[Closed] Distance is Relative

[Ezre Vks]

kuleda household

the 17th of Vortas, 2719 | late evening

Ezre had spent the dying rays of autumn sunlight outside by himself in the sleeping garden with its lingering scents of summer, letting the final colors of evening wash away across his closed eyes, letting the chill seep in beneath his tattooed skin under the single layer of bright linen he wore. Far enough from the main streets of Vienda, almost reaching for the outermost wall of the capitol, the Kuleda household was thankfully in a quiet neighborhood, quiet enough that the Hoxian could sit on the dry ground and hear the tempo of his own heartbeat that pumped life through his lithe body, letting the scratchy, dead grass mark the rhythm of his breath when his whole self moved just so with the motion of frigid air moving in and out of his lungs.

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."

Please note that magic has been pre-determined in this thread, but so has the potential for weird stuff (not failure) to happen during this Clairvoyant adventure. Mwuahahaha.

[Lilanee Kuleda]

17th Vortas, 2719
KULEDA BATHROOM| LATE EVENING

Lilanee touched her fingers lightly against the bandage that wrapped her palm, tracing the spot where Ezre had nicked her purposefully to draw a small amount of blood. It had been such a small, trivial cut, but it had stung and opened white at first, before the vessels on either side of the wound released from the shock and oozed the red liquid of her veins.

That was where Lilanee discovered she wasn't much of a fan of blood when it was coming from her own skin

After the sudden lightheadedness, and a brief moment sitting with her head between her knees on the edge of her bed, the teenager stood and managed to make her way into the bathroom to watch the Hoxian paint careful symbols in the chalky pinkish mixture. A base for the plot, the focal piece for the Clairvoyant's casting, much to Alethia’s scowling annoyance.

“This is authentic Bastian tile, and why with the mirror? That mirror was from Jonathan’s mother. This is a waste of time Lilanee.” She fussed, tsking at the bath tub as it was filled too full with some sort of powdery substance that the Hessean was positive would stain the porcelain.

“Mother, please. Just have a little faith.” The russet brunette had said with forced patience, helping to set up the incense around the bathroom and placing candles for illumination and braiding her thick curls away from her face. By the time they had been ready to move downstairs for dinner, the older Hessean had managed to complain about at least three different other items in the setting. Incense would somehow ingrain itself in the wallpaper, and stink forever. Candles would catch the towels alight and burn the house down. And of course, none of this would work.

A waste of time, she repeated in a dramatic sweep down the staircase.

Dinner couldn’t have been more awkward could they have tried.

When the Incumbent—when Tom—had arrived, Alethia’s eyes bulged for a moment and she stammered both a greeting and a question; Why? The olive skinned woman bowed politely, invited him in, but couldn’t quite connect why the political figure was interested in the mad desperation of the teenagers. She fussed when he helped with the bathroom, snapping her fingers and calling for her passive with a quick frown. At dinner, she tried to engage in conversation, but the air was thick with tension and apprehension. Eventually, they all sat in strained silence whilst Ezre worked through the last of their notes and rechecked their planning.

“I will be taking tea in the sitting room, should you want to join me, Incumbent.” The Hessean said directly to Tom, ignoring the Hoxian entirely, save for the narrowed glance before she escaped the room. Eventually, Ezre excused themselves as well to take some personal time to prepare, leaving Lilanee and Tom to finish preparing the bathroom.

(side thread here)

As the bathtub reached its apex of fulfillment, Alethia returned for the main event, making a face at the smell and at the deep color in her tub. She sighed loudly, heavily, before settling into the armchair in the bathroom. Her grass green robed dress was offset by layers of gold accessories and thick black khol eyeliner, dark curls knotted up atop her head in an intricate design.

Lilanee brushed the bandage, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, to still the nervous whirl in her stomach. The ties between herself and Ezre were mended, in beautiful and unexpected fashion, and now it was finally time. After a year, after weeks and days of questioning and preparing, they were finally going to reach out to Jonathan Emmett.

And finally, she was terrified.

Swallowing hard, heartbeat in her ears, the russet brunette heard the soft creaking of the staircase and the brush of feet on the landing. Her blue gaze snapped to Tom’s for a moment, before turning on the spot to watch the Hoxian open the door. He looked so otherworldly, so far away, and as the brush of his newly rich and thick field filled the room it touched all of them with a sense of authority and of guidance. Even Alethia found herself hushed in her seat.

The Hexxos glided past the Hessean, touching her arm and brushing her cheek, and Lilanee felt another quiver of fear. This was unexplored, dangerous territory. Ezre had explained it all, carefully, and whilst she understood the teenager was also keenly aware of the biological challenges involved. One indication that the dark eyed student was struggling, one iota of evidence that they were not okay, and Lilanee was prepared to pull the plug—figuratively and literally. Her hand reached for theirs at her cheek briefly, before shifting away to allow the almost trance-like guide space. As the robe was pulled away, Lilanee took it from them, folding the beautiful garment and placing it on the shelving in the room. The color was far more vibrant than her own plain navy blue dress, a testament to the splash of colorful depths that the Hoxian’s hid away under their rhakor.

“I’m ready.” Lilanee said softly, though her stomach churned again and her hands felt shaky.

The truth would be revealed, this evening, and by all the Equinox Harvests and Ophurs gold she was praying for good news.

[Tom Cooke]

The Kuleda Household • Uptown

Evening on the 17th of Vortas, 2719

Continued from here.

T
he reprieve, for what it was worth, was brief.

Tom’s eyes snapped back up as Alethia Kuleda re-entered; he caught her glance, caught the wrinkle of her nose, though he didn’t know what it was a response to. There was plenty, he supposed, to wrinkle your nose at.

The sprawl of chalk lines on the expensive tile, which she’d chroved on tirelessly about while they’d been cramping their backs and bruising their knees. The deep color in the bath, blooming through the lukewarm water, like a tub full of dye. The open window, spilling the tsuter chill. The flooding Incumbent sitting on the edge of the bath, still, his hands and the knees of his expensive trousers (and the tip of his nose) all smudged-up with white chalk and ash.

