My dearest Iris,

My lady, for you will always be my lady, I have loved you since the first moment I saw you.

There. I've said it. A thousand times a day in my heart, yes, but I've never before committed it to voice or paper. I can only imagine your surprise to find out in this way, but it had to be this way. I lack the strength to tell you in person. Gods know I've tried.

I'm not a demonstrative man. You know of my condition, but what I've never told you, told anyone, is that the wind is inextricably tied to what I feel. You remember the storm that broke the night your brother died? The damage it caused? The fault was mine, though it shames me to admit it. I couldn't control my grief when I learned news of Benjamin's death. It's a miracle no one was hurt in that tempest. When I saw what I had done, I redoubled my efforts to suppress my emotions. It was in a dull fog that I boarded the ship with you and your father for Crescent Lake.

It's only been in the years since we rescued little Ben that I've allowed myself to feel again, for I love that boy as you do. But in loving him, I can no longer deny my love for you. Gods, Iris, I love you, but I fear what that love will do.

I've taken the ship to Cornelia. If I can find those who are like me, join them - not forever but long enough to find answers - I could return to you with the strength to face you as I tell you that I love you. I lack that strength now. I can't control this love. Beyond that, I know I could never contain my happiness if you loved me in return.

I dare to hope you do, Iris. I know I've given you no cause to even think I feel as I do. But surely you've noticed how often I'm by your side, guarding you, protecting you, just to be near you? The way you smile in those moments fills me with hope that perhaps you do love me, that maybe you've been afraid to tell me in case I didn't feel the same. But I do, Iris. I have and I always will. I love you.

Yours, heart and soul,

Cedric

A letter, lost to time

In the morning, Kane walked toward the Circle Chamber, Dahlia by his side. "And none of your antagonizing them today," she said. "You only make it worse for yourself."

Kane sighed. "I can't help it! They're just so..." He shook his head.

"I think the word you need is 'infuriating'."

"Yes."

Dahlia chuckled. "Well, I can't say they don't deserve it. I nearly couldn't keep from laughing when you told Myron off yesterday. I'll remember his sour expression for years." She reached up, patted Kane's shoulder. "Guardsman was a bad fit for you. You're far too smart for it."

Kane stopped in surprise. "Me? Not really."

"Yes, you," Dahlia said. "I've heard you speak. I can see it. I knew you'd have to be intelligent - Jack wouldn't put up with an idiot."

"I don't know," Kane said. "Judging from that lot," he gestured vaguely toward the Circle Chamber on the path ahead of them, "Jack's put up with a number of idiots over the years."

She chuckled again, but there was a resignation to it this time. "Now, now. They're not idiots - far from it - but even the finest scholars aren't above moments of idiocy, and they do have their moments where Jack is concerned." She paused long enough to stoop down, pluck a sprig from a plant at the side of the path and offer it to Kane.

He thought he recognized it, an herb she'd shown him before. He sniffed the tiny branch dutifully. "Thyme," he said.

She nodded.

Kane rubbed the little leaves between his fingers, breathing in the tangy scent, thinking. "Why?" he said at last. "Why do they- I can't..." He stopped, too angry to articulate it properly.

Dahlia looked at him thoughtfully. "Why do they treat him that way?"

"No," Kane said. "He's told me that part. I get it. It's just... Why does he let them do it?"

"Ah," Dahlia said, nodding. "I suspect he thought he deserved it once. Believe it or not, he's better than he was."

"What changed?"

Dahlia shrugged. "After Iris died, when she wasn't around to protect him anymore, he started standing up for himself more. That was when he wheedled his way into our house, trained with Liam." She sighed. "Yes, the others treat him ill. Yes, he lets them. But I think it's because he doesn't care what they think of him."

Kane frowned, crushing the thyme in his fist. How could she think Jack didn't care? He did, and it hurt him, Kane could see that. Surely he wasn't the only one who could see it? He tossed the mangled herb aside. "I'm never going to convince them, am I?"

"No," Dahlia said.

Things needed to change. He couldn't get to the sages, but maybe... Maybe if Jack were prodded to stand up for himself a little more… "Well," Kane said, half to himself, "I can still antagonize them."

Dahlia cuffed him in the shoulder, but she laughed.

Books in hand, Thad rounded the last shelf. He was on the other side of the library from where he'd left Sarda; he had a clear view of the table from here. He wasn't surprised to see that Sarda was gone - it had only been a matter of time before the crazy man scarpered off on him - but he was disappointed to see Pearl and two of his scholars sifting through the books he'd left behind, making angry faces. Thad quietly set his latest acquisitions on the nearest surface and backed slowly toward the reference shelves that lined the outer perimeter of the library, trying to look nonchalant as he slid along them toward the library door.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the exit and slipped outside, then yelped as he ran into Orin. Thad had been sure he'd last seen the old monk inside Pearl's office, but here he stood, arms crossed, wrinkled face twisted in a mighty frown. "For shame, young master Shipman! I am sure I taught you better than this."

Thad's shoulders slumped. "But I needed those books! Those scholars were using all the good ones. They wouldn't share!"

"You mistake me," Orin said. "Stealing books? Why should I care if you steal some books? No, young master. I am ashamed only that you were caught." He shook his head. "Go! I will smooth things over with Pearl. I suggest you stay out of trouble."

"Yes, sir," Thad grumbled.

Orin nodded once and went back inside.

