• Mature • The Webs We Weave

[Llyr Llywelyn]

10th Break
42nd of Vhalar, Arc 719

Llyr Llywelyn was missing.

No one seemed to know where he’d gone, or why. Most people hadn’t even noticed the disappearance. His network continued to thrive in the Etzori territories regardless. His employees continued to operate. In practical matters, it seemed as if he were still within Etzos. However, those who visited Llyr directly, or otherwise kept tabs on his comings and goings, knew he hadn’t been seen in the city since the morning of the 35th of Vhalar.

Mister L had turned into a ghost. The foreigner's name whispered past the lips of gossipers in the Citadel corridors, in the taverns of the Outer Perimeter, in the shop foyers of the Commercial Circle, and in the filthy streets of the shelled out, abandoned Oh’Pee neighborhoods.

People were looking for him, too. Many people with all sorts of different intentions as to why. Every seeker who pursued where Llywelyn had gone, found themselves redirected from informant to contact, in a never-ending loop of vagaries and useless clues. Some said he’d gone to Ne’haer. Others mentioned he’d left to return to Quacia. Those closest to him, and the rare few contacts at the top of his Etzos’ network - employees like the Etzori bruiser, Lochlann O’ Ruanaidh (better known by his old North ganger nickname of O’no) and the North Orphanage Housemother, Madam Miller - insisted that Llywelyn was around, simply preoccupied at home with matters of business.

Yet if followed through, it would be found that Llywelyn wasn’t in his house at all. He wasn’t in his bedroom (of which the room had been scrubbed clean of all his work and the city map with his figurines had vanished). He wasn’t in the strange catacombs connected to the basement of his house. He was nowhere to be found.

Nor was he within his dreamscape. Not on any night since. Not during the daytime. His dreamscape had all but vanished, so it seemed…

…and his brand had dimmed, far off in the distance of the Veil.



West Wellin hid in the depths of the Prime Atheneum of Viden.

The Prime Atheneum, the renowned and famous library, was known through-out the world for the extensive catalogue put together under the purview of the Immortal of Intelligence, Yvithia. Shelves upon shelves to upward of a million books available; some to the public and some not so openly accessible. Among the floors, stone busts of certain Immortals decorated the place of learning: Yvithia, Ziell, Xiur, Aeva, Tried.

Under his pseudonym, Llyr had spent the past four trials in the library. He’d nested in a nook on the third floor, next to the restricted texts of arcana and Immortals. The Public wasn’t allowed in this area, but he was a student. He had permission from Dean Rush of the Institute of Arcana to freely explore these incredible collections.

While he’d visited some lectures, and classes, for the trials of his return to the Academy… he quickly forgot that he was actually supposed to attend courses. Llyr had never been in any kind of school before. He still didn’t entirely understand the structure of it. He had the materials for what he was supposed to learn, why did he need to sit in a room at the same time of other people to do so? He’d always learned by himself, in dark corners with waning candlelight, and without discussion shared about the subjects.

Dean Rush had gotten short with him about it, but Llyr explained that he was busy trying to start his business. Once he finished opening the headquarters, then he’d focus more on his studies. He proved to the academic that he’d already surpassed where the classes had even gotten to, in terms of where they were in learning. Dean Rush relented and offered Llywelyn the chance to write extra papers to make up for his lack of attendance, and keep a journal about his magical explorations to turn in at the end of the season… because past the administrative annoyance, the Dean was fascinated by the young mage's wildly elaborate theories about Emea. He managed to persuade the biqaj to agree to lecture about Emea in the coming trials before he returned to Etzos.

Llyr had gotten distracted by this. A lecture? He’d never done anything like that before. He’d sat in front of Lucretia while she’d spoken to him about things, and often her avatar did such things in his dreams when he summoned her, but… it wasn’t like the lectures that the academy professors gave. He worried that he would do a poor job, and that Dean Rush would revoke his access to the restricted arcana texts.

Under no small amount of pressure, for this and many other reasons, Llyr threw himself into his work and hadn’t left the Prime Atheneum since.

His mouth felt raw, a bitterly sick taste on his tongue. He had acquired a substance that greatly enhanced his already vast endurance to keep focused while not daring to sleep. Illicit as it was, his gradual hooks of a network in Viden had already sunk in and by consequence, it was easy to get hold of.

The snake-tail shaped sap helped him ignore the constant Thirst he felt toward the various souls that wandered around the library, so ripe and inviting. He knew what a soul tasted like, now, and it was difficult to focus because of it. No one seemed able to identify this about him though, but he secluded and isolated himself away from others anyway. It was why he hadn't gone to spend time with the alchemist, Doran Thetys, though he had an open invitation to the son of Ziell's home.

So it was that Llyr had not slept for the past five trials. He hadn’t eaten either, fasting since his arrival. He did keep a few waterskins close by, however, for he got thirsty often whenever he chewed on the awful tasting sap of Ambrosia.

His nook in the third floor was shadowed, and off where most people didn’t journey. He only left a few times, to visit a nearby lavatory before hurriedly returning in worry that his work had gotten moved. He’d seen Dean Rush a few times, but he suspected the man was simply checking on him rather than looking for a book. No one else came to the dark corner of esoteric texts, which were filled with ornately obscured, thick arcana speech that would make little sense to the average mage.

For Llyr though, it was a treasure trove of theories and case studies and philosophies and more. He had set up five tables in his study corner. Each table was filled with stacks of books, scrolls, loose parchment sheets, journals, ink wells, charcoal sticks, quills, pins, and handkerchiefs to help rub away dust and otherwise. The books weren’t only confined to the surfaces of the tables, but also on the ground and around the legs. Some of them had come from the lower floors but many were from the third floor.