The little tinge of pink at the intersections, he thought, his frown deepening as he glanced from Alethia to Lilanee. Her daughter’s bandaged hand. The mirror on the floor, all this vodundun.

He lost some of his fire; he was too tired to hold it. He didn’t think he’d need it, anyway, not for this, not for any of this. He offered the Hessean something like a smile as she came in and took her seat.

There were a few moments of silence. Awkward. Whatever note he’d left it on with Lilanee, it was interrupted. Still, he’d shivered off some of his concentration, pried off some piece of the mask – he couldn’t quite regain it, not now. There was no use pretending to be aloof, not with what was to come. He’d need to come to the mona as himself, with an open heart, regardless of who was watching. He’d come to some uneasy peace with that.

Footsteps on the stair, under the whistle of the wind, the crackle of the leaves, the quiet rippling of the water. He took a deep breath.

He looked to Lilanee, again, as the Hexx came through. She met his eye, this time; he didn’t try to smile. But his lip twitched, and he nodded minutely.

Ezre was high as a flooding kite.

The gesture wasn’t lost on him, as the two young lovers brushed. Alethia was in the corner of his eye, too. He glanced away; he pushed himself up from the edge of the bath and stood, moving away to give Ezre room.

When he looked back, the Hexx’d already slipped out of all his orange linen. The low candlelight picked out all the ink starkly. It was –

Like a ward, Tom thought, taken aback for a moment. He’d seen some of it, when they’d meditated together – just hints, underneath the Hexx’s shirt. He hadn’t known how it came together. Interlocking circles.

It was like no plot, no prodigium, he had ever seen before, but he recognized the pattern, still. He thought it looked familiar, if only he could put his finger on it; he thought of the tracery of ink at Ksjta Tzacks’ ear, the Vessels’ markings, all the little glimpses he’d had of Hexxos tattoos. Blanks he thought he’d never fill in.

All of Ezre – lean and muscled – was traced with them. Tom had had ink, once, but it’d been nothing much, a little swirl of vines at his ankle; it’d always made him uncomfortable, the thought of marking yourself. What you might be committing. That was before he’d known he’d leave that body behind, and try to find his way in a new one. That was before he’d known that some commitments ran deeper than the skin, whether they were marked there or not.

Still, seeing all Ezre’s ink laid bare, black-on-tan, a strange contrast to the white chalk on the tile, he wondered many things.

As the Hexx spoke, he put them aside. His accent was stronger, Tom thought. In the clouds, he thought again, and looked at Lilanee again, wondering what he saw in her eyes. Concerned, maybe.

She had every reason to be.

Setting his jaw, he took his place in the prodigium. “I’m ready,” he said softly, setting his jaw, finding the straight line of his back, comfortable-uncomfortable, accepting. He shut his eyes, breathed in deep, opened them. “May Roa find him.”

It was quiet, that; very quiet. He did not think his own small prayer meant much, but he thought they could use all they could get.

[Ezre Vks]

kuleda household

the 17th of Vortas, 2719 | late evening

The Hexxos Guide took his time with each bright layer, the ritual of peeling away barriers between himself and the world something he took far more seriously than could be put into words of any language he spoke. It was a careful process: untying ties; folding soft, flowing linen; revealing bold lines of dark ink permanently etched into tawny skin as a declaration of his chosen path in this current life he'd been given. Not that the cxîl would have been particularly concerned had he been home among his peers in Kzecka, but for the sake of two—well, one, really—other person in the room, Ezre was kind enough to keep the questionable modesty of his undergarment in place, not that it left much to speculation when it came to what lines ended where.

Setting everything down out of the way of the tub and gliding through the room, the Hoxian felt the deceptively comfortable disconnect from his body and his mind, held together by sheer will while the chan churned so enthusiastically through his veins. A dark stain in the corner, scowling and clouded with the swirling shapes of her own doubt in his hallucinogenic-altered vision, Ezre hardly acknowledged Alethia—he'd ignored her fussing, he'd ignored her questions, and he'd ignored her staring for the whole evening. Tom's Clairvoyant-laced entropic field was a sensation all its own, and he was quite certain he could see it with surprising clarity in this moment, writhing like it was alive and hungry, dancing with an energy his people had admitted they did not entirely understand. Lilanee was there, nervous in her expectant anxiety, and even though he knew she attempted to mute the colors in her aura, to his too-opened eyes, they were fantastical shades so bright he was forced to look away.

He took a deep breath at the solemn but heartfelt agreement of his friends, thick lashes fluttering heavily while he attempted to steady his center of gravity, slippery though it'd become. Raising inked hands while he filled his lungs with steamy, incense-laden air, Ezre did not speak his prayer, but sang it. Richer and deeper than his usually reserved, soft-spoken speaking voice, the temple-born child of a raen sang in Deftung, dragging consonants into a slow, steady rhythm as he intoned his plea to the Circle. In the small, tiled space of the bathroom, the sound of his voice rang out loud, and somewhere in the middle of his song, he closed his eyes.

The Hexxos asked the Gods for guidance, wisdom, endurance, and favor. He thanked them for this moment, offering to show their power through his success, promising especially to glorify their truth to those in the room who refused to believe.

Opening his eyes again with the sweep of one raised palm, he looked to Tom first, singing thick-sounding blessings, thanking the Circle for their unexpected friendship, imploring them to be merciful with the raen's casting, with his unasked for existence, so that the magic they intended to work together could bring honor to the gods and peace to one restless soul. He asked to give him clear vision, to give him wisdom in understanding. He sang for Tom Cooke to be his anchor, his tether to the present, rooted firmly in a body not his own.

He ignored Alethia, sitting there in the chair, dismissing her with a purposeful tilt of his head, though the words of his prayer begged for eyes and hearts to be opened in his own form of generosity nonetheless.