Now what? Thad wondered. He stood for a moment, looking at the library's massive door, watching the scholars through the windows, then he sighed and wandered off. He supposed he should look for Sarda, as wherever the old man had got to, he was likely causing mischief, but, well... Orin had told him to stay out of trouble. He didn't know where he was going, only away. Somewhere they wouldn't think to look for him.

He came to a white stone building with a garden out front. Was that the white mages' clinic? Thad noticed a signpost on the path saying it was. He remembered Sarda telling Lena she needed to go there. He could see in the aether that she had, and recently. Maybe she was still there? Thad turned into the garden where he stopped to admire the herbs, much taller and better tended than the ones he'd seen at Titan's Cathedral, some with heavy-headed flowers bobbing at their tips, then he entered the clinic proper.

The room was large, open, with empty beds on one side and a flat table in the center. The wall opposite the beds boasted a potions counter with shelves of bottles and jars above it. A bundle of leaves sat on a cutting board in the center of the space, ready to be chopped, but there was no one there to chop them. Several bundles were hung to dry from the ceiling above the counter, but the one on the cutting board was fresh and green. Thad went closer, sniffed one of the leaves. It smelled like grass after a rain, but it wasn't a plant he knew. On the counter just past him, a small cauldron, no bigger than a soup bowl, rested on a little stand. Liquid bubbled and boiled within it, though Thad couldn't see any source of heat. He didn't touch anything there - he knew better than to mess with unknown potions - but he surveyed the counter, reading the labels on the jars.

There was a curtain here that could be drawn to close the counter off from the rest of the room; Thad slid it closed then opened it again just to see what it would look like. Curious, Thad wandered the room. There were more curtains around the empty beds, all open just now, that could be closed to give the patients privacy. The large table in the room's center had drawers under it. Thad opened one - it opened silently and smoothly - to find several gleaming metal tools that he'd never seen before, along with a variety of small knives that looked rather sharp.

Just as he closed the drawer and straightened again, the back door opened, admitting two women in white robes. One, tall with blond hair cut close to her chin, stopped short when she saw him, scowling frightfully, but the other woman, her dark hair pulled back in a tidy bun, smiled at him. "Hello, there," she said.

Thad smiled back at her, his most ingratiating smile. "Hi!"

The blond woman harrumphed, ignoring him as she went to the counter and picked up the huge chopping knife, attacking the defenseless leaves with vigor. "He came on the ship," she said, not a question, but a statement of distasteful fact.

The other woman rolled her eyes at her companion then turned back to Thad. "What can we do for you, child? Do you need healing?"

"Not really," Thad shrugged. "I was just exploring."

"This isn't a playground," the blond said, her back still to him as she chopped the herbs.

"Oh, I know," Thad said, quickly coming up with a suitable excuse for his being there. "But I'm learning to be a mage. I wanted to see what a real white mage's clinic was like. I've never seen one before." That at least wasn't a lie. Lena had an uncanny ability to tell when he was lying. Thad didn't know if it was an ability other white mages shared.

Truth or not, the dark-haired woman cocked her head at that. Even the blond woman seemed intrigued; she stopped chopping, looking at Thad suspiciously over her shoulder. "What, never?" the dark-haired woman said. "But Cornelia still has clinics, surely?"

"Oh, sure," Thad said. "And there was one in Pravoka where I grew up. I just never needed one."

The blond woman seemed dumbfounded. "You mean to say you've never taken ill?"

Thad thought about it. "No... No, I don't think so. And there weren't any clinics in Elfheim, or in Melmond, I don't think. Do they all look like this? Or is this just how you do things here? Where do you get all these jars anyway? What's with the table with the knives in it?"

The dark-haired woman shook her head. "Who are you, young man?"

"Oh, right! Sorry. I'm Thad." He held a hand out to shake.

The woman took it in a daze. "Moira." She tilted her head toward the blond woman. "And that's Amandine."

"Amandine?" Thad said, though the blonde had already returned to her task. "Like the woman in the story?"

Amandine let out a little growl, but kept her back to them, carrying on with her chopping.

Moira sighed. "Yes, her mother was very religious. You say you're learning magic?"

Thad nodded. "Yes, ma'am!" he said, keeping his tone polite. No need to mention that Jack was the one teaching him. He went to the counter, keeping plenty of distance from the unfriendly Amandine, and viewed her work through his aether sight. He watched the way the aether churned in the boiling liquid, taking on new forms and shapes, watched the way the chopped plants changed those shapes when Amandine dumped a handful in the brew. "What sort of potion is that?"

"Antidote," Amandine groused.

"It counteracts poisons," Moira said. "We've had some sick goats in the village lately. Don't know what they could have eaten."

Amandine grabbed a jar from the shelves above the counter - there were so many jars! - and measured out a spoonful of dried flakes into a mortar and pestle. Thad saw the aether that clung to the flakes, saw how it shifted and squirmed as the woman ground those flakes to a fine powder. This, too, she added to her potion. Then she did something, some spell, that lowered the temperature, brought the bubbling liquid to a simmer.

"Was that an inverse twist?" he asked. "I've read about those."

Amandine nodded. "A little trick of mine," she said, pride in her voice. She gave him a thin-lipped half smile. "I find it works better than stirring it by hand."

"Oh," said Thad. Maybe this woman was like Jack and he could win her over by talking about magic. "So you're a black mage?"

Amandine's small smile withered and died. "Does this robe look black to you?" she said sharply. She opened a drawer beneath the counter, digging out a pair of pot holders, before reaching for an empty bottle and a small funnel from a nearby shelf.

