"You thought he was dead?" Callum asks as Samos hands Ladwyr a handkerchief.
"Why then did Canna release you?" Samos asks Ladwyr. "If not all the wards have fallen?"
Ladwyr hiccups, wiping at her eyes. "I don't know."
"Maybe she does feel guilt after all," Samos muses. "I too felt my wards fall, and believed the same."
"You said you took down the wards," Ladwyr says, looking at Callum with bright, still tear-gleaming eyes. "How?"
Callum winces. "So, the wards are like threads, all looped around each other and tied to an anchor. I figured, why not just untie the threads? So I did."
Both Archmages are gaping at him.
"The amount of power alone," Samos begins.
"It took what, 20 some mages, including the Archmages, as well as the Lady Altumanina and Lord Albard?" Ladwyr asks her companion.
"At least," Samos confirms, looking over Callum with a new interest. "And you just untied both of our wards within the prison."
"And got himself stuck for a few days," Rayla says.
"Hey, I got out," Callum defends himself, as Zym crawls out of his arms to wander over to Rayla.
"With help," Rayla emphasizes, patting Zym's head when he curls up in her lap, yawning widely.
"How…?" Samos begins to ask, then pauses, shaking their head, "Okay, so you took down our wards, then got stuck?"
"Yeah," Callum says, "Well, things started shaking, and everything went white and I was in a star-tower, and then I found Aaravos, well, more like separate parts of his personality, but at different ages. They said they got lost and I sort of helped to guide them back to where they were supposed to be, though we did run into a bit of trouble with...uh...corruption."
"The human Elarion left behind Dark magic when she attacked Aaravos, and it infected him, festering like an untended wound. Left alone it would swallow him, turning what was once our beloved Paragon into something wicked and terrible to behold," Samos says grimly.
"I uh, purified it, I think?" Callum says, "Or at least stop the spread for a bit."
The Archmages are gaping at him again.
"How?!" Samos and Ladwyr cry as one.
"Both myself and the Lady Altumanina tried to purify it when Aaravos was first found, with little success," Ladwyr says, "the Lady is most skilled in healing but the Darkness rebuffed even her magic."
"Lady Altumanina?" Callum asks.
"Aaravos's mother," Ladwyr says. "The grand-daughter of the last Startouch Archmage, the Ever-Bright Rahma, who is called the Miracle-Bringer."
"Oh shit," Callum swears, and he can feel his ears turning red.
"What. Did. You. Do?" Rayla says lowly.
"Nothing, really," Callum says, "I just...went wandering into her...uh...dream-space...she was pretty nice...we talked a little, um..."
Rayla drops her head into her hands, shaking it slightly, "Why...why are you like this, Callum?"
"I didn't mean to wander," Callum says helplessly. "I can't control where I go when I dream usually."
"You've gotten us into the tower before," Rayla says.
"Well..." Callum pauses. "Maybe it's a blood thing? Alab said, Blood calls to blood, and blood answers."
"It is true," Ladwyr says, "your magic is carried in your blood and it is your soul and your life. Your magic called to the Lady's and that alone would draw you to her."
"I..." Callum says, suddenly lost for words, "I've never had a grandmother before. Mom's parents died long before I was born..."
He has a grandmother…
"I didn't exactly tell her the truth about me," Callum says slowly. "She might think that my mom was Startouch rather than my dad….she seemed really sad, actually."
"The Lady has been in seclusion since Aaravos's banishment," Ladwyr says, "The Lord Albard fell ill soon after the banishment and despite the lady's skill in healing, he passed to the stars within a year."
"Oh," Callum says faintly.
"So," Samos says after a moment, "You've taken down our wards, which leaves Canna, Phyris, and Elleth's wards remaining. Aaravos's prison is twofold, after all, the wards being the first line of protection, with the backup of fire-based explosions."
Callum winces. "Yeah, that's what happened when Mom got out."
"I remember feeling the tugging at the wards years ago," Samos says, "It was clever even if it ultimately failed."
"Even if we are able to break the wards, we still need the Key," Ladwyr says, her gaze pensive.
"This key?" Callum asks, pulling the Key from his pocket.
Samos blinks slowly. "Should I just expect you to start pulling ancient secrets out of your pockets now?"
"Dunno, what are you missing?" Callum asks cheekily.
Ladwyr exchanges glances with Rayla, asking a question in Moonshadow elvish that Callum doesn't understand.