Looking to Lilanee instead with the distant hint of a smile. Ezre thanked the Circle for their meeting, for the challenges of their differences, and for the relationship they'd come to share. He sang for her to be his lamp, for the light of her curiosity and fires of her determination to lead him not just across Anaxas to the west, but back again, east. If there was no other word in all his singing she would know, vre'ia—little heart—rang clear off the tiles of the room without a hint of shame.

Ezre wove the ends of his song in tight knots of harsh sounds, admitting that even if the results of this magical journey were not hopeful ones, the gods in their places would still receive honor for the opportunity to attempt such magic at all.

By the time he sang his last syllable, the dark-haired Guide had definitely left his body, wavering on his feet as he opened his eyes and steadying himself with hands that trembled. Dark pools were unfocused, seeing everything and nothing all at the same time, and he caught his breath through grit teeth before he began to gather his field even closer than he had already. His mind swam, eager to be untethered from the burden of his tattooed body and he wondered if this was just the smallest taste of an unlife he'd never know.

He also knew, in that moment, he'd need some help into that monstrosity of a fancy tub.

But first, minds needed connecting through the prodigium.

Ezre thought to apologize for the wild experience his was about to press upon Lilanee and Tom, but he was still too Hoxian to string together those sorts of words. Instead, he stepped back to lean one hand on the lip of the bath, feeling the steam wash over all his bared skin, tickling over the inked markings said to map out his galdor-born ley lines like warm breath. The stories he'd been told during the long, painful rituals of receiving his Hexxos tattoos had spoken of their meaning, of the belief that they both protected and empowered the bearer. There was no everspell in the ink, though whispers of either aetherium or nicium or both mixed into the dark pigment worked with careful needles under his skin was something he'd attempted to research in the libraries of Kzecka without overwhelming success. Yet. He was sure he simply needed to trespass into forbidden places to find the answers, but he'd been too young and too afraid of the risks to do so as a child. He was too respectful of all he'd already been given to betray the trust he lived under as Hexxos.

Perhaps he'd changed.

Perhaps he knew some questions needed answered regardless of the risks involved.

Perhaps those very answers taunted him, distracting him here as he stared at nothing for a moment too long, mind drifting through dusty, dark shelves and snow-crusted pathways carved between ancient stones.

What did he need protection from, anyway?

He'd never been taught to be afraid of death, of life, or of those caught in between.

Ezre hummed, willing himself to focus, Estuan clumsy on his tongue now after so much singing, shaking his head gently to clear the mist that already crept into it as if he'd begun the journey already,

"Let us open the prodigium. Our minds will be shared—do not be surprised at the lack of barriers between us there." It was the only warning he could think to give, Tom at least aware of how different the Hoxian's mental landscape was beneath the statuesque boundaries of his outward-facing rhakor, though the young Guide had not been so deep into the strongest chan he'd ever had before a few nights ago, either. Lilanee had only seen glimpses in person, and he hoped without being able to properly articulate further that she'd not get lost in all that would be on display.

It wasn't as though they wouldn't have to hold onto themselves, either. They would.

Looking around, he traced over chalked lines on the floor, finding steady footing, letting his glassy-eyed gaze linger on the items he'd set into place—Jonathan's things—before he began the invocation to the first spell, asking the mona to draw them together, to congregate within the defined space of their construct, to settle in the circle with them and carry them where they needed to go. It wasn't just clairvoyant mona that filled the prodigium, heavily laden with perceptive and quantitative and tingling with with every other familiar discipline as if the sentient particles were an eager audience, flooding a circus tent, drawing near with the scent of ozone and incense.

As he curled the spell, field etheric and mind wide open, the landscape of shared thoughts filtered through all three of them. It had that jolting, sickening feeling like falling for a moment, stomachs churning, ears ringing, pulse elevating while their monic connection settled, but it was impossible to escape the strangeness in Ezre's altered state of existence. Surprisingly, the first emotions that would greet the raen and the Hessean were anticipation, anxiousness, and fear, despite how calm and collected the chan-wasted Guide made everything appear on his tattooed exterior. It was a wave that rippled through the prodigium, but beneath its initial chill was that steadfast confidence, welcoming like a dark volcanic rock warmed by the sun.

He turned toward the tub and stared into its strange-colored water, gripping tightly to the edge as if he was worried he might float away and taking a deep breath that felt as though it filled everyone's lungs in the room, so spacious was the mountain-raised Hoxian's capacity for air and so closely were they linked within the bounds of the spell circle,

"With your help, I will get settled," Ezre murmured, words heard in their minds before he spoke them out loud like some echoing cavern, "and then we will all take our places and begin."

[Lilanee Kuleda]