"No," Thad said, confused. "But you brewed that potion like a black mage. White mages can't do inverse twists."

She slammed the bottle down on the countertop with a sound so loud that Thad flinched.

Moira sighed. "Why don't I show the boy the greenhouse?"

"Please yourself," Amandine said, waving the funnel in her other hand like a weapon.

Moira smiled apologetically at Thad, motioning him to the back door, the door through which she and Amandine had entered. Cautiously, Thad followed, but this woman didn't seem angry like Amandine had. The door opened to a small courtyard with decorative plants in it, bright green hostas like Thad had seen at Dahlia's garden and some showy flowers he couldn't name. No healing plants here, Thad realized. It was a waiting area, a recovery area, somewhere for the sick or injured or their loved ones to sit while the mages did their healing magic or brewed their medicines inside. There were benches around the perimeter of the yard. A long metal wind chime hung from a corner of the clinic's roof, its sonorous tones announcing the slight breeze.

Moira walked past all of these, to a glass-walled structure at the back of the yard. "I'm sorry about that," she said, waving back toward the clinic. "She has a bit of a temper."

"A bit?" Thad said. "I've never met a mean white mage before."

Moira sighed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "But she is a white mage. As am I. It's somewhat of a sore spot."

"But why?" Thad asked.

Moira looked down at him, her smile still kind. "You truly don't know?"

Thad shook his head.

"Ah," Moira said, nodding. "Well, technically, we weren't born white mages. 'Dine and I both have the talents of black mages, but we've sworn the white oath. We work very hard at it, 'Dine especially, but we'll never be as powerful as natural white mages."

Thad cocked his head. "You can do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just... decide to be a white mage? I didn't know that. That's neat! I'm a black mage too, but I haven't learned to draw the aether yet... Maybe I could be a white mage? You don't have to draw the aether to be a white mage, right?

Moira's smile broadened. "Well, we can certainly discuss that, if you wish." They reached the greenhouse door, and a puff of heated air shot out as she opened it. "This won't be a very thorough tour, I'm afraid," she said. "Usually 'Dine does it, as she has the green thumb, but I can at least show you the place. Come in and be welcome."

Sarda was back in Lukahn's house, though he didn't remember returning to it. He'd been in the library, hadn't he? No, he'd forgotten something, that was it. Come back to fetch it. But what had he forgotten? He had his boots on. He had his pants. Socks? Was it socks? He wiggled his toes in his shoes. Yes. It was socks.

He headed upstairs to Lukahn's room where he'd been staying, felt a chill. It was colder upstairs today. Had it been cold outside? No, it had been pleasant, the perfect temperature, a beautiful early-autumn day, the leaves just starting to fall, and it-

It was very cold upstairs, like the heart of a winter storm. And someone was crying.

The door to the room across from Lukahn's was open. The sounds were coming from in there. Sarda looked inside, saw the still figure in the bed, and Jack, openly weeping, hunched in a chair beside it.

"Miss Lena?" Sarda said, alarmed, hurrying to her side. But it wasn't Lena in the bed. It was the woman he'd seen before, Lukahn's daughter, Iris. I'm in the past, Sarda thought. It wasn't the real Jack here weeping, but the Jack of back then. That Jack didn't react to Sarda's presence.

He looked at the woman in the bed. The body, for she had died mere hours before. Her aura had gone out, the traces of it already fading from her skin. Things she had owned and loved and used would keep those traces longer, but the traces never clung to the flesh once the spirit had departed this world.

Iris looked peaceful, hands crossed over her belly. She might have been napping, save that her eyes were slightly open, her lips slightly parted as if on a relieved sigh. Relief from the pain. Yes, pain. Her pain came to him as the knowledge of things often did, an echo on the currents of time, the pain she'd felt every time she drew the aether. Sarda stood over her, ran a thumb across her cold cheek as though wiping away the ghost of a tear. "Why would you do that yourself?" he asked her, not expecting an answer. Even if she weren't dead, she was years away from him.

Even the living couldn't hear him over that distance. The image of Jack, still crying, didn't respond as Sarda reached down and put a hand on his shoulder. Sarda felt the brittle chill in the air, saw the frost forming on the window, as the boy sobbed without even trying to contain what he felt. His eyes glowed white, the aether leaking out of them like smoke as his tears left tracks of frost down his cheeks. "This grief will fade," Sarda promised. "I wish you could hear me." Another insight came to him on the aether. "She held on for you. She'd have died long before this otherwise."

He jumped in surprise as Jack moved, a jerk that shook Sarda's hand away, but Jack still hadn't noticed Sarda standing there. He was merely moving as he had back then, furiously scrubbing his tears away with the back of his arm. The boy - this version of Jack was younger than the one Sarda knew - leaned toward Iris, still sniffling. "I'm sorry," he said, voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sarda told him, but of course Jack didn't hear.

Jack reached out, but stopped. Slowly, deliberately, he peeled his gloves off to reveal his hands, one normal, one scarred and deformed, then he reached out to touch Iris. He cradled her face gently, patted her dark hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Jack reached for one of her hands and gripped it in his. "I'm-" He stopped, looking down at her hands, obscured by the colorful quilt on the bed.

"What is it?" Sarda asked, noticing, just as Jack had noticed, that she held something.

Carefully, still sniffling, pausing occasionally to wipe his eyes, Jack pried the object free. It was a letter, folded over, slightly crumpled. Sarda didn't have to read it to know what it said - that knowledge came to him, as such things often did. "She kept it," he said, but Jack couldn't hear him. "All these years. She would have shown it to you one day."