Llyr had a couple chairs, for quick maneuvering between the tables, as he swapped between his reading. He had ribbons upon ribbons of different colors to bookmark various spots in books so he could reference them. His blond hair was tied back with a couple ribbons, one blue and one green, so that he didn’t have strands falling in his face. His face, hands, and wrists were smudged from charcoal and stained with the different colors of ink. On his fingertips, the faint light of what appeared to be a new mutation glittered in ethereal iridescence.

If it were not for the Edashan potions that granted him perfect hair, skin, teeth, and body, he might have looked sickly in his drug-fueled research. Instead, he looked completely healthy despite the facts underlying the magic.

When the other dreamwalker entered the space beside Llyr, the biqaj immediately looked up with the sharp awareness of stimulant-induced focus. In front of Llyr, were stacks upon stacks of loose notes that he’d written out. Many had sketched arcana symbols and scratched out writing from edge to edge. There were no margins to Llyr’s notes and his penmanship proved delicate and scrawled, barely contained by the physical dimensions of the papers. In some spots on the tables, it was obvious where he’d kept writing right off a page and wrote directly on the wooden surfaces. His forearms, bare from his rolled up sleeves, had reference notes and symbols written directly on his skin too in smears of ink. His dark gray clothing, though of warm fine quality, was wrinkled and disheveled,

Llyr looked at his initiate, with eyes of crystal blue, and glanced over the Raggedy Man once. The last time he'd spoken with him, the plot to assassinate an Etzori Marshal had been agreed to. Llyr had promised he would figure out how to get close to Webb... and then he’d hadn't contacted Kasoria since.

The young mage dipped his quill into an inkwell, then returned to scribbling notes copied from a massive book splayed open nearby. For a bit, he ignored the abrogant. Without looking up, after a while, he spoke in a clipped, dry tone of his magically perfected voice.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

[Kasoria]

"Fuckin' amazin', that is."

It would never cease to be wondrous to him. Because that's what it stirred in him, whenever he did it. Wonder. Oh, yes. Even a soul as gnarled and blackened and cold as his could feel such a thing. Learning his magic, harnessing his Spark, realizing he had power beyond the mundane and the flesh buried within him... every time he used it, knowing it was still a risk, he felt that same shiver of awe as when he was first initiated. Now there was this Crossing, walking through not just dreams but the place where all dreams were had. He used it like a shortcut from one street to another, simple as stepping through a hole in a wall-

-which it was, when he pressed his hand to the bedroom wall and the stone shimmer and shook like a lake turned on its side and he pressed his flesh through it and felt it, felt the Emea, the world and the world under it, all magic and thought and-

-he was there. In that place between waking and death. Kasoria shuddered out a breath that had... no, it had air. It was real. It came from lungs and lips that were his own. This was not some projection of his mind into the Emea; it was him. As usual he looked himself over. No weapons, still. Clothes were as far as his mind could go, and damned if he wasn't changing that as soon as fucking possible. But for now, not traipsing around the Dreamscape naked was perfectly fine.

Then he smiled. Like he always did. He could still feel wonder. In magic. In the birth of his son. The victory of his city, his people, his home. In this ability that Llyr had given him.

The smile faded. He was about a dark business, and much as he would enjoy the work, that's what it was. Work.

So get your head on straight.

He followed the light of the Brand across the ocean his mind interpreted the Emea to be. His feet sent ripples across water that seemed bottomless, yet all the distance seemed filled by endless doors. Entrances. Passages. Tunnels. All places that were ways into another's dreams. He ignored them all. Focused instead on glowing, pulsing shape far away. He walked and walked and thought it seemed to be breaks, it was really jut moments. He crouched down and saw the shimmering doorway under the water. There was his mentor. His friend. His co-conspirator.

Kasoria breathed deep air that was not air, and reached for the handle-

-turned it as his hand was immersed, and as he pushed it open-

-gasped as a place by its nature formless and unreal was replaced by the brutal mercilessness of a reality very much immovable-

-and he came out... somewhere else.

This... is Etzos?

It didn't look like anywhere he knew in the city. Granted, it wasn't like the Raggedy Man had been in every room of the Big Smoke, nor knew every crevice and hall where books were stored in such numbers. Much as he'd dearly like to. But the stones, the furniture, the very taste of the place... it didn't feel Etzori to him. And the chill that struck him, as if somehow soaked into the bricks and stones and unable to leave it, almost made his teeth chatter. He, who had endured Etzori winter that left derelicts and drunks frozen solid come morning. But the thought, the unease didn't last long before he heard-

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

Kasoria's brief bewilderment froze solid (fittingly enough) as he heard the words. He suppressed a growl as he reined himself in, and calmly walked around the table. The quill never stopped scribbling. The bijaq didn't look up. Notes and musings were scrawled on every patch of paper around him, barely arrayed, not even close to collected. Only a genius or a madman could keep track of this silent cacophony. Sometimes Kasoria didn't know what Llyr was. But what he did know was-

FAWP

-he closed the book with one hand, and hard. The sound echoed through the library, and Llyr was finally forced to look into the Raggedy Man's eyes. There was no murderous stare to meet him. No disgusted, hateful curl of the lips. Just a sort of neutral, passionless calm. Like one would see in a tiger after feeding. Not bent on slaughter and devastation, at least while it was sated. But the threat of it was there. The memory. And Kasoria stared long enough for Llyr to come to that conclusion.