17th Vortas, 2719
KULEDA BATHROOM| LATE EVENING

If Ezre’s disrobing bothered Alethia, for once that evening she didn't express as such, dark eyes scanning over ink marked skin with what could only be described as actual curiosity. It was brief, however, before she scoffed and shook her head, muttering something in Hessean under her breath. A human's language now, but once belonging to the galdori. The older brunette was firmly proud of her culture and her past, and so she continued traditions her father had ingrained in her. Like speaking the old tongue, and giving thanks to Vita for providing all that was ever needed to survive. Food, water, mona. Not these myths and legends that people like the Hoxians so eagerly believed in.
​​
​​Uppity fools. Marring their Vitan given bodies with symbols of ink. Disgraceful.
​​
​​ “Intoxication? Is that how we all ‘see’ Jonathan? That's the magic? Honestly Lilanee this—”
​​
​​ “Quiet, mother.”” The teenager said without taking her eyes from the Hexxos, watching for anything she needed to do. Waiting for her queue. Tom didn't smile, but it was clear that he could see it too—Ezre’s dreamlike state of mind. For a moment, doubt picked at her mind, egged on by Alethia’s bland words.
​​
​​Was this how it was meant to be?
​​
​​As the cxil lifted their hands and raised their voice in a deep and almost reverent song of prayer, Lilanee lifted her chin a little more. This was definitely how it was supposed to be, and she should not let her mothers influence taint her faith in the Clairvoyant. She’d spent enough time with Ezre to understand snippets of Deftung, enough to partially know what the raven haired youth was saying. Enough to know she was glad the narrow minded woman in the corner did not.
​​
​​The Hessean watched wide eyed as the ninth form turned their deep onyx gaze to Tom first, asking the Gods for…something. Honor. Friendship. Roots? As the Hexxos tilted their head to Alethia, Lilanee missed the ask but suspected it was a kindness, and she saw the older woman’s sour face twitch a little as though confused by the inclusion and the sudden rich tones that came from the so-far extremely quiet boy.
​​
​​Finally, Ezre looked at her, the ghost of a smile hinted on their inked lips and she couldn't help but offer a tender one in return. Her freckled cheeks warmed under the words of their song, picking out familiar words. Different. Relationship. Light. Vre’ia. The teenager nodded in return, even if the cxil might not see it in their haze, but she nodded acknowledgement and encouragement. The song rose, clipped Deftung ringing in the tiled room, before it finally ended, leaving the Guide seemly so far gone that the autumn girl wondered if they even knew where they were anymore. Wavering, breathing through grit teeth, hands shaking—Lilanee looked at Tom again with the frown of a child looking for guidance.
​​
​​Is xi okay?
​​
​​Ezre's voice, muddied with Estuan, sounded starkly loud in the room, drawing her periwinkle gaze alert with concern. Her heart thudded in her chest, moving a hand as though to reach out, hesitating when the spell work began. Alethia’s expression had become far more interested when the monite began, her frown of annoyance now one of concentration, aware of some phrasing used in different connotations. Her dark eyes snapped from the Hoxian when Lilanee gasped.
​​
​​The russet brunette startled, raised hand held out now as though for balance. Her ears rang with the rushing of her blood through her veins, and for a moment she had to close her eyes against the taste of the cxil's altered state of mind. When she opened them again, swallowing hard, Alethia was lifting from her chair with genuine concern on her face. Lilanee shook her head, gesturing for her mother to sit down again, thanking Vita that the woman complied.
​​
​​Anticipation.
​​
​​Anxiousness.
​​
​​Fear.
​​
​​The galdor exhaled slowly, a pit of worry gnawing in the depth of her stomach, the concern she’d held in check now flittering in the edges of her open field. If Ezre was afraid, perhaps this was too much to ask. Too far too go. For a man who could be dead. She should stop this, before it was too late. Listen to her mother, accept this truth…
​​
​​And yet, she had to know.
​​
​​With your help, I will get settled…and then we will all take our places and begin.
​​
​​Lilanee moved, reaching for the tawny creature to guide their inked body carefully into the stained waters of the tub. It was a lavish, opulate thing, over the top frankly. Her mother's favourite thing. Hesse was barren, harsh, and cruel. Whilst the nomadic tribes of galdori that Alethia had come from were well-off compared to the standards of the humans they worked for mining and drake farming, they still lived on the land. Still knew poverty in a dying economy. Still knew danger in rival tribes and angry workers. When the mine had collapsed, and her father had died, Alethia and Jonathan had been forced to flee Hesse with nothing but Lilanee and the satchels on their backs. They’d returned to Jonathan's family, Anaxi well-to-do’s with many opinions about their sons all-of-sixteen wife and his choices on wedlock. Jonathan had worked hard for his little family, to give them the life he wanted for them.
​​
​​The bathtub had been for her, a first purchase, too large and too fancy for a Hessean from the Barrenlands. And Alethia loved it with every part of her. She had built a room around it, for it, a shrine to the first thing the galdor could claim as ‘hers’ in Anaxas.
​​
​​And now, she sat here with brows drawn and mouth firmly closed as she watched the religious Hoxian slip into the dyed waters, keeping those heavy thoughts to herself. Children didn't understand these things, and Hoxians didn't care.

[Tom Cooke]

The Kuleda Household • Uptown

Evening on the 17th of Vortas, 2719

T
he chan thickened Ezre’s Deftung, sharpened each syllable as he wound his way through. Tom stood still by, breath drawn in, meeting his serene dark gaze as the words spilled out through the air among them. The flickering light played with the shadows on the Hexx’s face, lengthening and warping the lines inked across his skin. Mrs. Kuleda, he could see, was looking, too – the irritation on her face for a moment replaced by keen interest.

He swallowed tightly. He could hear the prayer in every husk of a consonant, though he couldn’t understand even the first of the words. He held onto the rhythm; he tried to measure it in seconds, to count them out. He realized then that he’d been holding his breath, and – careful, letting go some of the tension in his frame – began to breathe evenly, to count the seconds between his breaths, to find rhythm in the spaces.

When the Deftung stopped, drifting into the strange flickering silence, he caught Lilanee’s eye. He was frowning, still; there was no smile for her here, not any that would be honest. He wasn’t sure what else he could offer.

At the Hexx’s warning, he broke away. Another deep breath – in, out – he held the rhythm. Ezre began the spell, and the air shifted, etheric. He could see again a spark of interest in the corner, Alethia Kuleda shifting in her chair. He knew what this must’ve looked like – he knew, seeing her daughter tangled up in these chalk lines smeared with her blood, the Hexx thick-tongued high, the pieces of her dead husband scattered on the floor –

You couldn’t come to the mona with doubt, he told himself. There could be no doubt. Ezre wound through the invocation, and he found he knew most of the words, even if he didn’t know the pieces that fit them together. The Monite slid through his own mind; he sat with his doubt, let it fill him, leave him behind, replaced by the stirring in his ley lines.

He shut his eyes, watching the candlelight flicker against his eyelids.

It was Lilanee’s gasp he heard first. His eyes snapped open to look at her. Then, his jaw tightened; he felt it.

