Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem or any affiliated places, characters, situations, etc.

Yes, I made Canas's brothers' names up.

Immersion

Erk threw another Fire spell, watching it cut through the thin, cold mist that surrounded them. It was the last one he had in him; his body had been crying out for him to stop and rest for the past hour. He sank back behind the boulder he and Wil were using for cover.

Wil raised an eyebrow. "Nice camouflage," he remarked, a cheery, unconcerned smile on his face, "unless your skin's not supposed to look like that." Erk didn't even have the strength to scowl. That was the most convincing evidence that he'd drained himself severely. Any more time and energy spent spellcasting now would reduce his body to a lifeless husk.

"I have to commune with the spirits. I need to ask them to replenish my body's energies." His voice was disturbingly raspy and weak. "Otherwise I'll be good for nothing, not even defending myself. Can you hold them?"

Wil nodded and slipped his finger guards back on. "Don't dawdle, just take what you need," he warned Erk before sticking his head above the top of the boulder, setting an arrow to the string. He likely made a very attractive target, doing that.

Erk sat down and closed his eyes, forcing thoughts of foolish archers, battlefields and getting shot at from his mind. It wasn't difficult: hearing the voices of the spirits came—had always come—as naturally as breathing to Erk, and soon he was reaching out to the sentience of the world around him, drawing strength and support from the grass, the trees, the air and mist and the soil he sat on.

Take what you need, indeed. The power he gleaned from his surroundings was the power of life itself; he never controlled it, only channeled it. It was indispensable to both his body and his spirit, more essential than other humans, or food, or water. He could never have enough. Erk felt a smile appear on his face as his body welcomed the influx of strength. Wil wasn't a fool, Erk supposed: he simply didn't know what he was saying, couldn't feel or hear what Erk could.

In a way, though, he was right; time here was as precious as Wil's arrows and bowstring, or Erk's energy and spellbooks. Dragging himself away from the spirits, giving them his thanks and appreciation, Erk stood up and dusted himself off. It wasn't quite enough: he was still tired, and a little distracted by the echoes of the chiming, whistling voices. He wasn't exhausted, though, and now he had another few good spells in him. Picking his Elfire tome up, reassured by the energy trapped in its pages, he crouched beside Wil, poking his head over the boulder with all possible caution, looking out over the battlefield.

Nothing was there to be seen, other than a small number of bodies littering the grass and mast. There weren't enough of them. Their assailants were hiding somewhere.

"What are they doing?" he asked, standing up a little more, almost completely straight now.

Wil shrugged and pointed to their left. "They all went off that way. Not a clue why."

Erk frowned. That was odd. They knew it was only a young archer and younger mage attacking them; why were they falling back? They outnumbered Wil and Erk at least three to one. He looked up at the sky, hoping to see Fiora's pegasus circling them protectively. The skies were clear.

Erk's ears bagan to ring: the spirits' voices were chiming urgently. The dry, solid voice of Earth was foremost among them, with the vibrant voice of Flora adding its piece. Shaking his head to clear his ears, Erk looked down. Was something there? He couldn't see anything, but there was a glimmer, there, of movement. What was more, as it intensified, he could feel something barely solid and slick brushing against his bare skin. The sensation made him want to retch, or peel off his skin. Or both.

The ground began to rise in earnest, like gooey muck, rising in pieces before falling back into itself. It kept growing, looking less like goo and more like a goo-shaped void which had no business not being anywhere. Erk knew enough about Elder magic to recognize it below his feet, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Elder magic had more raw power than either Anima or Holy; while Holy magic repelled it with ease and dispelled it, Elder magic ripped Anima apart. Erk was more exposed to it than Wil, too: although Wil's body was unaccustomed to magic, Erk's was more dependent on Anima's presence.

Erk got his shoulder under Wil and shoved the archer upwards with all his strength. "Stay on the boulder!" It took more effort than he'd expected; although Wil and his leather armor were nothing compared to some of the knights, Erk was very little compared to anything other than Nino or Nils. After a couple of tries, he found a foothold on the rock and lifted himself barely off the ground, but couldn't get up beside Wil; the boulder wasn't big enough. He fell back, one foot landing dangerously close to the magic.

