Chevron and I materialize at the entrance of the very building into which Dan disappeared. Chevron raps her knuckles on the door.
After a time, it opens.
"An Arch-mage?" asks an armored guard on the other side in awe. "What honor do we have to see you?"
"It is no honor! My grandson Vrendan is dying in your walls under false claims of dark magic!" Chevron snaps.
"I understand your anger. I will inform my superiors at once about your concerns. Please wait here."
The guard shuts the door. After a time, the door opens again, and the face of another guard appears.
"What is your name?" the guard asks.
"Chevron Blade Ti'Drannes," she states.
"Why are you here?" he asks.
"To seek mutual understanding of the innocence of Vrendan Wildheart Ti'Drannes," she states.
"Is the enderman accompanying you?"
"Yes, he is accompanying me."
"Very well," the guard concludes. "Please step inside slowly. You are not being held for a crime, however we must take every possible precaution when dealing with an Arch-Mage. You will have weapons trained on you."
"I... suppose there is no sense arguing with that," says Chevron, apalled.
Chevron walks inside, and I follow. I see in front of Chevron two guards whose leather armor has obsidian squares sewn into it. They each hold a spear tipped with a sharpened clear gem, undoubtedly the deadly spent diamonds which Cubit had forewarned. Their spears are trained just to the sides of Chevron. There is an incredible latent energy to their still, symmetrical, lean-muscled forms, as if they are ready to pounce upon Chevron at any moment. Behind Chevron, two guards whose height and girth rival her own, with formidable enchanted diamond gear, stand with swords drawn. Yet another guard positions themself directly to my side.
I jump as the door slams behind me, causing the whole hall to reverberate and my ears to throb with pain.
The armed and ready guards escort us a stair level up, to what appears to be a small dining commons for the prison staff.
"You may sit if you want," a spearman states. "Our overseer Ashflame is coming to speak with you."
"I believe that's her," a diamond-clad guard states.
A woman walks before us, with well-laundered clothes, hair pulled straight back, and a sharpness in her eye that seems to revel in her audacity to not wear armor in a high-security prison.
"Mrs. Ti'Drannes?" Ashflame inquires.
"Arch-Mage," Chevron growls.
Ashflame smiles. "I believe we are acquainted. May I ask you why you are here?"
"To put it bluntly, I wish to prove Vrendan's innocence, so that he may be set free."
Ashflame frowns. "Ah yes, I do believe one of my guards mentioned your request to appeal for innocence. Unfortunately that's just not in the cards. You see, we maintain strict rules when dealing with criminals that are a threat to the safety of Minecraftian society, and dark magi are among the most dangerous criminals of them all. To leave such a mage roaming freely is to risk them wielding their powerful and immoral magic to exploit and kill the people which surround them. We simply cannot risk that. Do you understand what I am saying?"
I resist the urge to remark upon this patronizing speech, but Chevron does not.
"I am quite aware of government policies against dark magi; there is no need to give me an introductory class on that subject, nor any other. Besides, I am not here to debate government. I am here to debate Vrendan. And on that note, Ashflame, I ask you quite clearly: what were the grounds for Vrendan's sentencing?"
Ashflame glances toward one of the guards and grins as if she just pulled some funny joke. Then, she turns toward us and her face turns serious. "Void magic, of course."
"That much is clear, but from what evidence did you derive that grounds?"
"Oh, so you want evidence now? Fine, then. We've captured prisoners from numerous criminal guilds. They have described Vrendan's use of void magic in painstaking detail, from using mind spells to intimidate enemies, to teleporting into fortified buildings to steal and sabotage. Overall, it was quite incriminating evidence. All it took after that was an anonymous tip to track him down."
I recoil internally, first in anger at whoever was responsible for condemning Dan to a slow death, and then in surprise at these allegations. From what I know of Dan, he would never inflict a crime upon someone who was not deserving. He always insisted to me that he restricted his crimes to legal grey areas and ancillary roles, whatever he could do to sustain himself and his research without getting caught. But perhaps my trust in his word is simple-minded? Perhaps the void has corrupted Dan's morality as it had mine?
"You condemn a man on merely hearsay?" Chevron asks rhetorically, appalled. "Unbelievable! Did it not strike you once that the cousin of a void mage gone berserk would have rumors spread about him?"
"After decades passed, it's hard to dismiss them as rumors," says Ashflame, "especially when these criminals hold Vrendan in such high regard... like he's someone they can trust."
I stand up. After Chevron's rebuttal, I feel emboldened. I cannot stand idly as this prison bureaucracy woman paints a picture of my cousin's condemnation. Even if Dan committed crimes which harmed the innocent, none of it could compare to the crimes I had done. He does not deserve to die, and I shall defend him until the end!