It was, for him, at least, familiar. He’d caught the faint tang of it in the caprise of Ezre’s field a day ago, and again this evening, when he’d met the Hexx in the Kuleda house. The memory of Ezre’s vestibule had begun to fade, by then; they were impressions, like ghosts conjured by an old trip. Now, he felt it in full again, washing over him.

Despite all the serenity of that rhakor, all he could feel were pulses of anxiety and uncertainty, fear – waves of them across the lines of the prodigium, flowing round the circles and the objects.

And then, from another direction, a different vestibule; one he couldn’t quite describe. He could almost hear this one, a spilling, a pouring-out of thought and feeling. This was more worry than fear. Worry, and care. He felt it like the look in Lilanee’s eyes, when he’d met them across the Deftung prayer, and he knew whose vestibule this was.

He was overwhelmed. Even as the spell curled, he struggled to make sense of the tangle. He’d lost the even rhythm of his breath, and he struggled to separate vestibule from latibule. He drew the line, but plenty spilled over it: worry, concern, written in bold; fear – selfish fear – fear for himself, for his mind, for his holding-onto-his-body; fear of the mirror in the floor, fear of the lines, of words in a tongue he’d been taught to be afraid of all his life, fear of his own field, fear of his hands, fear of the mona that were simmering thick in the air all around –

Lilanee was moving, then, through the soup of it, carefully across the lines. He felt a strange, bittersweet wave of tenderness, watching her help the Hexx into the bath. A word slipped into his head, one he wasn’t sure how he knew. Vre’ia.

These weren’t his feelings; that wasn’t his word. Before he could help it, hama slipped out across the lines, glowing gold and smelling of sage and patchouli, written in deep sadness.

He held his place in the prodigium as Lilanee returned to hers, as the Hexx settled in the bath. He felt, now, underneath the fear, strength. He let himself drift deeper into it, instead of cringing back – deeper into both vestibules. He felt the warmth in the Hexx’s, steadfast, and searched for the light he remembered days ago. He felt the certainty of Lilanee’s curiosity, for better or worse.

You give me a job, he thought, I do it. His breathing was even, in and out. If he could’ve, in that moment, he would’ve reached and taken one of Lilanee’s hands, one of Ezre’s. They were too far apart. As it was, he straightened his back and set his jaw; he gave them, across the bloody chalk lines of the prodigium, as much strength as he could.

And he waited, lungs filling up with the chill smoke-smelling air, and he felt all of them breathed in at once.

[Ezre Vks]

Kuleda Household

the 17th of Vortas, 2719 | late evening

Aware the instant he shared his innermost self, unfettered and undisguised, laid bare like the full map of lines inked into his skin, no rhakor held like a shield between himself and two minds he valued so preciously, Ezre was not ashamed of all the truth he revealed within the protective circle of their prodigium. His dark, dilated eyes widened, however, at the crash of waves from minds not his own, from minds grounded in the present instead of already adrift some abstract, unnamed space between the Evers, minds hardly as chan-laced as his own.

All the fear was very real to him; long shadows reaching over his entire existence from their two very different directions. Even as Tom's consciousness attempted to scoop it all up back behind the veil of choice that divided his vestibule from his latibule like Turga waters slipping between fingers held too loose, the young Guide saw it anyway.

All the concern and doubt was hardly alien to the already well-formed shape of Lilanee in his mind, but just like bodies with nothing between them, touching the truth felt so much different than any imagining of it. He hummed, grasping at stray, inappropriate memories before snapping himself back to some semblance of attention, struggling free from the crushing chaos of merging minds to light a candle in the dark:

Enough. It is too late for all this fear!

Deftung first, bold and harsh, pushing Ezre's thoughts outward into the minds he shared—the minds that strained against his own, tugging him in so many different directions—Estuan like an trail of bright (so bright!) colors behind it, a few steps slower as he brought himself into some kind of intoxicated focus, unwilling to be drowned in the dark waters of valid emotions. His attention slid to the mirror, almost accusingly, before it drifted slowly toward Tom—

We are looking for someone else's lost face tonight. Not yours.

—the room spun a little as he turned to stare into the nicium-laced tub, attempting to direct their shared stream of thinking momentum to the best of his very limited, inexperienced ability,

The mona deserve our trust and the Gods of the Circle demand it.

The Hoxian felt the Hessean's motions before he saw them, reaching not for her hands first but for her lips with two inked fingers in a familiar motion, pressing gently in an attempt to silence the stray thoughts that poured into his own, mumbling Shush, before he dragged his hands downward, revealing just how stupidly unsteady he'd become on his feet by how heavily he leaned into the assistance offered to help him climb into the bath that was finally the right temperature—ah, so perfect!—and too extravagant—tell me the tub's stories later, lover, laterrrrrr. I can hear you. Stay focused—

Standing: gripping the inside edge of the tub, white-knuckled, wobbly. He finally let words sink in. He glanced toward Alethia from where he still stood, water up to his knees in the tub,

"You would not know an open mind if it bit you—"

Ezre began thankfully in purely unfiltered Deftung, sharp and frustrated, cutting himself off with a hiss through grit teeth. He had no rhakor to tame his tongue, no boundaries to hold his words in check, and it took him a slow blink to stop, to shift the rush of his stream of consciousness, to speak in Estuan,

"—I will not entertain your lack of confidence in this room. As the wife of Jonathan Emmett, you decide where your heart is. In here or out there. Your intentions matter, too, Kuleda-vumein. You are still a galdor present while we cast." He paused, adding in Deftung again as if there was no perfect, direct translation,

"Even if you do not honor the Gods with that truth. I know humans who honor the Circle more than you."

Then, he sat, slowly, hands slipping into the water, body relaxing once he looked away. Then, he was sinking into the water, whole self curling, tension released from his jaw.

Sinkinnnggggg—

Now was a bad time to admit that the Hoxian couldn't swim.