"Whoa!" Wil landed on top of the boulder in an undignified heap, clutching at the sides of the rock in terror. Erk lifted his other foot from the ground and braced it against the side of the boulder, wishing Wil would get a grip. If that spell found either of them before it exhausted itself, it would be mean. In the minutes leading up to its exhaustion it would only get stronger and angrier.

To compound things, an arrow ricocheted off the boulder in front of him, barely missing his hand. It had come from behind them. Wil tried to flatten himself, although there wasn't room. Half a second's reconnaisance confirmed they were surrounded. Wil started to clamber off the boulder as another arrow flew past.

"Sit up! Move over! No," Erk added with a shove that nearly unbalanced him, "stay up, but move over!"

Wil continued to try to get down. Either he didn't see the Elder magic below them, or he would rather have taken his chances with it than with the archer attacking them. He really was a fool.

"Fenrir spell!" Erk yelled in his ear. "There's a spell below us!" Wil looked at him in dazed incomprehension for a second before his eyes cleared and he scrambled back onto the boulder, squeezing to one side as much as possible for Erk. Erk got one foot on top of the boulder, with Wil's help, before Wil yelled and let go. He toppled back onto the boulder, an arrow in his shoulder, cursing and yanking the shaft out of his muscle. Erk lost his grip on the boulder and fell into the Flux spell with a frightened yell, just as Wil lunged forward and reached out to catch his hand.

The darkness rushed to cover Erk the instant it felt him hit, trying to crush him within its enveloping blackness. The Anima forces impregnated into his body resisted it, holding him together and driving back the foreign magic, filling Erk's mind with their power to keep the darkness out. The spirits' voices resounded in Erk's ears, led by the crackling, sudden voice of Thunder, the spirit which had presided over his birth and ruled his fortunes. They would not let the darkness have him, they spat, in reassurance as much as defiance. He was their magic-user. Erk let himself be carried on their support for a moment, before collecting the power in his body and forcing it outwards, dissipating the last of the spell.

The darkness vanishing, he found himself smiling in relief; as nasty as that spell had been, whoever had cast it was a rank amateur. He stood up, shaking the last effects of the spell off, staggering as he regained his feet. How much had that taken out of him?

Wil was sitting with his back to the boulder, fixing a rough tourniquet to his shoulder, checking the tightness carefully before getting back up. He didn't notice the swordsman crouching on top of the boulder, ready to lunge in on Wil and cut his fool head off. Why wasn't he paying attention? Was Erk his wet-nurse?

Erk raised his voice in the quickest of his spells, not stopping to assess his body's reserves. There was no time for that; it wasn't as if the swordsman was going to wait politely while he checked. The spell flew from Erk's fingertips, knocking the swordsman off the boulder in a fist-sized flurry of sparks and heat that punched straight through the man's armor and chest, leaving him to flop into the dirt. Once it was gone, Erk became aware of just how much was gone, and stepped back in an effort to stabilize himself, the world swaying and rolling as if he'd just stepped onto Fargus's ship.

Wil looked upwards, startled, and grimaced. "Agh. Shoulda kept my head-- Erk? Erk, you okay?"

Erk managed to shake his head and regretted it: his skull felt overfull and ready to split. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open; even if he did, darkness was creeping onto the edges of his vision, fuzzing his mind, making it hard to think or walk or see. The voices of the spirits were growing further and further away, even Thunder's... but it had been there ever since he'd been born. It couldn't disappear. Couldn't. Was he going to lose his connection to them? Had he gone too far this time?

"Ah-- Can't stay up-- Master Pent--" He'd know what was wrong, as long as Wil could get Erk to him. He'd know how to fix it. He wouldn't leave Erk deaf to everything around him, all the spirits' voices, because he'd understand what they were, what they meant...

Erk fell into darkness.

He woke up in a white tent, its fabric bleached and spelled to maintain its color in the fiercest of storms or the longest of campaigns. Silence reigned in the tent, but not the enforced silence of an infirmary, with hushed whispers and footsteps and rustling of beds. It was more complete than that, enveloping, in a way. Not even wind rustled the fabric stretched above his head.