Jack said nothing. His frosted eyes scanned the page, focused on it. His breathing slowed as he read the letter - many times, apparently, judging by how long he stared at it.

Finally, Jack sat back. He was no longer crying. His breath came normally, evenly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand one last time, but his tears had dried.

He folded the letter gently, then slipped it into the pocket of his coat. Cedric's coat, Sarda knew. Left for the boy as a gift when he went away.

Jack replaced his gloves. He stood, not as tall as he was in the present, but still plenty tall back then. It hasn't been that long since he lost her, Sarda realized. Jack leaned down, kissed the cold, lifeless forehead. "Thank you," he whispered. "You were a mother to me when I needed one. A sister. A friend. I love you, Iris." Weighty words, but his voice was flat, emotionless.

"Don't shut yourself away," Sarda said. "He wanted to feel. He wanted you to feel."

Jack didn't hear. He turned, stiff and controlled, and passed right through Sarda as he walked from the room. The chill vanished in an instant and the room was empty again. The sun of the present day shone through the window, lighting up the room, the empty bed with its colorful quilt. Sarda thought he could still see the auric traces of the woman who had lived there, but Iris was long gone.

No one acknowledged Redden as he walked through the library. The place was nearly deserted this late in the evening but a few scholars remained, moving among the stacks, or sitting in little clusters around their tables, heads together as they murmured over their findings. Or lack thereof, Redden thought. What had they learned these past days of searching? Yes, Eldieme had likely been a fiend, but they'd learned nothing of the orbs, of the prophecy, of how the Warriors of Light were meant to proceed.

At his own table away from the others, Jack slept. Redden hadn't expected that. When the young mage had missed dinner, Redden had assumed he had still been absorbed in his studies. From the looks of things, that had been the case until exhaustion took him. The table was covered in papers and books, a few scrolls. Jack had four books open in front of him, laid out in an arc. His head lay cushioned on the thick pages of one of them, framed by his arms.

Redden put a hand on his shoulder, shook him gently. "Come on, lad. You can't spend the night here."

Jack jerked awake, a trace of corona in his eyes as he drew the aether immediately slipping away as he saw Redden standing over him.

"Sorry," Redden said, holding his hands up. "I didn't mean to startle you." He looked over the open books, the piles and piles of unopened ones Jack had surrounding him: books on Titan, eidolons, Leifenish history, and architecture. "You've been busy."

"Gods!" Jack rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes. "Yes. It's... It's all running together. I think I've almost found something but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Have you considered narrowing your focus?"

Jack chuckled ruefully. "I have a lot on my mind."

"Hmm," Redden said. "Well, leave it 'til morning. It's late."

Jack looked out the windows, muttering a surprised curse. He stood, started to collect books to take with him, then seemed to think better of it. Shaking his head, he stepped away from the table empty handed, a sure sign of how tired he really was.

"You need to eat," Redden said. "Dahlia kept a plate for you."

Jack shook his head. "Too tired. I'm just going to-"

Redden held up a hand to forestall the argument. "No. You're going to eat. If you collapse in Dahlia's kitchen, I suspect she'll let you sleep there."

Jack paused, eyes unfocused as he considered it. He shrugged. "I suspect you're right."

They left the library, crossed the square past the little chapel where they had sat before, and took the tree-lined path out of the village proper. Redden used magic to light the lanterns that lined the path - clever things, lit by a simple flame spell that burned for a few moments and then faded again - as Jack seemed too tired to bother with them.

They were halfway to the Randells' when Redden said, "You're overdue for a draw."

"I'm fine," Jack said, too quickly.

Redden chuckled. "Don't lie to me, lad. You're bad at it."

"Alright, yes, I could use one. But I'm not overdue for it. I... I accidentally drew from Thad the other day."

"You-!"

"He doesn't know," Jack said. "He was asleep. I was mostly asleep myself. I had a nightmare and when I woke I... I didn't even think, I just drew."

"And you didn't feel this was worth mentioning?"

Jack didn't respond, his eyes firmly fixed on the ground as they walked.

"Jack..." Redden sighed. "What if Thad had been awake? Are you ready to tell him, to tell the others, what you are? Worse yet, what if it hadn't been Thad? What if you had drawn from someone else? You're capable of drawing from someone in your sleep! Lad, I caught you asleep in the library just now!"

Jack's eyes widened. "I... I hadn't even thought of that..."

"Of course not! You're not thinking clearly! You're exhausted and on edge. All the more reason to let us help you."

Jack huffed out a breath. He nodded. "Is now a good time?"

"May as well," Redden said.

They moved to the side of the path, both of them leaning on the wooden fence. Redden felt the tug as Jack drew from him, saw Jack slump against the fence as his eyes glittered black as the starry night sky, but Redden's own knees didn't buckle as they had in the past. Only that tug, and a brief wave of weariness, over as soon as it had started. "Better?" he asked.

Jack nodded. "Thank you." He leaned against the fence a moment longer, then pushed off of it, resuming their walk toward the Randells' house. Jack yawned, stretching his arms above his head - gods, but that boy was tall. "How was Kane's interview today?" Jack asked.

"Uneventful." Redden shook his head. "I hardly needed to be there. I'm starting to think Kane can take care of himself against that lot."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Master Randell described Kane as a holy terror."

Redden snorted. "That's putting it mildly." He shook his head. Today, Kane had told the Circle about their time in Melmond, constantly steering the narrative toward Jack's heroic exploits there - a feat, seeing as Kane hadn't been with Jack for most of them.