"I let youse get away wiv' a lot," he said quietly, "Cuz yeh gave me a gift. Cuz yeh helped me, an' helped me, an' now yer helpin' me again. Cuz yer my friend. More than that, mebbe." He leaned forward just a fraction, and noted the flush of apprehension, not quite fear, on Llyr's beautiful face. "But don't ferget who the fuck I am, boy." He took his hand off the book. "We got business, you an' me. Now tell me, how's that progressin'?"

Cold nipped at him again. Creeping in through closed windows and even scorning the lamps and candles set around the cavernous room. He frowned as he waited, as he listened. Had it snowed while he was gone?

[Llyr Llywelyn]

FAWP

Llyr jolted from the echoed sound. He swiftly looked up at Kasoria.

The Raggedy Man might not have had a murderous stare in his pitch-black eyes… but Llyr sure had one in his; the biqaj’s irises changed to a vivid orange color. His perfected features hardened with an expression of supreme annoyance.

As he stared back at Kasoria, in refusal to look away, his dark eyebrows knitted together with a sort of determination. He saw the threat, easily, and it wasn’t that which gave him pause. It was a youthful streak of rebellion that made it seem as if he didn’t care about the tiger looking back at him.

An old, sated tiger could stare at a young, hungry panther all night long if he wished, but it didn’t make either of them any less of a predator.

Eventually though, Llyr eased with the obvious realization that maybe it wouldn’t be worth it to paw at the older predatory cat. He had other things to tackle, tear apart, and chew on.

His gaze lowered when he heard Kasoria’s quiet voice in that familiar accent. He adjusted his posture, though he crossed his arms. A muffled hmph sounded from the Quacian when the older man called him a friend, but then…

…more than that, mebbe.

Llyr looked up from momentary surprise. When Kasoria leaned toward him, he realized he’d fallen right into that trap. A silver-blue blush rose on his face. He opened his mouth, slightly, as if to say something… but no words formed, and he shut it quick enough with a quiet smack of his pale lips when Kasoria called him boy.

“How could I forget, old man?” he shot back in a meager swipe of the paw.

The etherist turned away from the abrogant. He picked up his quill, dipped it into the ink, then shrugged in initial response to the question about his progress on his side of the agreed deal. It was a fair question, certainly. But Llyr felt the drive of Ambrosia in his veins – driving him to return to his studies, to get back to what he’d been doing.

“Nothing for you to know,” he answered shortly. He picked a different book off the stack, opened it to a blue ribbon that’d been holding a place and started to scribble on a vellum sheet. Llyr felt his heartbeat though. No matter how he could focus – to an unnatural extent – he felt an anxious tension run through his body, in reaction to effectively giving Kasoria the cold shoulder.

Llyr knew that the man had likely traveled through Emea to come to Viden to find him. His writing slowed slightly, as he glanced at his initiate. The orange had faded away from his irises, instead a dark indigo bloomed in the rings around his pupils. He felt an intense twist of guilt that almost made him wince, and this guilt showed briefly but obviously on his youthful features, before he hurriedly looked down at the new book.

“I’ve sent invitations to the Tower, and Council,” he mentioned in a reluctant tone, his voice barely more than a whisper. “To all the Marshalls. For the opening of the headquarters for my business.”

He glanced at a symbol on his arm, then sighed. Llyr shook his head to try and collect his thoughts to where he wanted them. His amber-tinted tongue slipped out to lick at a slight tingling sensation on his lips. The insides of his cheeks still felt numb from chewing on the Ambrosia, but he already wanted more. There were too many things to focus on and the sap would help with that, he was certain of it. He couldn’t smoke in the library, so he had to make do with chewing instead.

Llyr fidgeted with his quill, momentarily unaware at how his leg bounced and his bootheel tapped nervously against the floor. He tried to avoid any further eye contact with Kasoria. “If that doesn't work, or that you must know more, yes… he’s got an item that I may be able to sway his attention toward me through. I’d rather not, it could require possibly involving someone else who can’t get caught up in all this nonsense.”

[Kasoria]

Fine, fuck being nice.

Were the words that hissed through Kasoria's mind as Llyr turned away from him, yet a-fucking-gain, to open another book. The young noble's brusque words clashed with the look Kasoria had seen flash over his face; the uncertainty, not at Kasoria's bearing, but his words. The surprise at being called... well, he didn't even know what. Then that same look of icy determination had settled over a face seemingly made for beauty, not intimidation. Kasoria had chided himself for being too forceful, for failing to remember that for all his prowess with blade and fist and one breed of magic, Llyr was... certainly more adept in the last than he would be for quite some time.

Probably had his whole life to perfect it, too.

Then the scribbling stopped. Right as Kasoria's hands balled into fists and that machine his mind could become quietly ticked into that cold, pragmatic place it did. He frowned and reined back on that mood, the cloak of remorseless violence he often wore during the act. The boy, he looked... almost sick. Not just physically, either. His eyes changed color even as Kasoria circled his desk to study him. Sweat... yes, that was sweat on his brow. Not from exertion or heat, but some inner tension he couldn't place. He looked around, eyes skittering, flickering, uncertain and unsure. And when he spoke-

“I’ve sent invitations to the Tower, and Council. To all the Marshalls. For the opening of the headquarters for my business.”

The Raggedy Man listened, and Llyr probably assumed he was just being his usual stoic self. Had he looked up, he'd have seen the concern etched in the man's mutated gaze. Even in that solid black stare, his face seemed to contort and make him appear... almost worried. Like he couldn't understand what was wrong with the boy. Poised and beautiful and perfect, but cracks were showing, all the more noticeable for being in such a flawless facade.

“If that doesn't work, or that you must know more, yes… he’s got an item that I may be able to sway his attention toward me through. I’d rather not, it could require possibly involving someone else who can’t get caught up in all this nonsense.”