Lord Pent was kneeling beside him, a Heal staff in his hand, whispering the words to its requisite spell. So Wil had gotten him. That was good; Erk hadn't particularly wanted to die.

Finishing his spell, Lord Pent opened his eyes and saw Erk looking back at him. His face, which had been set in a frown a moment ago, broke into a smile. "Erk!" he said, rather unnecessarily. Erk knew who he was. Lord Pent did as well; they'd known each other for three years. "You're awake! Thank Elimine; I didn't know if you'd ever wake up." What nonsense. Lord Pent was the Mage General, by definition, the greatest mage in Etruria; what couldn't he fix? If Lord Pent was healing him, then it followed that Erk would be fine.

Erk told him so. Lord Pent's face became slightly redder.

"Ahhh... always so much faith in me. If I am so wonderful, then why, when I warned you about draining your resources last week, did I forget to warn you of the effects of Elder magic? That slip just nearly cost you your life." He shook his head, drawing Erk's attention to his hair. It was loose and messy, as if Lord Pent hadn't rested yet at all. Lord Pent met Erk's gaze, seemingly ready to say something else, when he frowned and looked more closely at Erk.

"Erk?" His voice had deepened, and become harder. His eyes bored into Erk's own, their gaze intense. "Erk, something is wrong with you." Erk shook his head.

"No. I am fine; no part of my body is injured." Lord Pent gripped Erk's chin with one hand.

"Your body isn't what I'm worried about. Do you feel odd at all?" Erk shook his head. "Upset? Tired?" He shook his head again. Lord Pent was being quite insistent that Erk was unwell, when it was obvious that he wasn't. Nothing hurt; he could have moved every part of his body without pain. He wasn't inclined to, but it wouldn't hurt if he did.

Lord Pent sat back on the chair beside the cot Erk was lying in. "Erk, what is wrong with you? It doesn't seem like magical exhaustion. That affects the body." He looked up, his movements jerky, as Lucius walked in. The monk took one look at Erk and nodded, smiling.

"He's better; that's good. Lord Pent, we're going to move on now, so..."

"You need to dismantle the tent." Lord Pent finished Lucius's sentence for him. "For which we would all prefer to be outside it. Certainly." He tapped Erk on the shoulder. "Come along. We'll figure out what's wrong with you on the way." Erk didn't move. Why should he? Easier just to lie on the cot and stare at the ceiling. Lord Pent's face appeared in his view.

"Erk. You need to get up. We are leaving the tent now." Why leave the tent? Nothing was wrong with the tent. "Now, Erk. They are going to take the tent down." He was speaking more loudly, and more slowly. The frown had not yet left his face. "Erk, say something, and stop this, or I will call Serra to tend to you." Serra? The pink haired cleric? What significance did that have to anything? Erk said nothing: there was nothing to be said.

Lord Pent stood up and traded a look with Lucius; both seemed surprised by something, and Lord Pent seemed a little worried as well. A tiny voice from far away protested at allowing this; he did not enjoy Serra's company. Serra was the most annoying being on the face of Elibe. Or so the voice said.

Oh well. She would go away eventually. He would simply wait until she did, and everything was left as silent as it had been when he woke up. Nothing worth getting excited over.

Canas felt a warm feeling fill his heart as Nino put the last book away in his trunk. His own son Hugh, while a joy, was not quite old enough yet to inspire such a glow of pride in him, and right now, Canas was enjoying the sensation.

"Was that right, Uncle Canas?" she asked him, smiling when she saw the grin on his own face.

"Exactly, Nino! Exactly right!" He kept his books in alphabetical order: this was the first time Nino had managed to put them away accurately. Talking on Hugh's part was wonderful, but he could sense the feeling of achievement that came from Nino. Just as fine was the feeling that he had helped her, and had some small part in her success, although the accomplishment itself was all hers. She really was a brilliant girl.

He hugged her around the shoulders. "If you keep that up, you'll be reading them all before long!" She grinned even more broadly and jumped a little in delight.

"Do you really think so?"

Canas nodded. "Of course! Why, you could read any book you liked!"

"All the books that Uncle Canas reads," she sang to herself, skipping around the tent. He chuckled to himself before voicing his objection.

