Aaravos pulls a piece of parchment to him, carefully drawing out the ward lines of the tower with a piece of thin charcoal. Aaravos knows the lines by heart now, delicate and yet intricately woven, strong with the magic of more than twenty mages.
"These are the wards," Aaravos says quietly, "Drawn by some of our most powerful mages, they prevent my leaving. Wards are...not quite battle lines, as you might see on the field, but shields, barriers and the like. They may serve as warnings or alarms if needed. However, if drawn in the way they are here, they serve as confinement rather than protection."
Callum studies them. "They don't look very strong though, they're really thin."
"They look weak," Aaravos murmurs. "I assure you, little najima, they are anything but. The key to dismantling the wards, is to know their casting rituals. Failing knowing that, then it is to counter the intent with which they were cast and laid down."
"Do you know the rituals?" Callum asks.
"I do not," Aaravos says, though he has made a haphazard guess before, much to his sorrow. "I was unconscious while the Council's mages wove my prison, only to be awakened before my sentence was carried out. I was as weak as a child, nearly drained of my magic, and still they feared me."
Callum is quiet, "So our other option is to counter the intent?"
"Correct," Aaravis says. "I would recommend Sky as your source, for it is freedom, and that is what you seek."
It is also the first Source that Callum reached for, when he was learning on his own. A mage's first source was always their strongest, and Aaravos mourns that Stars was not the first one that his son reached for.
Aaravos will always be the strongest with Stars, whereas Callum will always be strongest with Sky. It is merely the way of things.
"All wards stem from an anchor, a focal point where the wards are the strongest. When I...attempted my escape, I aimed for one of the farther points, where the power was weaker."
It had helped that time, that Sarai had been there, a blind spot that the wards did not seem to notice. Aaravos pauses, wondering.
Was Callum a blind spot as well?
He had to be, the wards would have reacted otherwise. Casting from a blind spot, Aaravos thinks, that could be…yes
"The wards are anchored to the rune circle in the study," Aaravos says quietly. "But I would not cast from there. The wards are at their strongest at the center, here," he taps the spot gently with his charcoal stick.
The wards have actually shifted over time, and the disastrous escape attempt had only further tightened their intricate weaving. Aaravos studies the wards he's drawn out, trying to pinpoint the weakest part.
"Perhaps here," he says, circling a small section, "or here."
"Is there a way to see them? Like visibly?" Callum asks, frowning over the sketch.
Aaravos hums softly, considering and reaching out, silently asks the Stars to illuminate the threads of power that keep him captive here.
Thin strands appear, one by one, forming a glittering spider's web that envelops the tower, vanishing through the stone to anchor to the rune circle in the study.
They are still beautiful, Aaravos thinks, as all deadly things are.
"Oh," Callum breathes, "they're like strands of starlight, like Omma's cloak."
Omma, Aaravos knows, is the Goddess of Fate, lover of Jahara, the Warrior Goddess whom Sarai had said had created the world. It was said that Omma stood guard over Jahara while She slept and would one day awaken the goddess when the time came for the world to begin again.
"Omma's cloak was also woven from darkness as well as starlight," Aaravos says, "and on the nights when there is no moon, it is said that Omma has cast Her cloak over the moon to hide its light, and test the faith of the creations of Her beloved Jahara."
"You know the story then?" Callum asks.
"I know many stories, abnay," Aaravos says. "I learned that one when I was younger. Katolisian traditions are not unknown to me."
Callum seems to ponder that for a moment, "So did you hear it from Elarion? Was she from Katolis? Or what became Katolis?"
"She was from what would have become Katolis, yes," Aaravos says. It is merely chance that it was so, but for now, the half-truth will do.
Callum nods, accepting this.
Aaravos wonders if he will have the strength to speak of the truth to Callum, to sweep away this web of half-truths and lies. He is afraid of Callum's reaction, in all honesty, and so very afraid of being abandoned and left alone.
Perhaps his fears are foolish, and his son will not pull away and reject him, but despite the advice that Aaravos had once given Callum, he cannot follow through with it himself.
Years in solitude have left their mark, and though Aaravos has managed to hide it relatively well, he is on shaky footing mentally now, the darker parts of his mind speaking more often than he'd like.
The corruption is increasing; he's seen its mark, the constellation that once spanned his shoulder blades is missing, the stars blotted out, leaving blank skin behind. Cold numbness weaves up his spine, settles across his shoulders like a cloak.
He can't feel hardly anything there, only the faintest of pressures.
"If the wards are anchored," Callum says, pulling his attention back to the present, "then couldn't they be untied? Like, an anchor is tied to a rope, right? So if you want to get the rope back, you have to untie the anchor. In a way, you're freeing the rope or the anchor, so maybe all I need is a spell to untie a rope."
For a moment, Callum thinks he might have accidentally broken Aaravos.
The man seems almost frozen in place.
"Stars, is it really that simple?" Aaravos asks quietly, disbelief plain on his features. "It couldn't have been that easy, could it?" and there is such grief that crosses his face, such abject agony, that Callum must look away.