Kasoria moved slowly around the desk as the boy spoke. He noted what was being said, of course. He wasn't a fool, nor was he so easily overwhelmed by concern. This was bigger than anything he'd ever done, and in a truly ironic twist, he wasn't getting a penny for it. The paradox of that was not lost on him, and the gruff intellectual in the man was quite amused. He did this for Etzos, not for coin. For his people and his son and...

Revenge? Is that really what it is? A chance to stick it to the Morties after all these decades? And not even the ones they prayed to. Not even the ones you blame.

Such were his thoughts, before that time and now, but he pushed them aside. Instead he focused the bulk of his attentions on Lyr. Then he moved around the desk as the man finished speaking, and saw the juddering leg. The constant smack-smack-smack of his heel against the floor. Kasoria inhaled sharply and stepped closer, realizing what it was in an instant. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, kept it there as the younger man turned and looked at him in surprise.

There was a fresh expression. One Llyr hadn't seen before. There had been rare, rare moments when Kasoria and he had... almost slipped into something else. Not friends, not associates, something else. This seemed to indicate such a moment, but the look on the old man's face was paternal now, not romantic. Fates knew he'd seen that look precious few times in his life. How ironic, how cruel, how insane that now, he would see a grizzled mass-murdering fanatic look down on him with black eyes wrought with quiet worry.

"What're youse on, son?"

Son. Long time since he'd used that and meant it. Longer time since his voice had been so soft.

"I know what it looks like when a man's got somethin' cracklin' through him. Not just booze n' pipeweed, either. Somethin' stronger. We both know where dat shite leads, even in strong souls." Kasoria gaze never left Llyr's. He squeezed gently, as if reminding him he was there, even when right in front of him. "Dunno why y'might want to... fuck me, did youse feel that?"

A gust whipped through the room, probably from under a door and Kasoria's shivering body couldn't take it anymore. He stalked over to the nearest window, curtain rustling about it-

"Dunno how youse can stand-"

-pulling open the curtain-

"it... here...?"

He looked out the frost-covered window, and saw mountains. Tundra. A sky lit and burning in every color above a city that was not in any way the Big Rock he knew. Without turning around, Kasoria swallowed and finally found his voice.

"Wh... Where the fuck am I, mate?"

[Llyr Llywelyn]

He’d felt this before.

The moment in which the older man clutched his shoulder, he remembered that muggy plague-fouled Ymiden night. Remembered the Raggedy Man’s blade that’d trembled against his throat. The grief, the madness, the shared confessions in the dark about faith and family – both dead and gone.

Kasoria might not have remembered that moment, in which he’d taken hold of the biqaj’s shoulder and given it a squeeze… but Llyr remembered. He recognized the warmth in such a touch. The sort of warmth that most people claimed couldn’t exist in men like Kasoria. Shrouded in darkness, with eyes as black as his soul should have been, the abrogant’s ether pressed at the aura around Llyr. The etherist allowed the familiar sway against the other mage’s mutated demand for alienation.

Llyr turned away from his books, from the deliriously written notes and scrolls, away from the ink wells and bits of charcoal. He lifted his gaze. When he looked at the fatherly expression on the older man’s face, the biqaj’s eyes performed a vivid, mystical, and turbulent show of light. From blues to oranges to violets, to wine-red, to daffodil yellow, to the colors of dawn and dusk, and then to the silver of his blood that broke past the circular bounds of irises and filled the entire shape of his eyes. The pupils bled out in a thin network of black veins.

A grizzled mass-murdering fanatic looked down on him with black eyes wrought with quiet worry…

…and Llyr’s guilt intensified to unfathomable amounts.

The Raggedy Man asked him a question. So soft, so caring in the sound of it, but Llyr knew these kind of sides to the older Etzori already. He knew the red-blood was capable of sympathy, of affection, no matter how guarded. Kasoria looked sincere, in every way possible. From the paternal expression of concern on his weathered angular face, to the quiet inquiry without forceful demand for immediate answers.

“What’re youse on, son?”

Llyr dryly swallowed. He tasted the bitterness of the sap in his thinned saliva. The biqaj wasn’t sure that if he did try to answer, he would succeed. His mouth felt terribly dry now, too dry to vocalize words with. He stared at Kasoria instead. The older man must think him daft. Llyr didn’t look surprised, so much as he appeared almost fearful. The mixture of guilt and fear made for a sorrowful blend on his gorgeous visage. No matter how handsome he’d gotten, perfection couldn’t rid the young mage of his emotions. Kasoria didn’t relent though, and the assassin wielded his concern as ruthlessly as his blade.

"I know what it looks like when a man's got somethin' cracklin' through him. Not just booze n' pipeweed, either. Somethin' stronger. We both know where dat shite leads, even in strong souls."

Llyr’s lips parted. He felt the tingle of the air on them, or was that the interaction between their respective ether now? His silver-and-black eyes had locked onto Kasoria’s gaze again. Unlike before, when he’d stared in rebellious refusal to look away… now it seemed as if he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. A quiet gasped inhale, when he felt the gentle squeeze against his shoulder. He blinked away the threat of tears. He wouldn’t let them fall. Not in front of Kasoria.

"Dunno why y'might want to... fuck me, did youse feel that?"

The first part of the question, the blend of the words, Llyr’s Ambrosia-laced mind struggled with it. Confusion filled the young man. He could almost feel the shiver that ran through Kasoria when the abrogant let go and moved away.