"Did he ever kill an innocent?" I refute. "Has there ever been a record of anything lost that only a void mage could steal?"
"I don't know the details of that, but I'm afraid the arguments of you two are both on rocky ground," states Ashflame.
"What if I told you that the real void mage was still on the run?" I conjure desperately.
Suddenly, my mind races, recalling the unknown fate of my friend Fristad. I know that the demon manipulated Fristad into running away from us, and Dan knows better than anyone else the inner workings of that being's mind. The problem is, how do I convince Ashflame of Dan's ability to track down the demon without further condemning him as a dark mage?
"Dan witnessed the void mage," I continue. "It came to our world as a demon which possessed a young man named Fristad Heltz. Dan tried to stop it, but it escaped. He is the only mage I know with the extensive knowledge of sentient beings to track a demon down."
"I swear upon my life," adds Chevron, "that Vrendan's knowledge of sentient beings is without equal, and his knowledge is not born from the fruit of evil. With him on your side, the chances of you finding this demon before it does lasting harm are far greater."
I am relieved that Chevron backs up my story, even though I forgot to tell her about what happened to Fristad.
"And I'm supposed to believe that this creature, which is simultaneously a demon and a void mage, exists somewhere?" Ashflame replies critically.
"Yes, and you will release Vrendan at once so he can help us find it," insists Chevron.
"And I'm supposed to simultaneously ignore all the evidence that Vrendan is a void mage?"
"There is a precedent for this," says Chevron. "In times of need, a Grand-Mage can order the release of a mage from prison, even a death sentence, if the Grand-Mage deems that mage's actions are necessary for the safety of the people."
"But you're not a Grand-Mage," Ashflame counters. "You can't authorize that."
"That's where you're wrong..." Chevron replies smugly.
Chevron motions toward me for her bag, and I give it to her. From it, she pulls out a quill, an ink bottle, and a single sheet of letter paper covered in the tiny symbols I haven't seen since my days at the Sparrow's Bay Academy, the runic paper I know can only be spellmail. She smooths out the bent paper upon the prison table, uncorks the ink bottle, and begins to write furiously, muttering aloud, "Dear... Grand-Mage... Peloka..." as she does so.
She demonstrably mutters aloud each word as she writes it, pleading to Grand-Mage Peloka that the matter requires their urgent attention, bringing them up to speed on Dan and the demon, and pleading for Dan's release.
Once the letter is signed and the ink is corked, Chevron motions to the letter as if to shoo it away. The letter rises itself slowly off the ground, folds itself, and becomes barred within a mesh of light which coalesces into an ornately decorated, glowing envelope. Chevron rotates her wrist, as if turning a knob, and a wax seal flattens itself upon its front, and the word "urgent" prints itself below the seal. Chevron then pulls her hand back, as if recoiling from a hot furnace, and the envelope shrinks into nothingness.
Chevron then glares at Ashflame with a, 'yes, I just did that,' look. The impact is not lost on me; sending spellmail to a Grand-Mage is no trivial matter.
Ashflame, however, is incredulous. She raises a brow. "Okay, you just wrote some magical letter and sent it into the abyss. Now what?"
"Now," states Chevron, audibly exacerbated by Ashflame's lack of faith, "we wait thirty minutes at the most, and I should receive the Grand-Mage's response. A city mage should easily be able to verify the origin of the Grand-Mage's seal. I suggest you find a mage immediately. If you delay Dan's authorized release to the point of death, it could be a criminal offense."
Ashflame sighs angrily and walks briskly away. "Your kind and your woo-houses and parallel government," she rants as her voice echoes from the stairwell, "just have to make my life more difficult."
Chevron's face is stiff, suppressing her anger.
"What utter disrespect for authority and human life," Chevron remarks.
I nod. "I hope Dan is alright."
"How long has Vrendan been in this prison?" Chevron asks.
"About eighteen hours," I state.
"Mists of Aether..." Chevron mutters, "he has only a few hours left to live."
I shiver in response to this. I try to block my mind from imagining Dan's imprisonment, but instead that is replaced with fears of my own mortality. Is my soul really half enderman, as Kleisjend said? Will the human half of my soul die on its own, and its memories with it? Am I doomed to wake up one morning seeing strangers all around me, who know me all as Jonas? Why should I be so afraid of death, when I've already died once?
I glance toward Chevron and continue to wonder. What must it have been like to watch her own children die of illness, old age, and broken bones? If I hadn't squandered my human life, what friends might I have gained and lost? If I hadn't obsessed so much over my own death, could I comprehend how much time had truly passed?
Or how much time Dan has lost in the fleeting moments of his imprisonment?
The very thought of it makes me sick, and yet I cannot stop thinking about death.