"Except his dark tomes, right?"

Nino looked over at him. "What's wrong with your dark tomes? I wouldn't use them up."

He shook his head, his smile fading. "You are a mage, Nino. You commune with nature. You don't use--" He stopped, seeing the Lady Priscilla run by, trying to carry a Mend staff and a Restore staff, nearly dropping one or the other every fourth or fifth step. He stepped out of the tent.

"Excuse me, milady, but you seem a bit flustered. Can I offer assistance?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, Canas. Please do. I would be most grateful. Here," she said, handing him the Mend staff, "take this one. I do not think you have progressed far enough in their study to wield the Restore staff, am I right?"

Canas chuckled and waved the staff at Priscilla. "Since you are the one teaching me their art, I rather think you are the most qualified to judge that, hmmm? Why are you in such a hurry?"

Priscilla looked downwards, her gaze sorrowful. Apparently, someone was hurt. "According to Lord Pent and Brother Lucius, there is something wrong with Erk."

Nino jumped out of the tent, forgetting books, and practically yelled, "Something wrong with Erk? What? Did he receive a terrible wound? Is he near death? Will he be crippled? What's wrong with him!?" She stayed safely close to Canas to ask, clinging onto his sleeve and wringing it between her fingers. Nino was quite fond of Erk, it appeared. Canas hadn't realized before. Feeling some sort of comfort was in order, he put an arm around his niece's shoulders and gave her a small pat. She burrowed into his side, her gaze fixed on Priscilla.

Priscilla frowned. "To be honest, I do not know. Lord Pent says that he is perfectly sound, physically, but that he suffers from some ailment of the spirit. Lucius, however, says that he has studied such ailments in great depth, and that Erk does not show symptoms of any of them." She shook her head and began to walk quickly down the path to the healers' tent. "Come, we should go--"

Canas blinked. This was absolutely fascinating, provided, of course, that young Erk came out of it alright. Otherwise, it would be simply tragic. As he walked, he asked, "Well, what symptoms does he exhibit? I am a scholar; perhaps I have encountered mention of such an ailment."

Priscilla stared at him in surprise, then shook her head, covering her forehead with her hand. "Of course. We should indeed have asked you, Canas. I am sorry that we overlooked you. It is most odd," she said, a worried tone in her voice, "but Lord Pent says that he exhibits no signs of sickness whatsoever. He does not cough, or complain of aches and pains, or descend into despair. He merely lies on his cot, staring at the ceiling."

Canas felt the smile that he had carried all this way disappear off his face as quickly as a flame consumed a scrap of paper. "Merely lies there? Does he do anything? At all?" The urgency in his voice seemed to surprise Priscilla.

She shook her head, then paused. "Lord Pent says that he has spoken twice since he woke up, but that his voice was drained of emotion and interest. He also follows the movements of people he knows well with his eyes, sometimes. He makes no distinction between people he likes and dislikes, however." She took one look at Canas's face and asked, "Do you know what is wrong with him?"

Canas breathed deeply, forcing calmness on himself. "I hope not," he told Priscilla. "But if I do, then I must see him. Hurry," he said, breaking into a jog. Priscilla and Nino hesitated a moment before he heard their footsteps echoing his. Canas had to see the boy, had to see with his own eyes to know. He dearly hoped he was mistaken.

The Erk he knew was a bright, studious, enthusiastic young lad. Perhaps he was a bit untalkative, and, like his teacher, too focused for his own good, but he was-- overall-- pleasant company, and a promising mage. He was not the person Priscilla had just described to him.

Priscilla had, with a great deal of accuracy, just described Canas's three brothers.

Nino followed Canas into the healers' tent against his wishes. Erk was indeed lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling, taking little interest in anyone or anything. Canas took out his monocle, closing his eyes and rubbing them. He could see Achaeus, Haran, Joren: his brothers, all lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling. But they had been shamans, men who had made the choice to walk in the darkness. Not mages... and not so young.

Pent sat by his student's side, tracing Anima's three-circled symbol over Erk's chest in pale, flickering flame. Lady Louise sat on Erk's other side, her hand on his arm. Lucius and Serra spoke in a corner; the tactician was quietly and gently pulling information out of a bandaged Wil, compassion and worry in her eyes. Nino tugged at Canas's sleeve.