"He..." Jack said hesitantly, "also told me they were planning to speak to you today. Did they?"

"They did," Redden said simply, not knowing what else to say. They had asked him about his brother's death all those years ago, about facing Cid again in that cave, the monster he had become. He'd listened as Kane had described it from his point of view. He felt bile rising in his throat as he recalled the poorly-hidden fear in his son's voice.

Jack looked at him, eyes glinting in the night. He seemed to know what Redden was thinking. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Fine," Redden said, waving him off. "Fine. It's you I worry about."

"Me?"

Redden nodded. "You're next. They're not quite done with Kane yet, but they will be in the morning. Tomorrow or the next day, they'll call for you. Are you ready?"

Jack didn't answer. He walked on, long-legged strides eating up the path, his pace unhurried.

Redden hesitated, unsure how to proceed. He'd spent the past day considering how to open this conversation, had been prepared for arguments, petulance, shouting. But now that he had Jack in front of him, saw how exhausted the mage was, none of his mentally-rehearsed dialogue seemed to fit. Well, out with it then, Redden thought. Perhaps Jack wouldn't fight him after all. "Kane said something yesterday, during his interview." He paused long enough to light the next set of mage-lanterns ahead of them.

Jack waited, watching him warily as they walked.

"Astos's ritual," Redden said, plowing on. "What did it do?"

Jack's eyes widened. He seemed awake enough now. "Kane said he wouldn't mention it!"

"He didn't," Redden said. "That's precisely why I need to know what it did."

The boy sighed, looking up at the stars that were visible through the trees above them. Redden could read his frustration in his furrowed brow.

When Jack remained silent, Redden said, "These interviews, lad. They're not interrogating you for the fun of it. These are the finest scholars - the finest magical scholars - in the world asking you to tell them your story, to give them all the details of what's happened to you in case any of those details turns out to be the key to figuring out what comes next."

"Please, Redden. I can't- I can't tell them."

"So tell me," Redden said. He stopped on the path, grabbed Jack's shoulder, turned the younger man to face him. Jack's eyes were so wide, so frightened. Redden kept his voice gentle. "Tell me, lad."

"I killed him," Jack whispered as the nearest lanterns began to fade.

"I know," Redden said, nodding.

Jack shook his head. "I... killed him as... as I drew from him and..." He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut. "And I absorbed his soul as he died."

It had been barely a whisper, but Redden started as though Jack had shouted. "You... I beg your pardon?"

"His soul," Jack said, his words coming out in a rush now. "His power is a part of me now. I still don't understand it, but I'm stronger than I was. It's what happened in Cornelia, with the Brotherhood - they gained power so quickly."

"Yes, I was there," Redden said.

More lanterns faded, but Jack talked on. "That's how they do it. It's an ancient ritual, likely forgotten. I don't know where they found it. But it's... it's human sacrifice, Redden. And the dark mage... takes... someone's soul." When he stopped, he was breathing hard, as if he'd just run clear around the lake. As the last lantern winked out, Redden still held Jack's shoulder; he could feel Jack trembling. The boy was terrified, waiting for Redden to be angry, to hate him.

But Redden felt only pity. "Oh, lad," he said. He waved a hand, lighting the lanterns again, then reached up to grip Jack's other shoulder, looking him squarely in his dimly-glowing eyes. "You're not like them, do you hear me?"

Jack shook his head, disagreeing.

"You're not," Redden said, shaking him slightly. "How could you think-" He stopped, remembering the passage he'd seen in that book in the library, the one that had so affected Jack the other day. "Oh. Because dark magic is supposed to be necromancy?"

Jack flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"You know that's ridiculous," Redden said, keeping his tone soft. "You can't possibly be entertaining that notion? You're smarter than that. Look at me! You've been drawing from me for weeks! Do I seem any worse off for it?"

"But what if you're wrong? Everything I've read-"

"Read where? In Astos's book? No," Redden said as Jack began stuttering again. "Kane didn't mention that either. Don't worry. But I know you've been studying it. I assume you've had better luck translating it than you've led me to believe?"

Jack nodded.

"Very well. I need to see it, along with all your notes on it."

"You shouldn't have to-!"

"No," Redden said. "Do you really expect me to believe whatever's in there is worse than the things we've already read? No. Tomorrow, Kane will finish his interview on his own. You? You're going to show me and Orin what you have so far."

"But-!"

"No," Redden said, sharp and firm. "All of this started when the four of you went after the Brotherhood in that old temple; there was dark magic there. And in Melmond, the Brotherhood were trying to free Eldieme, again with dark magic. It's all connected. This quest you're on comes down to dark magic somehow. If your dark magic leads us to whatever answers are out there, we have to use it. We need you. We need your help."

Jack nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes were pinched shut now, as though he were trying to hold back tears.

"Jack," Redden said. "Whatever's in that book, whatever it says... what happened to you doesn't make you evil."

"But it feels evil." Jack shook his head. "It feels... wrong. I don't want this power, Redden. I keep looking for answers. A way out. A way to... to stop what it does to me. I went years without needing to draw from people, but now... I just want it to be like it was before."

Redden shook his head. "Wanting doesn't make things so," he said. It was something Rachel often used to say, but the simple phrase made Jack flinch. "Listen to me, Jack," Redden said, grasping both of Jack's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "It will never be like it was before. Because you don't have to do this alone now. You know you can draw from me - or Orin, for that matter - whenever you need it."

