Inside, a plot had been drawn with a trio of careful hands, the prodigium stretching across the tile of the upstairs bathroom floor carefully made with an admittedly scandalous mixture of chalk and Lilanee's own blood—just a little at the central points of the plot and just enough to smear the white dust pink. The dark-haired Guide had allowed Jonathan Emmett's daughter and wife to choose the items from his study, from his home, that were most important, most dear, with the symbolic knot of Alethia and Jonathan's union, stained with their blood as well, a particular focus, placed close to the mirror that Ezre had rebelliously insisted be taken from the wall and placed on the floor near the tub. Hyperoccilators marked the remaining points of the prodigium, scattered in key channels like the bright lights of a constellation, twinkling in the candlelight that was the only source of illumination allowed in the room.
Inside, the tub was reaching an ideal temperature. Too hot and it was distracting, if not uncomfortable, and though Ezre was unsure if there was such a thing as too cold, close to his body temperature was surely ideal. He'd prepared the water with a curious concoction of bath salts and nicium, turning it a deep shade of purple-ish blue.
Inside, incense was burning near the sink, and with the bathroom window open, Ezre could smell it even from the garden, drifting on the frigid breeze. The wind tickled the bare back of his tattooed neck, ruffling through braids that sat high on the Hoxian's head, sending the cloud of his breath fluttering in all directions.
It had, admittedly, all come together more smoothly than expected, and for that, the Carrier of the Dead was grateful. He thanked the Circle, quite sure that it was the will of the gods he reach across Anaxas to find one lost soul, quite sure that they would be glorified with good news, and quite sure he would feel the warm glow of victory once he conquered Alethia Kuleda's judgmental doubts. Perhaps the Hexxos Guide had become much more firm in his already deadpan tone after nearly two days of fasting. Perhaps there was something sharp in the anxious flex of his field or the quick, eager motions of inked hands when he directed those he'd asked to help. Whatever the case, the young divinipotent managed to move with an authority and grace he would have otherwise denied himself capable of.
Calmly, he'd sat down while dinner had been served to everyone else, not even looking, and went over the parts each one of them was expected to play. He'd written their spells, taking notes on the side with contingencies should their spellwork or should the mona go strange places.
Confidently, he'd rehearsed the plan: though their minds would all be connected through the prodigium, it would be Ezre who would reach out to search for Jonathan's mind in Western Anaxas, like some monic conduit, channelling across so much land and mist. What the mona chose to show them all would be made visible on the surface of the mirror, as projected by the Hoxian's spellwork and to be interpreted by Tom. Lilanee, most familiar with her own father, despite not being a Clairvoyant at all, had her own parts to cast in chorus for the invocation, for she was of the man's flesh and knew his heart and mind the best. While it had been Ezre's personal preference to keep Alethia out of the room, he couldn't bring himself to deny her if she'd wanted to be present—he was proving her wrong, after all.
And thus th Hexxos Guide almost selfishly took the last few moments of the sun to be alone, to gather all of himself into singular focus, to gather himself prayerfully into a state of mind that would allow for the kind of magic he knew he was attempting—magic that was most likely out of his grasp, magic with considerable risk of failure, magic that would strip him of his enduring reserves even if it did actually succeed.
Inside, chan had been brewed and drank without much more than a very minimal ceremony, though only Ezre drank the strongest leaves he'd brought. Everyone else was offered a much milder concoction should they choose, the Hoxian hardly one to deny his well-honed hospitality despite being in a home that had not welcomed him within it.
His own chan was mixed with the Gioran powdered additive, and the foamy liquid had become so dark green that it looked almost blue. It had tasted utterly terrible. The bitterness still clung to his senses, cloying in his nostrils and tickling his tongue. It had settled so heavily in his stomach, traveling slowly. He only had a few minutes of privacy outside before he knew he'd most likely end up lost in his thoughts and forget his purpose entirely. He felt it in his veins, tingling through his whole self, crawling into the base of his skull, curling up in the ventricles of his heart. He felt lighter but also heavier; he felt faster and slower all at once. Once he was sure he could see his own blood flow through the tiny veins behind his eyelids because the chan had begun to truly take effect, he knew it was time to get up and go inside to where everyone else was waiting.
The first stars sparkled in unnatural colors, and the garden was a far wilder place with cold shadows reaching for the tattooed Hexxos than it had been just a few moments before. Ezre stood, quite sure it must've looked like floating to everyone else on Vita, and made his way with vague familiarity into the house, ignoring the curious glance from the older passive at the door. Ancient artifacts whispered to him their secrets, hung on the wall, reaching to distract him with their stories as he passed them all by. He was not here to hear them. He was here to find the one who had touched them, who had carefully dug them from their places, who had wanted to hear their stories before him.
Dru, he whispered back, shaking his head at the statue in the hall, trailing inked fingers along the bannister as he took the stairs like he was climbing to Rhozrent Do Ushar, high above Kzecka. The climb might as well have been just as arduous, for the single floor felt like forever, time slowing as the chan rooted itself deeply into his consciousness and danced in his veins.
Glimpses of his own face stared back at him, reflected in glass-framed spectographs of the Kuleda family that decorated the top of the stairwell. Ezre stared through the inked features he knew to see the face of the man he was to meet the mind of—the Circle only knew how far away!—blinking at them both glassy-eyed and light-headed.
You will not be missed for much longer—
He was sure he murmured in Deftung, though his fingers brushed over his own face instead of tracing over glass.
—though maybe you are not truly lost so much as simply waiting to be found. I understand that feeling. I really do, Emmett-vumash.
Maybe he didn't say anything out loud at all.
(By Bash—this chan! Never again on an empty stomach.)
Shaking his head, the Hexxos Guide turned toward the bathroom, bare feet feeling the rug so keenly he wanted to stop and scratch the soles. Opening the door, he let the scents he'd chosen for the journey fill his expanded senses, reaching out with his bastly field to touch upon the auras of those who were already present and waiting, those he'd asked to patiently give him a moment to himself before he was ready to begin.
Ezre didn't smile, steadying himself before entering the dim bathroom and letting the door close behind him. The young Guide glided into the prodigium, inked fingers brushing Lilanee's arm and then her cheek with more than mere familiarity, with fond comfort before moving to test the temperature of the tub. On the warm side, but it would do. The Carrier of the Dead curled a still-wet hand into bright saffron linen, pausing before disrobing, speaking with far more accent than usual, his abstract state of mind dragging his tongue even more over consonants,
"I will pray for us and then we can open the prodigium in chorus. After that, we will begin—if you are ready."