Llyr stood up, quite suddenly, the moment that Kasoria had taken a step away. His chair toppled over from the swiftness of the motion. He scratched at his forearm. It wasn’t the sort of scratch that an ordinary person gave to rid themselves of an itch. His nails fidgeted, trails of silver and gold dappled in their wake, the ink and charcoal smudged over his pale skin.

Kasoria went over to the nearby window, pulled aside the curtain, and fell silent.

“It’s uh…” tried Llyr. His voice cracked even despite the Edashan perfection granted to it. He searched around the stacks of books, then found where one of his waterskins were. The blond chugged whatever water was left in it.

"Wh... Where the fuck am I, mate?"

Llyr tossed aside the empty waterskin. He anxiously rubbed at his lips. The biqaj walked over to join Kasoria beside the window. He took hold of the curtain, leaned past the shorter man, and glanced out at the aurora that graced the sky.

“We are in the city of Viden,” he answered in a low voice. He blinked a few times. The silver and black of his eyes gradually returned to iris formation, though colors didn’t return to them yet.

Llyr guided the curtain to cover the window again so that Kasoria would stop staring at the city. A hesitant smile flickered at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the frame, lessened his height through his posture so he didn’t tower over the human. Llyr set his hand against Kasoria’s elbow in a light touch.

“After all this time… after I escorted you from Yaralon to Orm’del Sea, so long ago, you can still look that surprised,” he mused, in a gentle tease to his initiate. His touch moved upward, a caress to the back of Kasoria’s arm until he reached the older man’s shoulder. A trill, or two, in consideration… his touch traveled further, to the neck, then the jaw and over the scruff of a beard. Llyr moved forward. Close, close enough that the abrogant’s ether started to resist him.

He traced his thumb over Kasoria’s lower lip, where he knew his dreamwalker's brand to be. Then Llyr lifted and broke away from the touch, from the sudden intimacy, from whatever it was to the Etzori. He walked past and gestured to the rows of bookshelves that hid them in the nook that he’d claimed, and spoke in a hushed voice, “We are in the Prime Atheneum of Viden, the largest library in known existence. You find yourself in the restricted section of Arcana knowledge.”

Llyr turned back around. His wings fluttered behind him. He licked his lips, still a bit jittery, still feeling the numbness in his cheeks, still wanting more even after what Kasoria had said.

The blond returned to his desk and tables. He set a hand on a stack of loose-leaf notes. “I am currently studying ether and Emea. The things other mages have written about, scholars and pioneers. The wonders they have seen, have heard about. The histories. Of Fractures and. There’s… There’s so much here, Kas.”

“I… How could I sleep when there’s so much to read? So much to learn… so much to discover!” His voice rose slightly, then he winced at the slight echo and lowered the volume again. He knelt on the floor, to pick up some books from one of the stacks on the floor. He waved one of the books at Kasoria, as if in offer for him to take it. “Look at them all! I don’t have time to do anything else, not right now. They want me to speak, Kas, to lecture and teach. I don’t know how to teach! Lecture. I’ve never done anything like that before. About ether too? But I can’t fail, I can’t. I’ll lose access to this place if I do.”

The words tumbled over his amber-tinted tongue, as quick as the thoughts in his head. Llyr licked his lips. He stopped reorganizing the books on the floor and stared ahead at a random spot. After several trills of quiet, his gaze sharply turned to land on the older man. Llyr remained kneeling. He whispered, “Snake tail.”

That was what he was on. He used the street term for the hard sap of Ambrosia. He returned to looking through the books.

[Kasoria]

“We are in the city of Viden.”

"That's..." Kasoria's mind whirred through the vocabulary that nearly fifty arcs and innumerable books had provided for him. Impressive, it was, especially for an Oh'Pee scally like him. But finally he just settled on, "... far."

The sky truly was on fire, but not with orange or red. Well, not just them. Yellow and purple, greens and golds, they danced and whirled around each other in great roiling waves. It seemed the whole sky was awash with it, flowing out from the poles like some fantastical celebration put on by the Fates... or the Immortals. But none of the city below them seems perturbed. There were no panicked crowds or rushing guards. Only a few people were even watching. As if this was such a common sight that thousands of folks were just... used to it.

Why aren't you angry? He brought you here!

Well... actually...

He kept staring as Llyr talked, turning back only when he heard the words "arcana" and "library". Two things apt to get his attention, the former more recently than the latter. It was hardly a revelation, of course. What else could such a place be, packed with shelves and tomes and scriptures and ranks of straight-backed tomes stretching up to the sky? But to know their content, their subject, even generally... Fates, what a man could learn here. But still, the Raggedy Man felt some nameless part of him seethe, before he realized it was his Spark.

Still, he watched the younger man as he flitted away.

The older man moved slowly as the younger one bustled to and fro, here and there, talking about things that Kasoria barely had a grasp on. He'd heard of Fractures before. Sort of... magical holes in the world, packed full of ether. He smiled briefly as he ran his fingers across the spines of those books, hearing Llyr describing their creators so highly. Most of the books published in Etzos were for cash, plain and simple. Guides for trades, histories that glorified the past, and fiction that did... much the same, actually. There were some works on magic, but Vuda being Vuda, he didn't want people looking too deeply into them. Sima had been his only link to possessing such knowledge, and now...

Now she's gone, or hiding. And your friend is living a second life.

The boy had plans, or others had plans for him. Kasoria approached the seated Quacian like a wolf would stalk a sheep, yet Llyr was too deep into his possible future to notice it. The Etzori frowned as he saw his tongue flash amber, not pink or pale, sign enough that he'd been hitting whatever it was pretty hard. But more than that, the idea of Llyr... escaping, somehow. He knew that wasn't what it was, or not what the Quacian would describe it as, but Kasoria was rigid when it came to how he saw the world. He could com here whenever he wanted, Cross through the Emea, and be a different person. His sins and history washed away, reinvented and reborn as a mage, a teacher, a student and professor both. He could step from Etzos to Viden tomorrow and never return. Leave behind all the schemes and investments and burgeoning "enterprise" he'd fostered in the Underworld.