"What's wrong with him, Uncle Canas?" she asked, her voice quavering and quiet. Canas placed a hand on her head, passing it through her hair and drawing her closer to him. Her fear and sorrow were all the more obvious for being lodged in Canas's heart as well.

He sighed and replaced his monocle; half the world was fuzzy without it. "Dark magic," he told her, allowing himself to call it by its more common name. It felt more accurate just then. "Do you still want to read my dark tomes?"

She looked up at him and shook her head. "N-no-- I'm happy with the spirits." Frowning, she closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them, they were on Erk. "They want him back," she told Canas quietly. "But he's right there. Why can't they find him?"

Canas looked at her quizzically. "Who can't find him?"

She gave him a confused, surprised look, as if the answer was the most obvious piece of information in the world after grass being green. "The spirits."

Ah. Of course: they had noticed the young mage's absence, the loss of his voice from the communion they shared. She went on, "They say that he's lost. They can hear him calling... but they can't reach him. They can't find him to even try." Some of the weight in Canas's chest lifted. If Anima's spirits could hear the boy, then he was only lost, not gone. He could still be found.

Pent looked up, noticing them, and stood to greet them. His hair was disheveled and dirty; his clothes still carried the scent of smoke and bloodstains from the battlefield. He was no peacock at the best of times, given, but he still looked awful. Lady Louise looked as if she was already grieving, although she was gripping Erk's arm tightly enough to bruise and her eyes held determination in them still.

Canas put a hand on Pent's shoulder as he came to stand behind him. He kept his eyes on Erk, though, and after a moment was rewarded with the sight of Erk turning his own eyes to meet Canas's gaze. That was good: he wasn't lost completely after all. All that remained was to help him find his way back. What that would entail made Canas's mouth go dry. Yet it could not go undone.

"Pent," he asked, as gently as was possible, "do you mind if I sit there? I think I may be able to help him." Pent looked at Canas in utter incomprehension. "Do you remember, Lord Pent, when I told you of my brothers..."

"But he does not use dark magic," Pent replied. "He's a mage, for Elimine's sake..."

"He was hit by it," their tactician interjected. "And it was, what, only about a minute after that that he collapsed, right, Wil?"

Wil nodded, ceasing to chew his lip long enough to answer. "Yeah, then I sent up the signal and Fiora's squad came to get us. They were there right away, so we got him here as soon as we could... That was about five and a half hours ago now." He shifted uncomfortably and murmured something; the tactician shook her head and patted his unbandaged shoulder.

Pent looked up at Canas, his fear obvious in his eyes. "You don't think he's ended up like them?"

Lucius grimaced; he had heard of Canas's brothers as well. "If the dark powers have devoured his soul--"

Canas shook his head. "No, he's looking at me. He's still here, at least a little. If you would let me sit down, I could try to bring him back."

Pent stood up, but gripped Canas's shoulder tightly. "If you can't bring him back, then--"

Louise looked up, her face resolute, if teary. "We will not abandon him. We will care for him until our deaths, if we must." Pent nodded and let go of Canas.

"Good luck, Canas. Please--" He lowered his voice. "Be careful. Don't lose yourself as well. One tragedy is enough for one day." Canas could see the despair in Pent's eyes.

"Do not worry." He smiled a little, thinking of his own son, and amended himself, "Anymore than you must." He lowered his own voice and added, "I know the prison he has entered better than anyone here, Pent. I would not be trying if I thought there was no hope."

Turning around, he spotted Nino, clutching the Mend staff to her chest. He beckoned her over. "Tell the spirits to call him. Get them to call out to him, wherever he is."

"His affinity is Thunder," Pent added, producing a Thunder tome from his bag. "It may have more success than the others." Nino took the tome, stroking it, and nodded.

"Yeah, it's calling him the loudest..." She looked down at Erk, then up at Canas with wide eyes. "Will it really help?" Canas nodded. Nino stood up as straight as she could, actually managing to bend her body over backwards in the effort, and nodded. "Then I'll do my very best, Uncle Canas." Canas ruffled her hair and sat down on Erk's left, in the seat Pent had vacated. Nino took one last look down at Erk before walking over to a corner of the tent to concentrate on the spirits.

