. Amongst these little impish creatures were rarer kinds of Guides; great dragons, and wise elves, and graceful angel-like beings with wings, holding staffs and towering above the lesser Guides in splendorous detail and color. Hunter was given the impression that these creatures were assigned to the more extraordinary students; those that weren't just run-of-the-mill swordsmen or elven mages. Those like Kyralie, he realized, looking up from the book to gaze at his student. She was unique, from what he had seen of the others here. Not even she fully understood everything about herself. How would the Dome approach her?

As the girl read on, Hunter found that he didn't have the heart to continue looking at her; such a darkened, sorrowful look had fallen upon her features as she gazed at the book's images, her hands clutching the volume so despondently, so desperately, grasping the covers of it as if to beg it and squeeze it for any drop of solace it could spare. Her mind was so utterly engrossed that she didn't even notice when a light flickered out, or when a wind from the hall blew a gale of dust around the room and into their faces. Seeing this, the prince's every instinct urged him to reach out and comfort her--but what could he say? Her worries were not baseless--and the problems and questions they arose lay far beyond his modest powers of explanation. He could only stand here by her side, a friendly face to look to when the truth was laid bare and stared them coldly in the eyes. If Phantasm truly had been created by the Guide process, and was simply a throw-away life to the Dome, Hunter hadn't the faintest idea what he would do, or say. He just knew it'd initially bring him the closest to swearing he had been in quite some time.

Life and human emotions were not to be played with. He firmly believed that.

__________________
[BA Charries][R. I. P. Duke of Clubs (11/15/92 - 1/5/08)][DA Account]

[The baddest S.O.B. the BA has ever known.]
[A Strange Development]-[Unexpected Encounters]