Irin Fatum. He is fifteen, just a year younger than Bala. This boy rarely unsheathes his sword. Just like his master – Kangassk Orlaya, a short and fragile woman – Irin prefers bow and arrows. Longbows are out of his league yet but even a shortbow is a serious threat in his little hands. Especially if the arrows are poisoned. A pebble is not a toy in Irin’s hand either. Anything that can be shot or thrown, he will use as a weapon.
He rarely speaks. His habit of being silent for hours while waiting for a perfect moment to attack became a foundation of his personality. Size and age differences aside, Irin Fatum, the most questionable of the young Lifekeepers in the library, resembles a smaller version of Juel.
Those are the oldest of the ten. They fell into their roles as soon as they met.
In the newly-established hierarchy, Juel Hak became the leader, Orion Jovib – the leader’s rival, Irin Fatum – the leader’s ally. Lainuver Boier, impressed with Orion’s wit and cunning, allied with the pirate’s descendant. And Bala Maraskaran, the kindness itself, just kept trying to make everyone be nice to each other.
The big boys paid little attention to the rest of the ten for those were mere children.
Pai Prior. A boy of thirteen. An ambasiath, just like everyone there but an ambasiath who has always dreamed of being a mage like his parents. His master – Kangassk Vesperi – did her best to keep the boy away from magic but he still kept learning new spells somehow. Sometimes it seemed to her that he was inventing them from scratch. Maybe that was true.
What else is absolutely true is that no power in the world can stop the boy from practising magic. Restraining bracelets could, but this is the kind of spell only worldholders are allowed to cast, to poor Vesperi’s regret.
Sainar and Vesperi thought long and hard what to do with the boy and finally decided to let him be. His self-made spells are too simple and weak to hurt his ambasiath potential anyway. All Vesperi has to do is to keep Pai away from serious magic.
There is always a lively, flickering fire in that boy’s eyes, the kind of fire a poet or an artist has when inspiration lends them wings.
Milian Raven. Or, rather, Corvus. He is twelve. They say the language his surname belongs to had been long dead even before the worldholders left the Primal World to create Omnis. Milian likes ancient languages but still prefers the modern form of his surname, because, in his opinion, it sounds better.