"I'm trying not to need it!" Jack protested.

"But you do," Redden said. Jack tried to turn away, but Redden tightened his grip. "Lad, you can't keep fighting this. I know you're ashamed, but let us help you."

Jack lowered his eyes, the aether in them glittering behind unshed tears. "I don't know if you can."

"We can try," Redden said. "But you have to let us."

Jack's nod was small and tentative, but it was enough.

"Good," Redden said, patting his shoulder as he let him go. He started to continue up the path - the light in Dahlia's kitchen window was visible even from here - but he stopped as a thought struck his mind. He unbuckled his sword belt and passed it, blade and all, over to Jack. "Here," he said. "It's yours now. I'll find another."

"Mine?" Jack said. "But... This won't fix things, Redden. A focus object helps, but it's no cure."

"You don't need a cure, lad. What you need is a reminder that you're not alone." He patted Jack's shoulder one last time, then turned up the path once more, letting the lanterns fade behind him.

Lena crouched at the edge of one of the docks. It wasn't the dock where the boys raced their boats; that one was farther down the shore, and the boys on it stood, watching her. Tylen crouched beside her, Balen standing over them. The sun was trending down, taking the warmth of the afternoon with it. The breeze off the lake carried a chill as it rustled past her cheeks, her bare legs. She looked ahead, toward the other boys, fixing their direction in her mind. She tensed, waiting.

"Go!" Balen said.

She dived in, feeling the shock of cold, the splash as Tylen landed beside her. She knifed through the water, down and out, skimming the bottom as she swam beneath the surface. The water rushed over her skin, cool in its flow. It was thick with silt - she couldn't see far ahead of her - but the light played above her, and in the distance, growing closer and closer, the souls of the boys on the other dock shown bright in her soul sight.

She broke the surface mere inches from the dock, slapping the boards as she gulped in a breath. The boys laughed and cheered, pointing as Stokes swam up behind her.

"Gods damn!" Jaron, one of the older boys said, laughing. "You've got some lungs on you, to stay under that long!" He reached down, offering her a hand up onto the dock.

"She beat you soundly!" Dav said as Stokes hauled himself out of the water.

"Yeah, she did," Stokes said, panting a bit. "But I bet my form was better." He winked at her.

"How do you know?" she said. "You couldn't see it!"

"Exactly!" Stokes said. "Hiding something, are we?" He tsked.

The others laughed, and she laughed with them. Their mood was infectious, even as the water dripped from her clothes, her hair. She felt some of the tension bleed from the back of her mind, tension she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying. These boys weren't thinking about prophecies and quests. They were just... living, living in the moment with the lake and their little boats. She'd spent the past few days on the water with them, but she hadn't swam like this. "Thank you," she said, taking a towel from Tanner, then turned to Tylen. "And thank you for convincing me. That was fun. I don't usually swim with so many people around."

Stokes grinned. "Well, I hope you're up for another round, because I'm going to need a rematch."

Before Lena could respond, she heard someone call her name. She looked up the path and saw Kane picking his way toward the docks, followed by Jack. Kane smiled, waving when he saw her, but Jack looked grim, a dark figure in his dark coat. Lena smiled. "Hi, Jack!" she said cheerily. "Hi, Kane!"

But any other greeting withered on her tongue as the mood hit her. The group around her fell silent, their laughter cut off cleanly as though by a blade. One by one the boys there turned to look at the newcomers - at Jack - and their smiles turned ugly. "What's he doing here?" little Tanner whispered to his older brother Natan.

"I... I invited them," Lena said, hesitant and awkward, worried that this sudden animosity might turn on her. "Is that alright? I told Kane if he finished his interview early enough…" The brothers looked away, seeming embarrassed for her, but the embarrassment did nothing to dull the cloud of ill will that pressed in around her.

Kane cleared his throat, forced out, "Hi. Mind if we join you?"

"Yeah, we do," Rowan, one of the younger boys, said, though he was quickly shushed by another.

Stokes handed his towel off to Tanner and stepped forward. "What do you want?" he asked, speaking only to Jack as though Kane weren't there.

Kane pushed between them. "We only wanted to see the machina."

"Well," Stokes said, crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded toward where the little boats were lined up on the dock, waiting to be used. "You've seen them. You can be off now."

Jack grabbed Kane's shoulder, gave him a slight tug. "Let's just go," Jack said, but Lena heard the plea in his voice.

That plea tugged at her. Hurt, confused, she looked from the boys on the dock to Jack and back again. No one moved, no one spoke, as she padded across the dock after him, no one except Stokes, who grabbed her arm.

He leaned in, whispering to her. "You don't have to go with them."

"Why wouldn't I? They're my friends."

"We're your friends too!" he said.

Lena shook her head. "My friends wouldn't act this way." She reached up, forcibly pried his fingers from her arm, and walked toward Kane and Jack. She moved in beside Jack, deliberately taking his arm, steering him back to the path toward town. She heard the boys behind her muttering angrily as she did it.

Jack was angry as well. Now that she was touching him, Lena could feel it, like the lake's cold water against her skin. It was a surface anger, an old animosity that he no longer let in, but it said something to Lena that he wasn't hiding it, wasn't even trying to. "Was he rude to you?" Jack said softly.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "He was rude to you."

Jack nodded. "Let's just go," he said again, as the mutters rose behind them.