That truth went unspoken, even if there was a ripple of fear as the warm water covered his shoulders. He was muscle, bone, and ink. He barely knew how to float: the waters in his homeland, in the northernmost kingdom without a true summer, were frigid and deadly. They weren't the Turga or the Arova. They were icy and dark. His swimming experience consisted of splashing in hot springs warmed by the blood of Bash himself deep under the black rocks of his isolated, mountain home. He knew enough to attempt not to drown in the shallows, but it took an effort to suspend his body in any amount of water at all.

Sinking lower still—he inhaled, filling himself with every doubt, every fear in one breath.

Ezre disappeared under the blue liquid with a very long, very slow exhale. He breathed out his terror as the warmth soaked over his head, holding it for a fluttering, rapid heartbeat or two as if savoring the thrill.

Was he under there too long? His mind grew quiet, his body still. He felt for that elusive buoyancy. He waited, finding his new center of gravity with a hint of difficulty seeping through the prodigium's shared connection, small enough in the giant beast of a bath to slowly, ever so slowly, float to the surface just when worry twinged their connection from the unfiltered thoughts of his friends. He sputtered a new breath, inked chest filling with steam and incense, with hope and purpose, rising a little higher in the liquid that was just a tiny bit warmer than his own body temperature, and then he exhaled, settling down, finding equilibrium, drifting like a leaf on the surface of a pond.

He heard the sound of his own lungs inflating, deflating. He heard the thrum of his pulse with so much water pressed against his inner ears. He was sure he heard the hearts of his friends, there in the shared space of the prodigium. He felt them, aware of the boundaries of their physical and magical selves because he was unable to become unaware of anything, so altered was his state of mind.

Imagined or real—did it matter?

He floated in silence for several long—too long—moments, spreading his whole self out over the surface, spreading every part of himself out into the space bounded by chalk and blood, seeping and expanding past even those lines into everything and everywhere, letting himself disappear into the openness the chan in his veins had been calling him to for almost half an hour already until he was neither here nor there.

Until he was in between.

"We are ready. We will cast now, together. A little journey. Sort of far."

Fingers brushed the inside walls of the tub, Ezre bobbing with every breath, no longer in just the bathroom, no longer in just the Kuleda household, no longer in just Vienda. His eyes were closed and even though he said he'd begin casting, there was a long pause while he gathered his field, burgeoning, growing in Clairvoyant weight as it was. Holding it close, he felt the brush of its sentient existence keenly, submerged in waters dyed indigo with nicum, staining his tattooed skin. In a flicker of lucidity, the Hexxos Guide thought for a moment he felt those tattoos, too, but seeing as his whole self buzzed with excitement and direction, he didn't spare his very chan-laced mind enough to consider clearly such conclusions.

Instead, he floated further into the ruddy darkness behind his eyelids, attempting to leave himself behind entirely, before he reached out with the first syllables of Monite with a quiet, reliable confidence. In his minds' eye, he ran invisible hands over the objects in the room, and in his invocation, he greeted a man he'd never met, reaching out for the mind of a stranger, seeking a witness whose only connection he knew deeply was Lilanee Kuleda, Jonathan Emmett's daughter.

Blood and flesh, hope and love—these facts, these intentions rose like bright stars against the velvet night sky in his request for an espial. He'd pried open every gate of his mind, and now he was reaching across all of Anaxas, directing the mona to use his senses, to channel through his very ley lines, and to show them all some vision of their requested witness there on the polished surface of the mirror, to make a connection between himself and his desired target, no matter how far away he might have been. He offered all of himself, every pore of his limited, mortal being, to bridge the distance.

Ezre imagined himself a bird in the darkness, streaking like some unexpected falling star, leaving trail in his wake, cutting through clouds to form shapes in the mirror on the floor. There was a clause slipped in there, quiet and true to the Hexxos' Guide's understanding of this life and the next, that didn't just take into account those pins on the map that he'd memorized of Western Anaxas with Jonathan's notes but also spoke of the places beyond the reach of the living, that asked to touch the mind of one lost soul wherever it may be waiting.

He made room for Lilanee's chorus, for her own unique Monite section of the spell to weave her hopes for truth, for resolution, for a clear vision into their combined request.

He spoke carefully to make sure that Tom's supportive bolstering of their spellwork could be made without any confusion, could be made to allow the interpreter clarity and alertness.

Ezre's intentions were bold, rebellious, and recklessly emptying of his entire being into a spell that could so easily wrest itself away from his own abilities and carry him far into the unknown.

[Lilanee Kuleda]

17th Vortas, 2719
KULEDA BATHROOM| LATE EVENING

As their minds connected, on a level of thought and feeling that was beyond empathy or sympathy, Lilanee couldn’t help but look at Tom and Ezre in a new light. She inhaled deeply as the once-Incumbent connected with her gaze, closing her eyes for a moment to feel the way their minds remained so much less busy than her own. From the older raen, the russet brunette felt Tom Cooke, the man that was rather than the man that he’d become. He was warm, and kind, reminiscent of the feelings that her own father stirred in her chest. Protective, guiding, concerned. It all came to her like driftwood on the ocean washed ashore.

Curious. She’d never experienced driftwood or oceans in her life, and yet, that felt right.

They were all afraid, that was the truth of it. Ezre, Tom and herself, all frightened and concerned by this unknown but both of them willing to press on for her sake. For her. Lilanee reached for the strange wavering field of the raen with her own Physical one, stretching the warmth like a heavy weighted blanket, wrapping it around him. She melded with Ezre’s, betwixt his secret layers of wildflower colors, and to them both extended gratitude with depth of meaning words couldn’t advise.

Opening her eyes, the young woman offered a short smile at Tom, before moving to assist the Hoxian into the bath. Stray thoughts flittered through their shared consciousness, clearly from the dark haired student, thoughts of themselves together and she couldn’t help but blush and avert her blue eyes to the water until the harsh Deftung rang in their minds.

Enough. It is too late for all this fear!