And something clicks for Callum, another piece of the complex and intricate puzzle that is Aaravos.
He's spoken of a wife before, Zahrati, and the grief Callum sees now is identical to the look that he'd seen on Aaravos's face when he'd spoken of her.
A disastrous escape attempt..."It did not end well. I was badly injured and part of the tower was destroyed in the attempt," Aaravos had said, expression pained.
"I remember now," Aaravos had said, tears gleaming down his dark face, "I was wed once, to a young woman who was kind and fierce. And I remember that she was lost to me."
"I forgot her, how could I have forgotten her? She was like spring, sweeping away the darkness of winter."
A head injury would certainly explain memory loss...
"You...weren't alone in here when you tried to escape that first time, were you?" Callum says, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
Aaravos flinches but shakes his head. "I was not. My Zahrati, s-she was here with me for a time. Together we found a way through the wards and managed to open a portal out. My wife made it through; I did not. The wards exploded before I could reach her and I made the decision to shield her rather than myself...I know little of what became of her after...save that she died saving another's life..."
He pauses and sighs shakily, "The wards became much tighter after the explosion."
Aaravos is silent for a long moment, and Callum can see how he is struggling to maintain calm, though he does at last manage it.
"fak khayt," Aaravos murmurs and the air shivers once, a sense of foreboding skittering down Callum's spine. "It is the spell you will need to begin unraveling the wards. One thread at a time, Sihr, for I fear to go any quicker would be disastrous."
"How many threads are there?" Callum asks, looking down at the ward diagram.
"42," Aaravos says, "though it looks like more due to how they loop around each other. These type of wards are called spider's web wards, because of how they appear as a spider's web. This one was woven by more than twenty skilled mages, five of whom were Archmages."
"Could you tell me which threads are the Archmages?" Callum asks.
Aaravos hums softly, and Callum watches as his mentor's eyes flare white with power and then twenty eight lines of the wards that Callum can see above them light up in various colors.
"The blue is Elleth, the red Canna, yellow Samos, violet Ladwyr, and green Phyris. Canna was the strongest after me, so she led the effort, and the wards bear more of her power than the others. Six of us there were once, the brightest of our people, and we allied together, one Archmage from each of race of elves.
Ladwyr was closest to me, and I taught her how to reach the Startouch Arcaneum; in return she taught me how to use Moonshadow Arcaneum. Though I had already reached it before, I struggled with that Source, and having someone who knew from birth how to use it helped."
"She was a Moonshadow elf then?" Callum asks.
"Yes. Ladwyr was close in age with myself and Samos, we were among the youngest of the Archmages. Phyris was the eldest, and they remembered the world when it was first formed, still green and new.
Canna and I never got along. She was a Sunfire elf, and as loud and brash as a volcanic eruption. It was she, I think, who discovered my teaching magic to Elarion and brought it to the council's attention.
Ladwyr knew of it, but never said a word. Her wards," Aaravos gestures towards the violet lines, "are filled with a sorrow so deep that is clings to each strand. I do not think she cast those willingly or at the very least cast them under intense pressure."
"Do you think that I should start with hers first?" Callum asks, "If she didn't cast willingly, then they should be more...um...wanting to be free?"
Aaravos hums softly, clearly thinking, his gaze distant.
"Yes," he says, "Yes, I think that is a good idea, Sihr."
Callum looks up at the violet threads and imagines reaching out to touch one, seeing it as a simple knot, needing only a small tug to pull free.
"fak khayt," Callum says, imagining the knot come loose, seeing it fall away. One thread vanishes, a distant clap of thunder echoing as it does.
Aaravos gasps.
Callum looks over to see his mentor's hands pressed to his mouth, eyes wide. There are tears trickling down his cheeks.
"Keep going, abnay," Aaravos breathes.
Callum looks up to the wards, finding the next violet strand, visualizing it coming loose, watching it vanish in another thunderclap. Ladwyr's wards number only four in total and they all fall to Callum's spell.
"Okay," Callum says, grinning, "Which one is next?"
"Try Samos's. The yellow threads," Aaravos says, his voice hushed. "Be careful, Sihr."
Callum reaches out to the yellow threads, and one by one, they vanish. There is a tingle along his skin, making the hair on his arms stand up, as if a thunderstorm is coming.
Thunder booms louder, lightning flaring through the gathering clouds.
It's working. Callum grins despite the growing unease that sits in his stomach.
"The blue next?" Callum asks, already reaching out for the glimmering threads, tugging one free and then there is a sharp crack from the other end of the balcony as a stone planter shatters, shards of rock hurtling past Callum as a gleaming arcane barrier forms around them.
Another planter shivers and cracks in two, a hurricane whirling into being around the tower.
Aaravos's arms tighten around Callum, holding him close.
"Wake up, my little najima," he whispers, and the words are a half-sob. "Wake up."
And the world explodes into searing white light-
A/N: As ever, a big thank you to Moondancer5813 for all of her help! The next chapter should be up sometime within the next two weeks. Thank you all for your patience and support!