Lena ignored them, but then Natan, who was normally too shy to speak, called her name. When she turned back, she saw that he was holding her white hood. She'd hung it on one of the mooring posts during her swim, and she'd nearly left without it. She stepped over to fetch it, the boys' muttered insults harder to ignore at close range. As she slipped her hood over her tunic and turned to leave, she couldn't help but hear the things they called Jack under their breath.

She flinched when she heard Stokes, louder than the others, spit a single word, his mouth twisted in distaste: "Ashward."

She felt Jack's reaction to it, the pain it caused him inside to hear his old name spoken like an obscenity, though physically he hadn't reacted at all.

Kane, though, immediately turned back, stepping toward the group of boys whose eyes widened in surprise. If Jack was angry on the surface, Kane was angry deep, deep down. Lena could feel his anger in her bones.

Stokes stepped back, closer to his friends, but Kane was taller than any of them, broader, a fighter. Despite his anger, he kept his voice controlled, politely proper, as he jerked a thumb in Jack's direction. "I'll have you know that this man was recently adopted into the Carmine family, a noble house of Melmond. You can address him as master Carmine, or 'my lord' if you're in a hurry. Is that understood?"

Stokes held his ground, standing straight and tall with the other boys behind him. "Do you really want to start something with a bunch of mages, big man?"

"You already did," Kane said, stepping closer, close enough to grab Stokes by the shirt front. "And if you think I won't finish it, you are sorely mistaken." He released Stokes with a shove, and had the other boys not been crowded in behind him, he'd have surely gone tumbling into the lake. "Come on," Kane said to her. "We're leaving." He turned back to where Jack waited on the path and stomped away.

Lena moved to follow him, but she stumbled on her first step, overwhelmed by hate, by malice.

"Finish this," Stokes muttered, his eyes glowing a piercing blue.

She felt the lake move, a force, a spell, and she cried out as a wall of water rose toward Kane and Jack. Kane whipped about at Lena's cry, hand to his sword hilt, but swords were useless here. Without thinking, Lena reacted, raising her hand, and summoned a spell of her own, her modified Protect, her rain-repelling charm. The wave crashed into an invisible wall inches from her friends. Water dripped down around them, sheeting off her charm like window glass, leaving them perfectly dry.

Stokes stared at them, his emotions a riot of sudden fear when he realized his prank hadn't worked. His fear mingled with Kane's fury. Her fear. Her fury. The spell had been harmless, yes, but the intent had been cruel, and for that split second before it struck she had felt so powerless. She looked at Stokes, feeling like she'd never seen him before, and the hand she'd raised to cast her spell flew in an arc toward his stunned, wide-eyed face.

She hadn't felt Jack's approach, not until he moved in behind her and caught her wrist before the slap connected. "Don't," Jack said quietly. "He's not worth breaking your oath for."

"I'm not so sure," Dahlia's voice called. "Seems to me a slap to the face would improve his lousy personality and wouldn't harm him at all." She stood just past the place where trees claimed the path, obscured by the leaves. Lena had no idea how long she'd been watching. She stalked up, pushing past Lena and Jack, and gave Stokes a ringing slap across his cheek. The younger man cried out, but Dahlia wagged her finger at him. "You think you don't deserve worse for breaking your own oath?"

Stokes rubbed the red mark she'd left on his face. "What? It was only water! It wouldn't have harmed him!"

Dahlia faced him down, hands on her hips, her own anger boiling. "What are the uses of the aether?" she snapped.

Stokes said nothing, rubbing his face as he stared daggers at Miss Dahlia, humiliated.

"To build, to guide, and to guard," Kane said.

"See?" Dahlia said, waving a hand behind her toward Kane. "The layman gets it! So what part of that is splashing people we don't agree with?"

Stokes didn't answer. Nor did any of his friends.

"Bah!" Dahlia said. "You're no mages. You're children. Go and play with your toys." She turned north, following the shoreline that would eventually lead to the road back to her house. Kane followed after.

"Come," Jack said softly, taking Lena's hand in his. Lena nodded, letting herself be led away, too overwhelmed to process her own feelings until they'd left the group at the docks behind.

She was so confused. She couldn't think. Had she really been laughing with those boys only moments before? How had she spent so much time with them without knowing what they were truly like? She'd read their souls. She'd thought them friends. There are no bad men, her father had said, only bad beliefs.

Thinking of her father only made it worse. Those white mages at the clinic, they had known him, but still they were unkind to her. They were good people, she was sure of it: the white mages, the boys at the docks, the Circle of Sages. All of them, good people. So how could they-

They were at the Randells' gate when Jack reached up, brushing his thumb across her cheek to wipe a tear away. She hadn't even realized she was crying.

Again, the nightmares woke him. He lay on a pallet on the floor in the dark as Thad snored away in the bed to his left. Jack pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he struggled to settle his breathing, as his senses quested out into the aether seeking the sunrise.

It was early yet. Perhaps he had time for a walk to clear his head, time to shove down the memories, shove down his dreams of fire and pain and loss, of power he didn't understand. Still, he didn't rise, just remained where he was, breathing deeply, until he sensed Kane coming up the path toward the house sometime later.

He made it downstairs without waking anyone, made it out the door before Kane reached it. Kane stopped halfway up the walk, still wearing yesterday's rumpled shirt. He carried two wooden practice swords over his shoulder, but he wore his own sword on his hip again now that the sages were done inspecting it. Jack was aware of his mother's orb resting in its pouch in his coat pocket.

"Ready?" Kane asked.

Jack nodded.