What's to stop him? What would stop you?

“Snake tail.”

Kasoria blinked, and he saw the envy for what it was. He had no-one left to tie him to Etzos. His family was dead, save for a handful far to the west. He could leave tomorrow. He could escape, reinvent, leave behind the Raggedy Man and never come back. Who would come looking for him? But then he remembered his... Fates damn him... his responsibilities. And one of them, curiously enough, was seated in front of him, hunched over and more cracked in his gaze than in his perfect features. His fingers relaxed from the fist he'd unconsciously formed. Suspicion did not vanish, but it subsided, for now. He moved around to sit in front of the younger man, and clasped his hands together on the table.

"When were youse gonna tell me?"

About the drugs or the hidden life he'd been living, Kasoria decided to let Llyr work that out for himself. While he waited he looked across the table and the sprawl of papers like an earthquake had mated with a printing press. He could make out some words on them, in different languages... and his eyes alighted briefly on an ancient, faded picture of a cube. Runes etched into the side. He snorted and looked away, image forgotten.

Curious shite, this... arcana.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

When was I going to tell him?

The thought struck Llyr like a dagger to the brain.

Why would I tell him? Why does he think I would tell him? Of course, he thinks I would. We’re friends, yes? That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Is it? Would Watcher tell me? Probably not. Would I tell Watcher? Maybe. Probably not. Why would I bother him with something like that? Why does he want to know? What is he trying to find out? Something, something about… maybe he’s trying to strengthen our bond. That’s why he’s touched me. Right? To feel closer to him? To think him like a… a father? Is that it? He’s not. He’s not my father. Why does he think I’d tell him? Because of our plans? When… when was I going to tell him…

These thoughts occurred within mere trills while Llyr stared down at Kasoria’s clasped hands. He licked his lips, then slowly raised his gaze to look at the other man. The irises of his eyes had turned an ice blue.

Tell him something. Don’t stay silent much longer, otherwise he’ll get suspicious. He might suspect… he clearly doesn’t know. That’s good. That’s good he can’t tell. Very good. Is this wrong of me? Probably. Fates, if he knew. Would he kill me? He can Cross on his own. He’s had to have realized what he can do, who he could be, by now. No, no, don’t think about that. He didn’t even know he was in Viden! He doesn’t even know how to handle this city or these books! He’s too fascinated to realize, at least for the time. Answer his question. Just answer it. It doesn’t matter if it’s true. He won’t be able to tell. Any answer will do. Let his assumption stand. I was going to tell him, wasn’t I? Of course, I was.

“Eventually,” said Llyr quietly after a bit. His gaze flitted away, and he picked up the fallen chair from before. He sat across from Kasoria at the table. The blond looked over the various papers. He sighed and picked up some of the notepapers to look over his scrawled writing. “It is a recent development. I have a new initiate who is located here.”

Why in the fuck did I just tell him that?! Dammit. But could fractures lay on top of each other? What if they could… Which book did I read that case about the fractures that neighbored one another across a valley, the one with the red cover with the clover design on the corner. Could I cross into a fracture somehow? Or are fractures simply what occurs when crossing and it is a perpetual state of crossing rent open between the worlds?

Llyr set down his notes and reached to the nearest stack of books. He took some down, looking over the cover. He paused, then looked at Kasoria. The blond cleared his throat. He looked past the man’s shoulder, then said, “That book…”

He lifted from the chair, leaned over and reached for the book that was past Kasoria. Llyr’s pulse raced. His gaze kept looking between the books and his initiate. His eyes kept changing colors in constant swaps of emotions. He tried to focus on Kasoria, but the Ambrosia wanted him to continue his studies, to focus on what he’d been doing that had caused him to chew on the substance.

Wait, he saw the cube! He saw the sketch… didn’t I tell him about it? I did, didn’t I? No, no, that was Doran. But he saw the cubes in the bedroom already. It’s fine. He can see it. He keeps looking at me though like… like I should say something. What does he want me to say? Who does he want me to be? A boy, he calls me that, he wants me to be a boy still… so… maybe he wants to help me? Maybe he wants to know whether I can be relied on for this plan of his… that’s it. Yes, that is it. He wants to know whether I will have my mind together for the assassination.

“This won’t be an issue for our plans,” mentioned Llyr. He returned to his seat, to set the book on the table between them. “I can handle it.”

Whether he meant the drugs or the hidden life, or both, or more… he let Kasoria decide that for himself.

Don’t let it linger. Say something quick before he can fully work it out and inquire more! Give him something more to chew on. Something that’ll make him forget about us. Something like… not Danny Ray, he’s easy. Too easy. Something that will make things smoother and give him something to do while I research… yes, that is it… tell him of the shadow. Perhaps, he might take care of it too.

“I struggle to find the space to think in Etzos lately, or maneuver without witness. There are shadows who follow me when I’m in Prime,” he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Coming here helps, but you’re from there, you know how it goes, yes? My presence isn’t entirely applauded. Even less so that I’m carving a place for myself.”

“I’ve been followed almost every trial by someone, since I first arrived to Prime. There is always at least one person at my heels, no matter where I go or what I do.” Llyr looked at his nails, absently fidgeting with some amber sap that’d gotten underneath them. He continued in a low voice, “Not too long ago, one of my favored whores was gruesomely murdered at the Lonely Mark. Whoever did it, tried to frame me for the monstrous deed. If it were not for my grasp on the domain of Attunement, and the spark I have of it, I might not have been able to convince the blackguard about my innocence.”

