[Placeholder Title Screen]

Chapter 8

*page_break

TRIGGER WARNING. The contents of this chapter include mentions of implied sexual violence to a third party, accompanied by significant emotional reactions to its mention. The event is vaguely referenced to in dialogue, and you have the option to skip the scene in favor of a summary.

Would you like to see the scene in full?
*choice
    #Yes.
        *set arailefull true
        The scene will be shown in full.
    #No.
        *set arailefull false
        A summary will be shown to substitute for the scene.

*page_break

A misty gray cloak hangs over the grim visage of Aulain City, casting its low skyline in a pallid hue. The storm it heralds gathers still beyond Aulain's eastern wall, its dark clouds shot through with flashes of lightning and brimming with the promise of a furious downpour. Ill tidings for a city built well towards the base of a grand valley.

Aulain is a city that has long since fallen upon hard times, but its people's resilience and ingenuity are such that it had managed to skirt a proper greatflood for the past decade. This time, its fortune may well have run out. The gutters have yet to be fully drained of the previous week's rainfall when the first storm hit the city, and this second one may well drown the entirety of the lower wards. Already the landed and wealthy scale the gentle slope up to their bunkers, built as high onto the valley's face as the city sprawl would allow. Caravans containing their valuables lumber through the streets in the lords' wake, the entourage of mercenaries surrounding them serving to ensure that any wayward, hungry glances do not aspire to more.

Those of humbler means can only purse their lips and watch the storm with building anxiety. Should the worst come to pass, many will gather what things they can carry and evacuate somewhere higher in the valley. But this deep in the worn, battered husk of a city that Aulain has become, a single day of missed work may well ravage one's finances beyond what can be endured.

Death by greatflood is a terrible thing, but there's something to be said for how quickly it comes. Starvation, on the other hand, is not so considerate a patron.

*page_break Things weren't always this way.

In an age long gone, before even the days of the ancient Sorcerium, the city-state of Aulain had once stood as Arvanand's most envied crown jewel. Resting atop a fertile piece of land bridging several other major powers, it had grown to become a premier center of commerce and engineering, drawing trade and scholars even from beyond Arvanian shores. An intricate and expansive network of sinks and waterways had once been carved onto the entire cityscape, allowing Aulain to weather the region's frequent storms without significant difficulty. Alas, the city's bounties would also become its curse. For as powers rose and fell in the continent, ever did Aulain present an attractive prize for their hawkish warlords.

And so it was that war came to Aulain's walls time and again, with such ferocity and frequency that the city was in ruins more often than not. By the time it fell firmly under Salantira's dominion, its wealth and storied architecture had long sunk beneath blood and rain.

Save for the highcity, which died its own kind of death.

*page_break

Regardless, the fact remains that Aulain has been reduced to a backwater border province, good for little more than battle-scarred walls from which Parami aggression could be warded. It is from one of these walls that the Aulain Cathedral sprouts and curves and makes its home, its squat and austere architecture in rhyme with the rest of the broken city.

Home to the knights of the Order of Saint Augur, the Cathedral is normally kept in a pristine condition, as seen to by the many pages who dream of one day swapping their mops for swords. But tonight, the Cathedral's facade bears a wealth of chipped stone and shattered windows, the dim lamplight scattered throughout the building casting crooked shadows on broken bodies and pools of still-warm blood.

Standing over the grim display is a young girl of sixteen, her flowing black tresses matted with sweat as it falls over her face. Though her body heaves with exertion, she can't help but to feel incredibly, impossibly [i]bored[/i]. Her brother's plans had drawn much of the Order's élite out of the Cathedral, leaving it only with a skeleton crew of doddering pages and still-green knights. A resounding success by any measure, and so the night proved to be a suitably uneventful capstone for what has been the most insipid mission of her life.

Well, for the most part.

"Maybe if I deliver him results he'll swap my placement with Sevine," she wonders aloud. "I think the weather in Reglaire would agree better with my complexion. What do you think, Father?"