They walked to the hill in silence. Kane seemed solemn this morning, not his usual, chipper self. Jack almost - almost - felt bad for it, feeling the blame was partially his. Kane had been quiet the day before after that confrontation with Stokely's gang. Disturbed. Well, Jack had tried to avoid it, hadn't he? At least now Kane knew what it was like for him. He only regretted that Lena had had to see it.

Neither of them spoke as they reached their destination, as they worked through the forms. Jack's mind wandered, worrying about his upcoming interview, but his body knew the exercises well enough by now, where his feet should be, his hips, his arms. He doubted he moved with any of Kane's easy grace, but he moved correctly; perhaps that counted for something.

Neither of them said a word until they finished the forms, until they squared off against each other. Jack spoke first, asking, "Aether sight or no?"

"Your preference," Kane said.

Jack paused. There was something ominous about Kane's tone, something that seemed to match his mood. Jack not only called up his aether sight, he drew the aether and held it, suspecting he would need that fraction-of-a-second advantage. He nodded when he was ready to begin, though Kane couldn't possibly have missed the corona in Jack's eyes in the dim morning light.

Kane struck at him. Slowly at first - Jack was sure he could have blocked the strike even without aether sight - but then faster, faster with each attack. Jack blocked them all, the aether telling him exactly where his sword needed to be before the blows fell.

Even so, Kane was quick, and more experienced than Jack besides, so it wasn't long before one of those blows landed, a glancing hit to Jack's shoulder. Jack stepped back, lowering his weapon - this was the part where Kane critiqued his form, told him what he'd done wrong, before they squared off again. But instead, Kane shook his head. "Don't stop," he said, stepping forward, closing the distance between them as he raised his sword to strike again.

Jack barely blocked it in time.

His mind didn't wander now, there was no time. He focused on the aether, reading it, reading Kane, trying to keep up. "Don't just block," Kane snarled. "Fight back!"

Fight back? Jack could barely defend himself! He ducked as Kane's sword whiffed through the air where his head had been, unable to get his own sword up in time. "Watch it!" he said.

"Fight back!" Kane repeated, coming in for another strike.

They fought. The sun hadn't even crept up yet when Jack began to sweat. His arms ached. His scarf hung loose around his neck from all the movement, but still he panted for breath. Kane, though, barely seemed to be breathing at all. And he didn't let up.

"How long are you planning to go on?" Jack asked.

The guardsman grinned, but there was nothing friendly about it. "As long as it takes."

"Seriously?" Jack said, stepping back and raising his hands. "By Ramuh's light, you've won a dozen times over. I yield."

Kane's sword struck him a stinging blow on his left wrist. Jack bellowed at the pain of it. "Keep your guard up," Kane said, still grinning.

"Damn it, Kane! I yield!"

"You're not beaten yet." The guardsman flipped his sword over his hand, bringing it around in a wide arc.

Jack dodged backward. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing," Kane said.

He struck out at head height, but Jack deflected the blow. "Lay off!"

"Fight back!" Kane shouted.

Aching, panting, Jack did. He dodged another blow, struck out before Kane could recover from the follow-through. He knew he would never recover in time to block Kane's next strike, but he didn't care. He landed one blow to Kane's side hard enough to jolt up the wooden sword's handle, into his shoulders, before Kane hit him again.

"Yes!" Kane said. "Fight like you mean it!"

Jack growled, throwing himself into the match. He held the aether even as it raced around him, a cool breeze, then a cold wind as his anger clawed free of the prison he'd made for it. Kane wanted to fight? He would fight! He took Kane's next hit, ignoring the sharp, stinging pain as he got in a hit of his own, and another. And then, lost in the fight, drunk on it, he struck out not with fists or swords, but with the aether, funneling the tempest within him through Kane's sword, through the earth orb.

Kane's eyes widened as the earth beneath their feet roiled and shifted. He stumbled at the unexpected attack, off balance enough now that Jack was able to get his practice sword in close, to twist it as he'd been taught. Kane's wooden sword flew from his grasp to land with a thud in the grass some feet away.

I disarmed him! Jack thought. He'd never disarmed him before. He-

He didn't see Kane's punch, a right cross that took him in the jaw, dazed him. He dropped his weapon. His head spun. His backside hit the ground. The aether he held rushed out of him, along with the air in his lungs. Pain shot through him as his elbow came down hard, stopping his fall.

Kane stood over him. The guardsman leaned down and grabbed Jack's coat collar, pulling him up so that Jack was looking right into his furious eyes. "You don't get to yield, do you hear me? You don't get to surrender. Not to me, not to these people. You fight."

Jack nodded, too stunned to say anything.

Kane released him. He fell to the ground again, grunting at the impact as Kane marched away. "You don't get to yield," Kane called one last time before leaving him there.

Jack didn't move. He lay back, exhausted, clammy with sweat. He felt the last of the aether he'd held drain away from him, seeming to take all his warmth with it.

Author's Note: 12/4/20 - Ugh! I found another error in this chapter right before posting it. I'm certain there are more. I give up. I'm posting it anyway.

One of my favorite authors published a new book last month. 1200 pages and I devoured it in four days. It was so good. Now I'm looking over my own work like, "Well, I could have phrased that better. I should have foreshadowed that earlier. I totally didn't make the point I was trying to make here." But you know what? I'm writing it anyway. I feel better about myself when I write, even when I write stuff no one will ever read. This fic I'm posting on the internet is just a piece of myself that I'm sharing with all of you. It doesn't have to be perfect because I'm not.

I don't know who needs to see this but your fics are valid and I support you!