He gathered up his will and the words of his spells before he began to chant, dimly aware of Pent sitting down next to Louise, across the cot from him. The darkness rose at his summons, silent and powerful, promising secrets, wonders, all the knowledge that time had ever brought to man. What its depths concealed, what its silence masked... Canas felt the urge to know, now as ever, as in all he did.

This was a call he heard nearly every day, and yet it affected him as deeply as it had the first time he'd opened a dark tome. He knew the silence he experienced from it would be nothing to the silence he would find if he gave himself over to it, and yet... One day, he knew, he would probably follow that call, just to experience the other side, and never return, simply lying on a bed every day, doing nothing, saying nothing, eating when forced to and lying in his own filth, watching the same ceiling and never being bored, because what would there be to bore? An empty husk that resembled the scholar Canas, a painful burden to his wife and son.

But he would not succumb to that today-- nor would Erk, if he had any say in the matter. This was not a time for curiosity. He pushed the darkness back, arming himself with what he had: Pent's sorrow, Louise's determination, Nino's affections, Wil's anxiety, and the sharp, practical, considerate bark of the tactician as she ushered everyone but himself, Nino, and the Lord and Lady Wrigley out of the tent.

Forcing the darkness out of his heart, he strode into its own, searching for a lost young mage.

It wasn't dead here: that implied the past presence of life. It was simply an empty nothing: not even a surface to stand on. Not even a body to stand with. This non-place absorbed places, intercepted them and swallowed them whole, letting them disappear from all the planes of existence for eternity.

It had intercepted Erk.

Not that it cared, of course. Nothingness wasn't capable of caring. He felt like a bug that had fallen into the belly of some great beast, waiting to dissolve.

Sensation did penetrate the darkness from time to time, though: he could hear Master Pent's voice, or Nino's, or he felt a cool, gentle sensation against his skin which could only have been Lady Louise. Flashes of dim, half-seen color, like spots left on his vision by the sun, were the spirits, calling, just barely audible, even Thunder's furious snapping. Again and again he called back to them, trying to make his own voice loud enough to cut through the surrounding blackness, but no answer ever came. There was only the emptiness and the silence, and, every moment, less and less of Erk.

"No." A voice appeared in the void, muffled and indistinct, despite the fact that it should have rung out in the silence like a bell. With the voice came Canas, appearing patchily in front of Erk. Staying silent in disbelief, Erk wondered why Canas—if he was here—wasn't losing his mind. Erk felt very close to losing his.

"No?" he asked, shocked by how much of his own voice was absorbed by the surrounding darkness, surprised he could speak at all. "How'd you..."

"Know?" Canas shook his head sadly. "Of course I know. Do you think my magic is called 'dark' for no reason?" He spread his hands. "This is the root of Elder magic, the existence that is no existence, the one that we experience before we enter life and, thankfully, do not remember." He laid a hand on Erk's shoulder. "Every time I cast magic, this is what I manipulate.

"Your magic," he told Erk, his gaze unsettlingly intent, "is rooted in the life that is now, in every facet and sensation of the existence we are born into. Return to it." A simple thing, as words. There was no sign of a passage; how had Canas come here? Shaman magic. It was all well and good for him to say, "just leave." Erk's roots had been torn apart.

He sighed: it would not be right to take his frustration out on Canas. "I have been trying to--"

Canas shook his head. "You can't walk through this as if it were merely an underground cave, Erk. Dispel the darkness. Push it back. You need only a strong will. Remember, it doesn't care if you leave." Yes... yes, that made sense: it didn't care if he was here, so it shouldn't care if he wasn't here either. Canas held out his hand. "Are you coming?"

Erk hesitated, wondering, then nodded. He would find the will. He'd dispelled the darkness on the battlefield, too: he could do it here. He took Canas's hand, as if he were a tiny boy following his elder brothers to the town square. He didn't want to get lost, as silly as it seemed to let himself be guided again. Canas smiled reassuringly and Erk managed a tiny, weak, strained smile back.