“There is someone who wishes to destroy me, Kas, but they’re taking their time in doing so. I suspect this might not be an Etzori either…”

There, leave it there. That’s all he needs to know. Now be quiet. Let him talk next… What if a fracture could be moved? That would be incredibly dangerous, but it might be possible. Could one return a fracture into Emea? Are they returned... do they belong there? Would it be inversion? Mending? Mending a fracture. One could perhaps stitch a fracture up through… but no, you wouldn’t want to use ether, that would only make it stronger likely. So what works to stitch up ether. If you can suppress ether, but not using something like abrogation-

[Kasoria]

He's lying.

Initiate? Another like me? Who? When?

What book? No issue? Can he be-

Focus.

The word was like a vice around his leg, a snare, a trap forcing his meandering mind to still. This was not productive. Sending his thoughts in a thousand directions, fueled by paranoia and truthful of nothing. He would soon be snapping and snarling at every shadow, every doubt, and could he afford that at this time? When all they'd worked for was so close to fruition? A Marshall was being herded into the killing ground. He could not see the spikes or spears or braying hounds, but that's what was happening. Llyr would close the trap. Kasoria would deliver the final blow. But only if they kept it the fuck together.

Then the Raggedy Man frowned. Something else was coming up. Yet another fly in the... whatever flies dropped into.

Shite. I'll remember that later.

"Heard about the whore inna Mark. Pretty bloody gruesome, 'parrently," Kasoria said, leaning back in his chair, at ease with the topic as he was in his tone. What was one more murder on his tongue, after all? "Y'think it was... 'bout youse?"

“There is someone who wishes to destroy me, Kas, but they’re taking their time in doing so. I suspect this might not be an Etzori either…”

Kasoria nodded but that word had come up again. "Attunement". Something that Sima possessed, apparently. A magic discipline. Something that... allowed mages to feel the thoughts and emotions of others. Not read them like pages from a book but understand them, know them as one would know fear from a scream or joy from a smile. Kasoria had been fascinated, of course... especially when his queries discovered that properly harnessed and directed, the magic could crush a mage's ability to cast just as easily as Abrogation.

And make finding people even easier.

Focus.

The second time, it was easier. How many times had he sat in this chair, with another, uglier, older face opposite him? A problem had come up. Someone needed to go. He'd sat or he'd stood, at a myriad of tables and alleys and bars and doorways and alcoves. Most of the memories were of Vorund now. That craggy face with eyes sharp as obsidian telling him Who and Where, and sometimes Why. That last one was a rarity, though. He did so more for the... flavor, than anything else. Because he knew Kasoria - ever-loyal, unshakable Kasoria - wouldn't go blabbing about the motive. Everyone else just got a Who and How Much.

And here we are again. Just like old times.

"Tell me what yeh can 'bout this... shadow," he said after a while, eyes fixed on the Quacian. Voice low and controlled. The same tone he'd used a hundred times before, as if hushing himself so he'd miss nothing of the intelligence about to be imparted. "An' once I find who it is-" Not if, now how, just when. "-youse want him dead, aye?"

Llyr would hesitate, of course. Not out of some intrinsic innocence or squeamishness, but simply because he'd not been as long immersed in this life as Kasoria had. Kasoria had noticed that Llyr seemed to regard vanquished enemies as useful assets, to be rehabilitated into allies one trial. Mayhap even those that had shed blood in their efforts against him. Kasoria had... quite the different history. You didn't suffer your enemies or hunters to live; you killed them soon and made sure the world knew about it, if the message needed to be sent. Or you killed them quiet and made them vanish and had the mystery of that vanishing be the message. But you didn't leave them alive. You didn't allow even a crippled enemy to crawl back and try to hamstring you. The risk was too great.

So ask the clear question. Get a Yes or a No. Then go hunting again. Because this bullshit is not going to get in our way.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

"Heard about the whore inna Mark. Pretty bloody gruesome, 'parrently. Y'think it was... 'bout youse?"

“I don’t think. I know,” answered Llyr shortly, his tone almost flat except for the slightest tremor of… was it regret? Anger? Something else? Guilt, perhaps. The Raggedy Man couldn’t place it, especially not with how the biqaj’s light blue eyes effectively shrouded whatever emotions were there under a determined layer of unnatural, drug-fueled focus.

“There is someone who wishes to destroy me, Kas, but they’re taking their time in doing so. I suspect this might not be an Etzori either…” Llyr flipped through the pages of the book he’d grabbed. He allowed the other man to consider that, while he looked for the passage about the fractures in the valley.

"Tell me what yeh can 'bout this... shadow."

The blond didn’t need to glance to know that Kasoria had his gaze fixed on him. He heard the hushed tone, and he understood what it meant.

"An' once I find who it is-" Not if, not how, just when. "-youse want him dead, aye?"

Llyr tapped his fingers against the pages, lightly flipping through them. He inhaled slowly, as if in preparation for something. Did he want the shadow dead? Certainly, it’d be the simplest answer to a pervasive annoyance. Yet was a mere annoyance worth execution? Perhaps it was the sort of thing that could be utilized, warped to his purposes somehow. He’d once told someone that he wasn’t like the old world of Etzos. That he wouldn’t leave a trail of bodies to get where he wanted to be. He would rise in status and wealth, through merit not through the common iron-grip judgments on the lives of others who got in his way.