The commander squirms underneath her boot, reaching uselessly for the blade he had wielded against her. She sighs and kicks it away, before digging her heel against the commander's chest for good measure. He's proven surprisingly feisty for a backwater knight-commander, but she's faced hundreds of his ilk and emerged the victor every time. Bold and foolish of him to challenge her, when no doubt he could sense the wealth of mana that bleeds from her form—and therefore the futility of his resistance.

"L-leave them be, I beg of you," he gasps, the blood flowing profusely from his mouth. "Kill me if you must, but those children...have been through enough."

"[i]Kill[/i] you? Come now, Father, we're just having a civil conversation," she says, smiling. "Surely you don't spite me for acting in self-defense? Your little sword trick would have left me with a nasty scar, after all."

There's a sound like someone shifting behind her, and then she hears her brother speak.

*page_break "Altea, get it over with."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. How artless, her brother. Always the picture of cold professionalism, always in the way of her fun. Small wonder that he's the Grandmaster's favorite, really. "What's got you in such a hurry, Ralos?" she asks, giving him a thin-lipped smile. "Our targets are cornered in the attic, and they're not going anywhere."

"There's still no sense in prolonging their capture, least of all by torturing this man," he replies. "You'll draw the main host's attention here again if you keep this up."

"And? Are you afraid they'll best us in combat? [i]Us[/i], Ralos?"

A quick, darting step, fluid as water, and her brother's lance finds its mark in the priest's heart before she could stop him. She bristles at the interference, but begrudgingly allows it.

"Your carelessness knows no bounds. And so the task falls to me to keep you in line," Ralos says curtly, withdrawing his spear from the man's gasping form. "That Eli was...competent, and ${ehis} movements speak of someone used to group tactics. If there is some group or organization behind ${ehim}, we need to avoid their notice until we know what we're up against."

The girl's lips twist into a contemptuous grimace, then, already tuning out the rest of her brother's inevitable sermon. It isn't the first time he's given it since they had embarked on this campaign, and she'd love nothing more than to be assigned a different teammate for once. Alas, the complementary nature of their talents and near-telepathic coordination doom her to forever stand at the side of her brother, gloomy cloud that he is. The Grandmaster has such towering ambitions for this backwater continent, and so has no room to yield what advantages can be seized.

So here she is, under her brother's withering gaze, watching with distaste as the priest's body slowly falls into repose. "Can't let me have my way, can you? Not even once."

"There is no time to waste playing around, Altea. You know as well as I do that the stakes—"

Her brother's eyes suddenly widen in surprise, and it is a second before her confusion morphs into understanding. Something flashes and shifts in the back of her mind, the sensation like a candle being doused: something was there that is now no more. She feels around the imprint and finds what remains of the severed bond: weakening wisps of icy blue mana, dim and quiet before that, too, is snuffed out of existence.

Her brother's voice is grim when he next speaks.

*page_break "Sevine is dead."

"So confident for one so weak," she remarks in turn, black hair tossed over her shoulders. "All that breeding, and he dies a month into the mission. Dame Monahan must be turning in her grave."

Her brother shakes his head slowly, something dark brewing in his violet eyes. "You underestimate him too much, Altea. He wasn't so weak as you portray him to be."

"He was twice our age, and still kicking around at the bottom of the barrel," Altea points out, waving her brother off.

"He may well have caught up to us, in due time. And it wouldn't be fair to compare him to us, in any case," Ralos says curtly. "He had potential—and much of it, he had already lived up to."

She scowls at him. "No one deserving of such praise would bite the dust so quickly and totally as he did."

"Trust my judgment, sister. I'm the one who's worked with him before," he says flatly, and though the slight is only implied she seethes from it all the same. [i]You have not, because our master doesn't trust you with anyone other than me.[/i] "Whoever it is that killed him is a threat to us. And Eli...will no doubt lead them here."