He followed the shaman back to the world of life and death, Erk's world, where he could feel his own heartbeat and the whispers of the spirits in the wind.

The blackness shifted slowly to white, clearing and fuzzing alternately as it did so. It was an odd sensation. Erk blinked a few times, hoping it would clear his vision, and gradually got used to the feel of his own body again (Why did his arm hurt so much? Nothing else hurt.). There were people around him, one on his left, with a hand resting on Erk's chest, and two on his right, one of whom was holding onto his hand and getting it wet by crying on it. He smiled. Lady Louise was so very sentimental. He lifted his head and looked at her; she was crying on his hand, indeed, and Lord Pent was holding her around the shoulders, staring at the floor. There was a relieved sigh from his left, and the hand on his chest disappeared. Canas. Of course it was.

Turning his head, he met Canas's eyes, receiving a gentle, reassuring nod from him for the effort as the shaman replaced his monocle. The spirits were practically screaming at him, they were so excited. Thunder, in particular, was being so insistent that he doubted he'd be able to understand anything that was said to him. In the corner, a huddled mass of blue cloak stood up and stared at him in joy: Nino. He managed a smile for her and she bolted across the room, landing on him with her arms around his neck. Startled, Master Pent jerked his head up and met Erk's eyes.

For the first moment he simply stared, his mouth spreading into a grin. Then: "Erk!" and it was Lady Louise's turn to hug him and cry even more. Nino was bouncing up and down on his cot and yelling something or other at him, while Master Pent babbled on about something else and Lady Louise simply cried on him, slipping into laughter now and again. Wil, Priscilla, Sain and Heath were in the tent next: apparently the guard for the tent, attracted in by all the noise. The rest of the army appeared to have continued on without them.

Canas patted Erk on the shoulder silently and left after a minute of all the fussing.

It was a full week before Louise left Erk alone long enough for him to have a private word with Canas. He made sure Nino was elsewhere before he went in, prompting an exuberant welcome from Canas and an instant offer to make tea. Erk declined politely and stood there in an awkward silence before finally blurting out, "Do you go into that every time you cast magic?"

Canas's smile faded and he leaned back against one of the tent supports. "No. Not that deeply, anyway. I let it inside me, and I hear its tempting little whispers. I have never gone willingly into the darkness itself before, but the temptation to submit is always very great."

Erk processed this information for a moment. Canas had been as unused to that as Erk himself? Better prepared, yes, but still, he had risked a great deal. "Aren't you afraid of it?"

Canas chuckled. "Yes, as any sane person would be. Aren't you afraid that someday you'll over-exert yourself and drain your body completely?" Erk frowned; of course he was. If he didn't accidentally starve himself first, studying for days on end.

"But, then, if you fear it, then why did you come after me? You might have wound up trapped, cut off from everything in life, or-- just gone--" Canas took two steps over to Erk and laid a hand on his head, brushing Erk's hair out of his eyes. The intensity of his gaze silenced Erk instantly.

"Because that is not your fate, boy," he told Erk quietly. Canas bowed his head, eyes half-closed, his smile sad and small. "That was never to be your fate..." His hand fell away as his voice faded. Considering Canas's words, Erk thanked him again and left, closing the tent flap behind him. He could feel the sun and the wind on his skin, smell the fresh odour of newly rained-on earth, hear the spirits' voices chorusing all around him. It was enough, for a moment or so, to stand there and experience it all. Before returning to his duties, he promised himself he would be more careful in the future. He owed it to everyone who'd helped him escape that place-- more than that, he owed it to them to enjoy more what he'd nearly lost. He had studies to complete, and staff theory to research, and all the other things that always kept him inside. All the same, though, spending time outside, connected to the spirits, was studying as well.

The day was a fine one, after all. He could imagine nothing better, just then, than to immerse himself in it.

~Wow, it's been a while since I've been here... Anyway. I wrote this months ago, and I found it on my hard drive recently, so I polished it up and now I present it to you. Response of any kind is appreciated; I'm not displeased with this, but I'd be an idiot if I didn't admit to being a little rusty-- I haven't written anything in a while. Thank you for your time and attention.

Sagewolf out.