He would be different. He would be a role model for others like him… foreigners but also maybe those who didn’t have the luxury of blood families and silver spoons. He wasn’t like the fortunate souls who had nels already tucked away in the bank before they could even walk. But that didn’t mean he had to resort to what most guttersnipes did, because he wasn’t like them either. Yes, he’d been born on the sea, and likely would’ve been nothing more than a cabin boy… but that wasn’t the same.

Neither was the vicious banditry in the thick of the jungles from where he came, when he’d come to learn the world around him for the first time. How many men and women and other children had he seen get caught in moments of life and death… and it always ended in the latter for them. Only a few exceptions, and he thought about that now. He remembered those images he could never forget, that haunted him when he allowed his dreams to freely play, of strangers' lives stolen, of souls vanished from bodies, of bloody needless murders.

The blond biqaj moved in his seated posture. Discomfort showed obvious on his expression… as if…

…as if…

Llyr turned to the side, without any other warning, and threw up. The bile was frothy liquid, all the water he’d chugged before, only heavy with the color of amber sap. Sweat gathered on his silver skin as a fever spiked immediately in physiological response. Some of the books and parchments on the floor got soaked from the splay, as the puddle spread. Llyr stared for a moment at the watery vomit, then he retched another wave… until there was nothing left to rid his stomach of. He hadn’t eaten, for trials… but there’d been more than enough water to make a mess.

Shaky, skin glistened in sweat, he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. The Ambrosia seemed to heighten in the aftermath, a jittery sensation ran through his nerves, his breath sounded audibly shallow. He returned his attention to Kasoria, his eyes misty with silver color. He said, “If you think it best.”

[Kasoria]

Kasoria did all he could not to smirk. But even his self-control couldn't prevent an arch, satirical raise of an eyebrow. There was no disdain in it, though. No judgement... well, maybe a little, but seeing the troubled look on the man's face drained much of it away. No Bangun Vorund, was this one. At least not when it cam to remorseless ruthlessness. Vorund had been spawned and stewed in the cauldron of Etzos. The backstabbing, the squalor, the filth and the faithlessness. By the time he'd come to manhood, taking a life was not even considered such. It was simple a business transaction; moving a piece off the board; disposing of garbage.

Kasoria had lied to himself in much the same terms, the same euphemisms. What made Vorund different, was that they weren't lies.

That's what gave him power. But that isn't the boy.

"I'll handle it," he said firmly, and left it at that. No more needed to be said or shared or agonized over. "Jus' tell me what yeh know. They human? Man? Woman? Heard any whispers about 'em? If yeh have, from who? I'm a dab hand at trackin', mate, but I need somethin' t'start the trail..."

Kasoria waited and listened as Llyr ran it down for him. All he knew, all he could glean. He was quietly impressed, actually. All Llyr had to go on was rumors, yet he'd been able to run down some interesting leads. Already Kasoria was cross-referencing them against the informants and sources he knew off. Wagging tongues and gossip-peddlers, men he'd known from before, who might still be alive. Their sort always seemed to survive, after all. He packed his pipe as he listened, with good honest Etzori baccy... which for some reason, was also available to him.

Little shit thinks of everything, he thought, lighting it gently and puffing until a slow, solid stream of grey was wafting into the air.

"An' what we got planned?" He nudged gently, seeing the strain threatening to break the Quacian's perfect mask. Like water burgeoning under the surface of a placid pool. "When the time's right, how..."

The words trailed off. Poring over a plan that didn't exist yet would profit him nothing, and only agitate the Quacian. He didn't need Llyr agitated; not even close. He was the blade, but the magical dandy in front of him would be the hand, the eyes, the mouth, and most of the brain. Webb needed to be drawn into the killing round. Kasoria could not do that himself. He needed a shining beacon of perfection and trust to open the door, and usher the Marshal through. Behind it, would be waiting Kasoria.

But not yet. And there's a bigger concern.

"If yeh can't do this, shut it down now, an' I'll find another way." He almost said "someone else", but was astute enough to know how shattering that might be to the Quacian's ego. If he was willing to latch onto Kasoria as a "friend", he surely must be craving some sort of companionship. Such a comment would ruin that, and Llyr was still useful. "I know what Bite does t'folk. Seen 'em make mistakes cuz a' what it does. Can't afford that, wiv' what's comin'."

The Etzori didn't say anything else, when the Quacian looked at him with burning eyes. He just looked down, staring intently at the sickly puddle of vomit. barely any food within it, chunks or pulps or sludge. Just dirty water with flecks of gold and amber in it. He wrinkled his nose minutely; it was hardly the first time he'd been so close to human waste. After a pointed few moments, he looked away, and around. No food anywhere, actually. Little to drink either, save for... well, he could guess.

"Worked wiv' junkied 'afore," he said bluntly, reasoning that while some language was off limits, others was not. Besides, coddling the boy would be suspicious, to say the least. "Don't end well. They fuck up. Can't keep their eyes onna' job. Youse got... all this shite, fuckin' countries away from the Big Rock. An' now yer studyin' so deep into these books y'might as well be a worm. On toppa' all that, yer tryin' t'keep our plan goin' an' got this shadow bitch after yeh, an'-"

Llyr tried to speak, words spewing out as soon as Kasoria took a breath, a dagger through his armor and-

CRACK

The Etzori's hands slammed down on the tabe, palm down. Hard and loud enough to hammer through the air like a slap across Llyr's face. That shut him up. When he looked again, he found Kasoria's merciless features staring back at him... and softening just a hair, just a fraction, like the sun hiding behind a vast and terrible storm.

"We fuck this up, we're both dead. Me an' youse. I ain't gonna let that happen. So... if yer not capable... lemme know. I'll spare yeh that."