"Say I believe you, Ralos," she says at length. "What then? We still have work to do here."

He considers the words for a moment. "We make ourselves scarce. We already have two of the targets," he says finally, jerking his head in the direction of the staircase. "We will unearth the rest another day. This is not an opponent we can risk facing...we may be stronger than Sevine, but he had an entire shadow guild with him, and was still overwhelmed."

"Each of us are worth a hundred of them," she says flatly.

"Even so."

She glares at him stubbornly, for a while, but eventually relents with a resigned sigh. "Fine," she says. "Handle the clean-up, will you? I'm going to give our little friends upstairs a visit..."

Her words trail off as an idea forms in her head, one that curls her lips into a roguish smirk. Her brother eyes her dubiously, clearly uneager to be pulled into another one of her schemes. "We have no time for your games, Altea."

"No games, I promise," she says, beaming. "They have a saying in this land...kill two birds with one stone? I think there's a way for us to do just that."

There's a long silence as he appraises her words, but with a sigh and a crossing of his arms, he nods and signals for her to proceed.

*page_break "I'm listening."

…

*page_break

*if (reglairespiritgate = false)
    *goto afterzephyros
*else
    *goto afterspiritgate

*label afterspiritgate
*if (colossusinjury)
    *goto colossusinjurypath
*else
    *goto colossusfinepath

*label colossusinjurypath
*label colossusfinepath
The knoll comes into view with a flash of deep green light, and it takes a moment for you to find your footing on the familiar bed of grass. Eli tries ${ehis} best to keep ${ehis} weight off you, but ${ehe} is solidly built and you are [i]exhausted[/i], and it takes all of your focus not to fall over and take the older mage with you.

The rest of the Saber share no such concern, immediately dropping to their knees as the fatigue of the fight begins to properly kick in. You amble clumsily to a large tree nearby, carefully setting Eli's weakened form against its base before collapsing yourself.

"$!{ehe} needs healing," Specter wheezes from the other side of the clearing.

It is ${yusuha} who ends up answering him. "I'll…take care of it."

It is another minute before the red-haired mage could properly pick ${yhim}self up and kneel down on the ground beside you. $!{yhe} chants quietly as ${yhis} scarlet-red mana leaks into the air and twists into theurgy spell circles. $!{yhis} jaw flexes from the strain of the effort, but ${yhe} grinds ${yhis} teeth and continues pouring until Eli's injuries begin closing in on themselves.

*choice
    *selectable_if (enchantment > 64) #With the fight behind us, I have mana to spare for a Glyph of Magesong.
        *set reli %+ 7
        *set ryusuha %+ 7
        *set rfalco %+ 7
        *set glyphofmagesong true
        A flash of light erupts on the ground underneath Specter's feet, the beams dancing briefly in the air before settling into an array of runes. Color begins to return to the older mage's face as your spell takes effect, and when it dulls out of existence Specter nods his head in gratitude.
    *selectable_if (alchemy > 50) #I feed Eli raw herbs known to enhance the effects of theurgy.
        *set reli %+ 5
        *set ryusuha %+ 5
        *set rfalco %+ 5
        The aithar plant blooms only once every six years, but its wealth of medicinal properties make it a highly sought-after herb by potion-makers. Raw consumption is often frowned upon—any good alchemist, after all, knows how to process it into a potion with ten times its curative properties—but the Seat's storage room had more of it on hand than you've ever seen in your life. You're sure they wouldn't  miss a sprig or two terribly, least of all when they go to one of their treasured arcanists.
        
        Eli chews on the herb obediently when you offer it to ${ehim}. $!{ehe} had never been much of an alchemist, but ${ehe} still received a Royal Apprentice's education, and aithar leaves are nothing if not recognizable. ${yusuha}'s expression relaxes as Eli's body gradually loosens its rejection to ${yhis} theurgy, and ${yhe} turns to you to nod ${yhis} gratitude.
    #Nothing I can do for ${yhim}, but ${yhe}'s probably talented enough to handle it.
        After all, you've seen for yourself what ${yusuha} is capable of. If ${yhis} skill with theurgy is at all comparable to ${yhis} thaum, then you're sure ${yhe} can handle this much.