"You have no idea," Rayla replies. "He's usually not this bad."
Ladwyr smiles. "His father was much the same in his youth."
Callum flushes, turning the Key over in his hands.
"That was what we felt," Samos says, realization dawning on their face, "the whirlwind."
"Yeah, I had an idea as to how to open it," Callum says, "Though I don't think it quite worked the way I wanted it to."
"Oh, it worked," Samos says. "There's a secondary spell on it."
"An insidious design," Ladwyr says with sudden venom, "tied to blood. For Aaravos's family had turned away from him and he had no children to carry on his lineage."
"Blood..." Callum murmurs, studying the Key, tracing the edges of the side of Stars. "Hey, Rayla…"
"What?" Rayla asks, squinting at him, suspicious.
"Can I borrow your knife?"
It is strange, Aaravos thinks, to be speaking with his honored mother once more, despite the pain and years that lie between them now.
His mother is alone, his father having passed to the stars soon after his banishment, and he knows that no one has stepped into the role of Archmage for their people. The world has become darker, humanity surging forwards despite the divide that stretches across Xadia, a physical scar that bubbles with lava, guarded at all times by the Sunfire elves on one side, and humanity's Katolis on the other.
Aaravos realizes suddenly that his son is very much a bridge between elves and humans, having lived with Sarai in Katolis, raised in her peoples' customs. And though Callum is only now learning Startouch customs and culture, he is learning quickly.
"My son? You seem distracted," his mother says.
"You have given me much to think about, 'umi," he says softly.
"As have you," she says, "I am sorry, my son, that I didst not pause to think over all that thy hath said afore, regarding humanity. I allowed others to speak above me, when my first instinct should have been to question and to speak in thy defense."
Aaravos closes his eyes, breathes out, reaching for earth for strength and calm.
"Yes," he says at last and his voice does not tremble. He will not let it.
Lady Altumanina is studying him thoughtfully when he opens his eyes again.
"Thou hath learned control of thy temper, I see."
"When one has an eternity to consider one's mistakes," Aaravos says, "Breaking things every time one is angry starts to get a little boring."
She raises one pale eyebrow at that, her star-moth fluttering down from her head to settle on her hands.
He wishes briefly for 'ahmar but they are gone, remaining in Viren's keeping for the time being. How Aaravos longs to reach across the worlds to take them back, but he no longer has the power.
"Thou know that I hath taught few elves in my time," his mother says, "But I believe that I wilt accept another apprentice in time. Though I must finish Calthion's training before I take another under my wing."
"Calthion?" Aaravos asks, barely remembering a small child with bright eyes and silvery hair.
"My current apprentice," his mother says, "They are adept in the healing arts, and wilt undergo their Trial in the fall."
"And you've already plans to take another apprentice?" Aaravos asks.
"Yes," his mother says, "They found my dream-space not long ago. Rather polite young elf, very keen on learning."
There is a nagging sensation at the back of Aaravos's mind.
"They are called Sihr," his mother continues.
Aaravos winces.
"Is there a problem?"
"It depends," Aaravos says slowly, "How well canst thou keep a secret?"
His mother smiles, sharp as ice,"Very well. I suppose it surrounds this youngling who bears both mortal and elven blood?"
Aaravos sighs, dropping his head in his hands.
His son has already met his grandmother...Stars above be praised, how is this his life?
"No," Rayla says firmly. "I'm not using my blades on a friend."
"It'd be a small cut," Callum argues. "It's not that bad."
"Callum, I don't want to hurt you," Rayla says.
"You won't."
"But I will know that your blood will be on my blade," Rayla says seriously. "It is ill luck for a weapon to bear the blood of a sworn friend, even if it is temporary."
"She is right," Ladwyr says. "Such is our teachings of those who walk the path of silent blades. Even if they are un-blooded in the art of stealthy killing."
"Is it that obvious?" Rayla asks.
"Word reached us of the mission's failure, and I do not sense the coldness of a killer in you," Ladywr murmurs.
Rayla winces.
"Not all are made to walk the path of silent blades," Ladwyr consoles. "Some may walk the path of the righteous protector, those blessed by Nemrii's grace who act as guardians of those who cannot protect themselves."
Rayla blinks, "Wouldn't I have to attend temple?"