Estuan echoed over it, like hearing both at once, and the young Hessean nodded curtly as she reached to help ease Ezre into the indigo waters.

hama

The word swept through her with a sharp distinct earthy scent, perfume of something sweet and something beloved, golden and cherished. And so, so sad. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes, and Lilanee couldn’t bring herself to look up at the raen, not trusting herself to keep her tongue as she paused midway to the other student. She didn’t know the word, but she could feel it. As suddenly as it had come though, it was gone, and in its place was the firm acknowledgement of his strength for them both. He was here, by their side, in support and in guidance. They were connected here, in this room, in this spell, in a way that was deeper than any seasons of careful tending of the garden of friendship. Lifting her gaze finally as she extended her hands to the Hoxian, the Hessean looked at the raen and bowed her head slightly.

Together. They were in this together.

The mona deserve our trust and the Gods of the Circle demand it.

Lilanee pushed aside her Vitanism, her skepticism, her Hessean nature and focused on everything that she had seen this year. Everything that Ezre had patiently tried to teach her. The Gods of the Circle, it was an off-hand mannerism for her, but for the Hoxian and perhaps the raen it was the truth of things. Even with the ghosts and the cycle learnings, the russet brunette was at the cusp of this new way of thinking. The mona, the mona deserved trust and respect and to be honored with noble and righteous conquer-ship of course, but they were part of Vita. They were in the earth and the trees and—

Two inked fingers pressed against her lips.

Shush.

The ninth form exhaled slowly, clearing her wandering thoughts on the Gods, squeezing Ezre’s hands when they finally met her own, before assisting the cxil into the lavish tub. Her mothers history floated in her head, simmered in the background. Of course she knew about the tub, the precious clocking tub, but now was not the time for those things. Now, she had to focus, for her father. For Ezre.

Alethia looked at the indignant Hoxian boy as he snapped something in his native tongue, raising a brow but saying nothing as he stopped and switched to something she was sure was not what had just been said. Her lips pressed together tightly, and she shifted to sit back in her chair stiff backed and shoulders straight. Lilanee worried her lip, understanding just enough of the next Deftung to know what the Hexxos had said, keeping her thoughts steady with concentration.

If Ezre knew the full truth of her Vitanism, would they treat her as bitterly?

Lifting her chin and suppressing the thoughts, Lilanee watched Ezre sink into the deep blue water, lower and lower and lower—Sinkinnnggggg—till finally they were under. A shimmer of something unexpected came through their shared connection, and the girl frowned, almost thinking she imagined it.

The water eddied around the bath over the top of the nearly invisible Hoxian.

It slowed.

It stilled.

Lilanee looked at Tom with more than a healthy dose of sudden panic filling her field, swathed in yellow around them. It was too long, they were under too long. She took a step towards the bath, her hand resting on the curved porcelain edge, reaching for the water, inhaling to speak—

Ezre broke the surface and spluttered a breath.

Exhaling heavily, the ninth form took her hand away, running it over her face and shaking her head.

By Ophurs Glittering Grace!

The thought escaped unbidden, before reeling herself back in and stepping away again. Damn it, but her heart was pounding in her chest. How many more times this evening would Tom and herself have to worry about the clocking Clairvoyant drowning in the bathtub?!

Ezre was casting now, the spellwork specific for her to join, and after a moment to still her frayed nerves, Lilanee lifted her voice to join the monite chant. As instructed, as guided, she let herself into the casting with all of her being. Closing her eyes, the russet brunette sang the syllables for her father, for her needful hopes. Prayers for life, or at least, for peace. To see him there, and know how to find him. To bring him home to her. She envisioned his face, his smile, his warm hugs and his laughter. Her hands came together subconsciously, the thumb of one hand pressing against the bandaged palm of the other as she fervently pictured Jonathan Emmett in her mind.

[Tom Cooke]

The Kuleda Household • Uptown

Evening on the 17th of Vortas, 2719

I
t was Lilanee’s field he felt first, solid and physical, merging with his. The move might’ve taken him aback, if he hadn’t felt the echoes of it through her mind. It was call and response, or a strange round: he felt himself reflected in her, himself reflected in Lilanee, both of them reflected in each other and him; the lines of the prodigium were still bold and luminous, but the lines between each vestibule were blurring, bleeding.

He could no longer tell vre’ia from hama. He barely felt the prickle of embarrassment at lovers’ talk; Ezre’s chan-high was strong enough to wash away any regret, any hesitation. He merely felt, and felt, and felt.

He knew, with a jolt, what Ezre said in Deftung. Humans who honor the Circle more than… He knew it because Ezre knew it; the mona knew his intent. Strange, to think the only one in the room who didn’t was Kuleda – Alethia Kuleda, watching from afar.

Alethia Kuleda. He felt the contempt from Lilanee; it threatened to swallow his own concern. But he saw the Hessean – mother – sitting in the corner, in the chair, strangely familiar to him, though he’d only just met her. His own heart ached; some of it spilled out from him. He missed, he regretted – all those tangled feelings, still, he knew what his own mother had meant to him, and he thought of her looking out at her husband’s things, at the three of them, at the mirror –

The mirror, the mirror, the mirror –

Ezre’s mind, then, like a pair of hands, gently but firmly guiding him away from the mirror.

My face is not lost, Ezre-xi; not tonight. His voice, familiar only to Ezre, a ghost of a voice – high and soft.

He swallowed thickly, set his jaw, raised his eyes to the window – the moonlight curling over the clouds, by now, hazy through the drifts of chan– and incense-smoke. He shut his eyes, then opened them.

Then looked down at the tub, because he felt Lilanee doing the same. He felt her move; he might’ve moved himself. Had he moved? The surface of the water, nicum-laced, still as a Ghost Town pond in Bethas, frozen over – Tom could taste bile rising in his mouth; a wave of almost-memory; slurry, sleeping – terror – and then bubbles, and then vibrant, rainbow-relief.

He would’ve reached out and taken Lilanee’s hand, then, like a natt knew how to do. But he could reach out with his field, too; he was enough of a galdor, now, to know how to merge all the way.