"Colossus sustained some pretty severe injuries," ${falco} warns, and though ${fhe} tries ${fhis} best to seem impassive you could tell ${fhe}'s more affected than ${fhe} lets on. "If Plague's wounds aren't life-threatening, you should still conserve some mana for him."

"I'm fine," Colossus grunts, even as he lays his hand over the open gash in his abdomen. "This is nothing I can't handle for now. Plague can heal me when ${ehe}'s recovered."

"I will," Eli promises through gritted teeth. $!{ehe} heaves as ${yusuha} forcefully presses down on one of ${ehis} lesions, forcing ${ehim} to bleed to better let the healing circulate. "It's the least I could do, just...give me some time."

"Keep talking and see where that gets you," ${yusuha} grumbles, even as ${yhe} continues administering the treatment. "I'm not half the healer you are, Plague, so I expect you to pick up the slack should I fail here. So stop exerting yourself—for my sake, if not for yours."

Eli obediently purses ${ehis} lips and leaves ${yusuha} to his work. The latter's chants are interspersed with pauses and labored breaths as ${yhis} spell gently washes over Eli's form, and when ${yhe} is done the mage is haggard in a way that Ilya never was, even at her most exhausted.

*page_break "We still have to comb the perimeter."

You turn to regard ${falco}, who has gingerly pulled ${fhim}self back up, using the butt of ${fhis} lance for support. "The knights will no doubt be on the lookout for us. We need to obfuscate their search as best as we can before we properly leave Reglaire."

"Then it'll be you, me, and ${callsign} doing that, I think," Razor says. "${yusuha} and Specter will need to look at the others' wounds, and we're the only ones still somewhat in fighting shape."

${yusuha} makes a show of scoffing at the idea. "Too outsized a task for a newbie, don't you think? I mean this as no insult to you, ${fname}, but you lack the requisite training. Odds are that you'll leave more traces than you obscure. In that case, wouldn't it be best for you to stick around here, defend us in case we do end up getting attacked?"

"That's…not a bad idea," Razor concedes, before turning her attention on ${falco}. "Then you take east, I take west?"

The white-haired mage answers the offer with a baleful silence, keeping ${fhis} eyes trained on ${yusuha}. The red-haired mage smiles innocently at ${fhim}, though it is clear from ${falco}'s expression that ${fhe} doesn't buy the act.

Razor turns to face the spiritist, brow arched. "Zealot?"

The younger mage pointedly ignores her. "You don't think I know what you're doing?"

"Whatever you're accusing me of, I'm innocent," ${yusuha} answers.

"Tch," ${falco} says, casting ${fhis} gaze away. "I'll let you have your way—this time." ${falco} turns around on the balls of ${fhis} feet, then, and departs to the eastern woods without another word.

"I wonder what's gotten into ${fhim}," Razor mutters under her breath. "Well, we'll be back in a while. All of you sit tight." And with that, she too disappears into the treeline.

*page_break

"Specter," ${yusuha} calls out suddenly, once the pair have left your sight.

"Hm?"

"You remember the clearing with the large boulder at the center, around a league or so west? We passed it on our way from Thulrum."

Specter squints his eyes uncertainly until a look of recognition flashes onto his features. "The one with the [i]aithar[/i] tree," he says. "I see."

"I can't be certain, but there might have been some witchroot there, too," ${yusuha} adds, already dusting ${yhim}self off. "Could help with mana recovery. Enough for us to properly treat Colossus, probably."

"Then I'll go there and retrieve—"

${yusuha} interrupts the older mage with a shake of ${yhis} head. "That won't do. Witchroots lose their curative properties within minutes of being plucked, after all. We'll need to get Colossus there and heal him on-site."