"If you wished to fully devote yourself to Her teachings and the path of guardianship, yes," Ladwyr says. "You will be able to return home, without dishonor, for you have brought the Dragon Prince back to us, despite the mission's failure. Ethari would welcome you gladly. Any returning family is better than none at all."
There is stark grief on Rayla's face, tears welling up in her bright eyes.
Callum leans over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and she leans against him, wiping at her eyes.
"Yeah, I can see that," Rayla sniffles.
Ladwyr shuffles closer, resting her hands on Rayla's head, a faint glow emanating from her.
"In you, I see such promise," she says and there is a chime to her voice that speaks to something Else.
Samos's eyes are wide, and they press their hands to their mouth as Ladwyr continues to speak.
"A child born of protectors, raised by those who walk in shadow, who has brought back the light of the dragons. In you, there is a will of iron, forged in the fires of the trials that you have faced so far. When you are ready, come to the temple. I, Nemrii of the Moon's Shadow, await you."
Ladwyr blinks and seems to come back to herself, hands drifting back to her sides.
"Nemrii spoke through you," Samos gasps.
"Did She?" Ladwyr asks, bemused.
Rayla nods. "I think She did."
"Are the gods returning to us?" Samos wonders.
"If the elven gods are returning, what about the human gods?" Callum asks.
"...I don't know," Samos says, "our gods have long been absent from the world. It is Their leaving that began the age of Earth, and ended that of Sky. Once our gods walked among us, spoke with us and gave us Their blessing. We have been without Their guidance for a long time."
"Do you think it is because of the Dark magic that They might return?" Ladwyr asks.
"Dark magic has become a terrible threat," Samos muses, "Maybe They are returning for that purpose?"
They slip a small penknife from their pocket and hand it to Callum.
"You were looking for a knife?" they ask softly.
"Oh, yes," Callum says, pushing away all of his questions, he can ask them later.
He carefully pokes his thumb, allowing a tiny drop of blood to well up, as he wipes the knife clean on his shirt sleeve before handing it back.
The Key is still glowing faintly and Callum carefully turns it so the side of Stars is upright.
"Here goes nothing," he mutters and swipes his bleeding thumb across it.
By the time Aaravos has finished his explanation, his mother seems caught between exasperation and amusement.
"Thou...only thou, my son, could have ever conceived of such a contradictory child," she says.
"In my defense, part of that is very much his mother's influence," Aaravos says.
"I am glad, that thou found some measure of happiness with another," Lady Altuamanina says, "Even if I wouldst wish that thou and Archmage Ladwyr might have bound thy lives together."
"In another world we might have," Aaravos murmurs. He had spoken of Ladwyr to Sarai, during those long nights when they would lie awake for hours and talk to each other of family and love.
He still loves Sarai, he always will, and he still loves Ladwyr, but any chance of that love blossoming would require healing on both sides. As well as escape from this prison.
He is not well, that he knows, and he may not ever be quite as well as he was before, but acceptance of that and healing what he can must be done before he would ever approach Ladwyr with an offer of courtship again.
But, he thinks, she is still trapped in the hell of a living ghost. She might awake, if indeed she could, a shattered wreck of an elf, the merest wisp of her former self.
The thought of her staring eyes, blank and unknowing, makes him shiver.
"The Lady Ladwyr is ever in the presence of the Archmage Samos," his mother says, "They art her staunch protector, as they hath been these last thousand years."
"Then she is at least well protected," he says.
"Few wouldst dare risk Samos's wrath," his mother says, "They hath come into their power, and the winds art theirs to command."
Aaravos smiles, remembering how Samos had been hesitant at their first meeting, newly come to their position. But to hear that they had grown so...it makes him glad.
His mother's image shimmers.
"Ah," she says, a rueful smile on her lips. "It appears that I must awaken. No doubt Calthion worries that I am ill for I do not sleep so long normally."
"Fare thee well, 'umi," Aaravos says, "We shall speak again."
"We shall," his mother agrees, and vanishes.
Aaravos waves the water back into the scrying bowl, leaning back against the railing of the garden, tilting his head up to watch the stars twinkling overhead.
What a strange evening, he thinks, shaking his head in amusement, before he turns and walks into the study.
The Key shivers, the dark red of Callum's blood vanishing into its surface.
It seems like the world itself is holding its breath, waiting to see the result.
A soft click echoes, and the Key splits in half, sides dropping away to reveal a glowing, white, four-sided diamond.