He felt Ezre’s sensation ebbing slowly. Such that the Hexx’s voice came as a jolt. They were casting, then, and he could feel that brightness he’d seen once over the thread of their ley channel: they were a bright bird throwing themself into the dark, across a span, and he could just –

He grasped at vague images: maps, old notes, a scrawl in a familiar-unfamiliar script. A place of mists, of hatchers, unknown. He had never known his own father; a Bastian sailor, they said – he didn’t know. He had wondered, once, long ago. He had asked the Circle. He had learned to stop asking. He ached, and spilled some of his ache into hers, just as he felt the strength of her yearning, much stronger than her nervousness.

Lilanee’s mind was as much a spill of word and thought and feeling as her voice, but tonight, he found both groundingly literal – and now, eloquent. He sang with it; he gave her this, across the lines of the prodigium, across their mingling fields.

A bright bird, giving all of themself to the dark; a girl full of hope with her feet on the ground. A little journey! He might tie a thread round the bird’s leg, hold on tight to the girl’s hand. He could not let go of either.

The invocation spilled out of him almost before he was ready. The Monite was easier on his tongue than it had ever been, with two galdori minds melting into his. He wound his way around the invocation; squeezing his eyes shut, he spoke of holding the ley channel together, of being conduit and messenger and interpreter. Bearer of news, good or ill.

The last phrase he repeated, over and over, like the thrum of a heartbeat, vre’ia hama vre’ia hama. He opened his eyes, and he knew where to look: across the swirl of lines, blood, pieces of Jonathan Emmett. He looked directly into the mirror across from him, and he didn’t think to be afraid of his reflection.

[Ezre Vks]

Kuleda household

the 17th of Vortas, 2719 | late evening

The Hoxian had heard—or felt—or understood the words that passed between them, that bled like fresh dye on pale fabric in Tek, in Estuan, and in Deftung. Shared meaning, but with different contexts, different origins, and different regrets. He heard and felt and understood their worries and fears, too, for those needed no language to express when their consciousnesses were twined together through the spell circle. He didn't entirely want to shove them away—fear felt appropriate in this moment—so much as he wanted to shift their focus, to direct the flow of their thoughts over the sharp rocks of doubt, making them smooth again.

Then, finally, he heard and felt and understood their Monite that joined his, each of them playing their part in the chorus of petitioning the mona for direction, for contact, for truth. Their voices spoke, sang, breathed their different melodies, weaving together in the magical harmony they'd planned together carefully for just this moment.

Eyes closed, weightless and free, by the time Ezre was winding his way toward the last phrases of his section of their spellwork, his mind was open. Candlelight flickered in the darkness of his purposefully limited vision, and he was quite sure he saw the colorful movement of the mona—the invisible, sentient particles leaving trails of their acquiescence through his shared connection, dragging him into the motion of their searching, allowing him to be the conduit of their unimaginable powers for just this briefest of moments.

His breathing slowed. His body relaxed.

Searching for an unknown witness, the mona had blood and memory, hope and precious possessions, scent and desire, doubt and fear to remind it who to look for. Scrying was unreliable at best, so wide open to personal interpretation, and yet so many different angles had been presented in this moment that, like the facets of a crystal prism or the wide curve of a glass lens, the light of their hopes could be focused into a single beam, seared through the dark of their shared mind, and illuminating the sought-after consciousness of one Anaxi galdor: father, husband, archeologist.

Jonathan Emmett.

As each of their spells ended together, merged like their fields and their thoughts, quiet settled in the dark, lavish bathroom with heavy expectation. Incense smoke curled with the last of their Monite, and it seemed to thicken, or at least it seemed as though somehow in the steam of the bath itself, it had unexpectedly filled the room with more of its presence, cloying like Autumn fog rolling off the Arova at dawn—

No, like mist.

As Tom gathered himself to look at the mirror, it wasn't the incense or the tub at all that had begun to obscure their vision. Drifting from the glass surface was definitely mist, rising quickly, reaching through the space greedily of its own accord. Were they hallucinating, too? Had Ezre's chan-high crawled its way into their own minds through the prodigium, inescapable? As the thick, pale cloud rose from the mirror and washed over them, the sensation of it rippled through the mona that had gathered within their spell circle. It wasn't wrong. It was just strange.

Ezre knew it.

Recognition blossomed, tingled through their connection, danced along ley lines, and prickled inked channels drawn into tawny skin.

Like lighting a match in a dark room, the mingling of unknown with known was sudden and bright, flaring undeniably in the bathroom. It tightened their chests, stole their breath, whispered in their ears—well, everyone but the young Guide bobbing in the tub. He was consumed by it, already drifting into non-thought that there was no separation between what he knew and what he didn't, what he saw and what he couldn't see. The strangeness of it all was that upon recognizing that something other, something like the familiar mona but not quite the same had made itself known in this moment, wasn't that it had never been felt before (all of them had felt it at some point in their lives, honestly), but that it was so strong, so obvious, so real in this instant that not having a name for it would have been disappointing had they been able to dwell on that nostalgic desire.

Grau, the Hexxos called it—the Grey, his umah had whispered its name in Estuan, humming as it was in her powerful, entropic field.

Here and now, far from Hox, huddled in some too-fancy bathroom around a tub full of nicum, the grau flooded their senses, merging with the Clairvoyant mona that hung so heavily in their spell circle. Tom and Lilanee and even Alethia would feel it. Ezre couldn't escape it. The Hoxian simply felt himself dragged away with it like the tide, attention slipping from the last syllables of Monite that had been on his tattooed lips and into a foggy darkness, the bright bird of his eager consciousness taking flight into the unknown, carried across the landscape of Anaxas in between one breath and the next, led by the direction of their magical request, dragging them all with him through the too-small portal of that too-fancy mirror on the floor.

Warm hands, calloused and strong,
grasped at his heels
and far below
the swirling mist of his vision,
a familiar shape waited
periwinkle gaze expectant.