Specter takes a moment to consider the proposition. "Very well. We'll do that, then," he concedes, before pausing to regard you and Eli. "And what of them?"

"We'll leave them here," ${yusuha} says decisively. "I understand your concern, of course, but they'll be too exhausted to make a clean escape. Razor and ${falco} would be able to hunt them down in no time." There is a bit of tension percolating that last bit, and you get the sense that the red-haired mage says it for your benefit as well as Specter's. "Then, Specter, if you'll help me?"

The pair of mages pull Colossus to his feet with some effort, and the axeman allows them to sling one of his arms over their respective shoulders. As the three agents disappear into the woods, ${yusuha} turns ${yhis} head around and gives you a wink.
*goto aloneeli

*label afterzephyros
The knoll comes into view with a flash of violet light, and it takes a moment for you to find your footing on the familiar bed of grass. Eli tries ${ehis} best to keep ${ehis} weight off you, but ${ehe} is solidly built and you are [i]exhausted[/i], and it takes all of your focus not to fall over and take the older mage with you.

Specter is quick on the uptake, immediately lurching from his perch on the ground and hoisting Eli off of you. He rests the mage against the base of a large tree, then, and chants quietly as his deep green mana leaks into the air and twists into theurgy spell circles. His jaw flexes from the strain of the effort—whatever treatment he had given ${yusuha} had clearly left him drained.

*choice
    *selectable_if (enchantment > 64) #With the fight behind us, I have mana to spare for a Glyph of Magesong.
        *set reli %+ 4
        *set ryusuha %+ 4
        *set rfalco %+ 4
        *set glyphofmagesong true
        A flash of light erupts on the ground underneath Specter's feet, the beams dancing briefly in the air before settling into an array of runes. Color begins to return to the older mage's face as your spell takes effect, and when it dulls out of existence Specter nods his head in gratitude.
    *selectable_if (alchemy > 50) #I feed Eli raw herbs known to enhance the effects of theurgy.
        *set reli %+ 3
        *set ryusuha %+ 3
        *set rfalco %+ 3
        The aithar plant blooms only once every six years, but its wealth of medicinal properties make it a highly sought-after herb by potion-makers. Raw consumption is often frowned upon—any good alchemist, after all, knows how to process it into a potion with ten times its curative properties—but Thulrum's medicine stores had more of it on hand than you've ever seen in your life. You're sure they wouldn't  miss a sprig or two too terribly, especially when it's given to one of their treasured arcanists.
        
        Eli chews on the herb obediently when you offer it to ${ehim}. $!{ehe} had never been much of an alchemist, but ${ehe} still received a Royal Apprentice's education, and aithar leaves are nothing if not recognizable. ${yusuha}'s expression relaxes as Eli's body gradually loosens its rejection to ${yhis} theurgy, and ${yhe} turns to you to nod ${yhis} gratitude..
    #Nothing I can do for him, but he's probably talented enough to handle it.
        After all, what the strike team achieved down in Reglaire Castle was nothing short of a miracle. If Specter is talented enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Razor and Colossus, you're sure he can handle this much.

*if (razorready = false)
    *goto razorwoundpath
*else
    *goto razornowoundpath

*label razorwoundpath
"Razor is in a worse state," ${falco} warns, and though ${fhe} tries ${fhis} best to seem impassive you could tell ${fhe}'s more affected than ${fhe} lets on. "She couldn't make the trip through the Spirit Gate, so Colossus is carrying her out on foot."

"I've seen to her wounds—she has a good chance of making it through this unscathed," Eli says through gritted teeth. $!{ehe} heaves as Specter presses down on one of ${ehis} lesions, forcing ${ehim} to bleed to better let the healing circulate. "I couldn't...do much," ${ehe} continues valiantly. "Not enough mana. But with any luck...it will be enough."