"The Heart of Aaravos," Ladwyr whispers. "I thought it had been lost to the sea?"
"I guess not," Callum says, eyeing the diamond, wide-eyed. "This is the power he lost?"
"What Elarion stole, yes," Samos says softly. "We all thought it lost to the sea, or consumed with whatever Dark magic Elarion had used."
"Callum, can you carry objects through to the tower?" Rayla asks. "We need to get that back to your dad, yeah?"
"I think I can," Callum says, and he can feel the magic that courses through the Heart, it's like holding a miniature sun in his hand, and Callum thinks that it is only because of his blood that the Heart doesn't burn him.
He can free his father.
"Well, you've gotten me and Zym there," Rayla says, and Zym chirps in agreement from her lap where he's been half-dozing for most of the conversation.
"But we don't take our bodies there," Callum says, eyeing the Heart, "It's more of an astral-projection thingy."
"Power such as this," Ladwyr says, "transcends dimensions; there should be no trouble in crossing over."
"Then we can get Alab's heart back to him," Callum says, grinning at Rayla.
"Yea," she says, "we can."
Aaravos is halfway across the study when he hears it. A low whisper, dark and cloyingly sweet, that echoes, cold and chilling.
Aaravos can find no source of it; he is alone. But the weight of magic, strong and Dark hangs heavy in the air.
The whisper comes again, sharper this time and it tugs at Aaravos, harder now, like a knife in the ribs.
He can taste iron in his mouth, and sudden clarity comes to him.
The Star-worm.
Aaravos reaches out to the worm, to Viren.
What are you doing?! Aaravos snarls.
What I must, is the answer he receives and then he feels the connection stretch, and stretch and—
snap.
The star-worm is a part of Aaravos, and its brutal death arches through him, a lightning bolt of agony that makes him scream. Blood splatters the stones as he coughs, falling to his knees.
The world becomes a dizzying spiral around him as a voice speaks, harsh and distorted, draining his magic away as water through a sieve.
There is blood on the stones, and blood on his hands, turning the faint glow of the runic circle to a lurid crimson. Aaravos can't even form words to counter the spell, blood is thick on his tongue, turning his words into wet, reddened syllables that gurgle in his mouth, unable to get free.
But he forces the words out, begging the Stars to at least shield his Sihr, his child from this,
"himayatan abnay , hayth la 'astatie-" he gasps and collapses, reaching out to the rapidly blurring symbol of the Stars, and the world turns gray and dark and so very, very cold—
There comes the sudden sense of warmth, as if someone has hugged Callum tight and the scent of flowers, fresh parchment and incense fills his nose for but a moment, and then is abruptly gone, and he feels rather as if a snowball has been dropped down the back of his shirt, an almost painful cold.
And there is a voice, a cry that rattles him to his core, "Protect him where I cannot-"
"Callum?!" Rayla is grasping his shoulders. "Callum, what's wrong? You're as white as snow!"
"Something's happened-!" Callum gasps, "I can feel it. Something's wrong with Alab!"
"Something's happened in the tower?" Ladwyr asks.
"Can you put us all to sleep?" Callum asks her, "I think we all need to go."
Ladwyr nods, "I can," she looks to Samos, "You might want to get comfortable."
Samos sighs, nodding, murmuring a few words that add a weight to the air that makes Callum's skin crawl, but he shoves the feeling aside.
He needs to see his father.
He closes his eyes to the sound of Ladwyr's chanting and opens them a moment later.
They are standing in the tower, Rayla at Callum's side, Ladwyr and Samos flanking.
The air is still, as if time is frozen, the room utterly quiet, the silence heavier than anything Callum has ever felt. Every breath he takes is a leaden weight, and Callum can taste iron on his tongue, tinged with a darkness he has touched once before.
The Dark magic has reached even here, to the heart of Callum's father's prison, this star-touched tower.
Aaravos lies still and unmoving in the center of the rune circle, the light of each Symbol glowing faintly red, blood pooling out to drown even that faint light.
And at his head, a pale spirit is sitting, hands pressed against silvery hair, forehead touching Aaravos's.
Callum knows her, and his eyes blur with tears as he dashes forwards, to kneel beside his dying father.
"Mom," he whispers.
Sarai lifts her head and her eyes too are bright with tears, "Oh, Callum." she whispers, "Help him."