*goto razorpathdone

*label razornowoundpath
"Razor had some trouble with Reon poison earlier," ${falco} warns, and Specter's brows arch in surprise even as he casts his spell. "You might want to take a look at that after you're done with ${ehim}."

"I'll be fine," Razor counters nonchalantly. It's a masterful artifice—you know the venom's sting must still be burning through her veins right now, but she speaks with the confidence of one still ready for another round of combat. "${callsign}'s little stunt did the trick for me. Plague can take a look at it when he's done recovering."

"I will," Eli promises through gritted teeth. $!{ehe} heaves as Specter forcefully presses down on one of ${ehis} lesions, forcing ${ehim} to bleed to better let the healing circulate. "It's the least I could do, just...give me some time."

*label razorpathdone
"Stop talking," Specter hisses. "You have the devil's own luck, for us to arrive when we did, but keep pushing it and I promise you'll regret it."

Eli obediently purses ${ehis} lips and leaves Specter to his work. The latter's chants are interspersed with pauses and labored breaths as his spell gently washes over Eli's form, and when he is done the man is haggard in a way that Ilya never was, even at her most exhausted.

*page_break "I could've stepped in if you needed me to."

You turn your head in the direction of the voice, and find ${yusuha} gingerly pulling ${yhim}self onto ${yhis} feet, hands pressed firmly against the bark of a tree for support. $!{yhe} hobbles over to where you have gathered around Eli. "Long time no see, Plague," ${yhe} says, smirking. "You look like you could do with a change of clothes."

Eli takes in the clumps of torn garment clinging precariously onto ${ehis} torso, and gives a wan smile to concede the point.

"Time enough for that discussion later, I think," Specter quips lightly, jerking his head in your direction. "First, introductions. Plague, meet—"

"Specter!" ${yusuha} half-yells, slinging ${yhis} arms forcefully around the older mage's shoulders. You had no idea that the human face could accommodate a smile so wide, or one so obviously a sham. "You haven't forgotten Saber protocol, have you? Never assume the absence of hostiles."

"Of course, but what does that have to do with—"

*if (razorready = false)
    *goto razorpath1
*else
    *goto razorpath2

*label razorpath1
"What I'm [i]saying[/i]," the redhead continues, ${yhis} grip on Specter's shoulder tight enough to make the older mage yelp. "Is that we haven't seen a single second of combat today, and yet we're leaving two injured agents to fend for themselves in hostile territory. We can't have that, can we? [i]We'd better go support them, right?[/i]"

"Well, yes, I suppose, but—"

"No buts, you old man, get to marching," ${yusuha} says, forcefully turning Specter around to face the path through the woods. "Zealot, you come along too."

*goto falcono

*label razorpath2
"What I'm [i]saying[/i]," the redhead continues, ${yhis} grip on Specter's shoulder tight enough to make the older mage yelp. "Is that if there are any stragglers around that we haven't neutralized yet, they may very well strike us when our guard is down. We can't have that, can we? We'd better make sure we're [i]really[/i] in the clear, right?"

"Well, yes, I suppose, but—"

"No buts, you old man, get to marching," ${yusuha} says, forcefully turning Specter around to face the path through the woods. "Colossus, Razor, you take care of the east. Zealot, you're with me and Specter."

*label falcono
The white-haired mage answers the order with a baleful stare. "Must you be so obvious?"

"Can't you just let me have my way, just once in a while?"

"Tch."

${falco} holds out ${fhis} arm, then, and you try not to flinch at the way ${fhis} skin roils and twists upon itself. The mage chants in the ancient tongue under ${fhis} breath, and in a single fluid motion a dark-scaled serpent rears its head and slithers languidly onto the ground. It stares at you with a pair of unblinking golden eyes, the sight uncanny in a way that makes your skin tingle.

"A minor serpent specialized in detection. It will alert me to significant movement in the area, so I'll know ahead of time if any stragglers happen to track you down." $!{fhe} does not say that ${fhe} will also be alerted to any suspicious movements on your part, but the implication is clear all the same. "We'll get going, then."

And with a final glance over ${fhis} shoulder, ${falco} departs into the woods, ${yusuha} and Specter trailing behind ${fhim}.

*label aloneeli
*page_break You're alone with Eli.

*label eliscene
"I wonder what that was about," ${ehe} wonders aloud, rubbing lightly at the back of ${ehis} neck. "Ah, sorry. I haven't properly introduced myself, have I? I'm known as Plague in the Saber, but my real name's Eli."

*if (temp1 = "panik")
    $!{ehe} says the name so nonchalantly, so vulgar in ${ehis} innocence, as if you hadn't been grieving ${ehis} passing for the last decade. Briefly you realize that you've transitioned out of the brisk thoughtlessness that occupied your mind earlier—when ${ehe} had leaned against you and all you could think of was how ${ehe} felt warm and solid and [i]real[/i]—and now you're acutely aware of the way your chest constricts, so tightly that you almost gasp for breath.

    Because it's just now sinking in that a ghost is staring you in the face.

    Demanding a reaction from you. Something. Anything.

*else
    The name is still jarring to your ears all these years later. You already resigned yourself to never hearing it again from the lips of another, that it would remain an artifact of your past, confined as a specter in your dreams. But Eli had felt real enough when ${ehis} body leaned against yours; and though the lines of ${ehis} face are older now, tired in a way that youth used to mask, there is kind concern in ${ehis} eyes that slots itself in perfectly with your memory of the @{evar man|woman}.

    The ghost stares you in the face, wide-eyed and expectant.

*set keli 1
*set reli %+ 70
*temp elipos ""
*choice
    #I take off my mask.
        You feed the enchanted mask your mana, and it obediently unlatches from your face with a quiet hum.
        *if ((hairlength = "bald") or (hairlength = "short"))
            You can feel the cold night air brush over your skin like a gentle touch, and as you turn your gaze on Eli, the healer
        *else
            As the tangles of your ${haircolor} hair yank free from their confines and fall over your face in sweat-matted strands, you can see that Eli
        has all but turned to stone.
        
        There's a turbulent cocktail of emotions passing through ${ehis} features, shock and disbelief and cautious hope all in the span of a single second, and when ${ehe} speaks again ${ehis} voice is little more than a whisper. "${realname}?"

        "It's me," you say...
        *choice
            #...blissfully. We've managed to reunite, against all odds...I'm happier than I can put to words.
                *set optimistic %+ 15
                *set elipos "talk"
                Yours is a bond that has endured two lifetimes, and it doesn't escape you for a moment how lucky you are, to be by ${ehis} side once more. For all that time had stretched infinitely since the night ${ehe} had burst into light, ${ehis} presence is familiar and warm and it becomes all too easy to forget the decade you've been apart.
                
                There's a rustle of movement as Eli scrambles for footing and yanks ${ehim}self upward. $!{ehe} meets you at eye level, now, and ${ehis} movements are gentle and deliberate, as if afraid of chasing you away like a wild fawn. $!{ehe} reaches out and presses trembling fingers against your hand, and as ${ehe} draws circles around your thumb you can see ${ehis} disbelief melting away into vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i].
            
                "How long has it been…?" ${ehe} manages through ${ehis} shaky laughter. There's something wet and scratchy in ${ehis} tone, and if you didn't know better you'd think the older mage is on the brink of tears. "I thought…${realname}, I thought I would never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
            #...wistfully. I'm glad to see ${ehim} again, but I wish the circumstances were different.
                *set optimistic %- 15
                *set elipos "talk"
                The whole of Arvanand currently teeters at the edge of turmoil, and by the time the dust settles, you and Eli may well end up on different sides of the inevitable conflict. The knowledge tinges your reunion with a bittersweet air, and for all that you [i]wish[/i] to feel wholehearted, unabashed joy, the terror sinking into the pit of your stomach is impossible to ignore.
                    
                There's a rustle of movement as Eli scrambles for footing and yanks ${ehim}self upward. $!{ehe} meets you at eye level, now, and ${ehis} movements are gentle and deliberate, as if afraid of chasing you away like a wild fawn. $!{ehe} reaches out and presses trembling fingers against your hand, and as ${ehe} draws circles around your thumb you can see ${ehis} disbelief melting away into vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i].
            
                "How long has it been…?" ${ehe} manages through ${ehis} shaky laughter. There's something wet and scratchy in ${ehis} tone, and if you didn't know better you'd think the older mage is on the brink of tears. "I thought…${realname}, I thought I would never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
            #...tearfully. I'm feeling so many emotions right now that I can scarcely tell them apart.
                *set emotional %+ 15
                *set elipos "hug"
                Are these tears of guilt? Relief? Gratitude? You don't know. Perhaps it is all three in equal measure; you don't care to figure it out and Eli even less, scrambling as he does to pull himself upward and wrap you in a tight hug. $!{ehe} buries ${ehis} face in your shoulder, and for all that ${ehis} arms are as solid and steady as you remember you can still feel the tremble of ${ehis} lips through your clothes. It takes you a second to realize that something wet is pooling where Eli's face is pressed against your shoulder, and the feeling is enough to stun you into silence.
                
                It occurs to you that this is only the second time you've ever seen ${ehim} cry. 
                
                "Don't cry, ${realname}," ${ehe} manages after a while, valiantly schooling ${ehis} voice into something close to stable. $!{ehe} relaxes ${ehis} hold around you then, and resolutely looks you in the eyes. Looking up at those familiar brown eyes, you can see that ${ehis} shock and disbelief has melted away in favor of vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i]. "This is a happy occasion, right? So don't cry," ${ehe} says, ${ehis} laughter shaky. $!{ehe} buries ${ehis} head in your shoulder once more, then, as if ashamed of the tears. "Jove, ${realname}. Isha-on-high. I thought I'd never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
        *label metooeli
        *choice
            #"Me too, Eli. Damn you, I've been mourning you for ten years."
                *if (elipos = "talk")
                    "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," ${ehe} says, finding sudden interest in ${ehis} shoes. "I'm sorry that I left you alone. I should have done better. Found another way." $!{ehe} looks up, then, ${ehis} brows furrowed in concern.
                *else
                    "I'm sorry," ${ehe} says quietly, ${ehis} face still buried in your shoulder. And then ${ehe} repeats it once more for good measure: "I'm sorry. I should have done better. Found another way."
                
                    There is a tightness in your throat that prevents you from responding, and Eli gingerly reaches out to stem the flow of your tears.
                "${realname}, what happened after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?"
                
                *if (emotional > 50)
                    Your brain is involuntarily flooded with the memories of everything that happened to you after Eli's passing. In some ways, perhaps between the two of you Eli was the luckier one, to have died when ${ehe} did. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out shakier than you had intended.
                    
                    Eli's face falls at your admission, and there is an intensity in ${ehis} gaze that compels you to avert yours.
                    
                    "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, and though ${ehis} grip on your arm is carefully gentle, the harsh set of ${ehis} jaw is unmistakable. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it—
                *else
                    You can feel your features pulling into a grimace. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you had intended.
                    
                    "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, ${ehis} grip on your arms a hair too strong for comfort. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it—
                *goto eliflashback
            #"None of that matters now. The important thing is that we're [i]here[/i]. Together again."
                *if (elipos = "hug")
                    You feel the older mage smile against your shoulder, and then ${ehe} withdraws from the hug and looks at you intently with still-glassy eyes.
                *else
                    The older mage nods repeatedly at the words, softly at first, and then growing more enthused. 
                "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you're right," ${ehe} says, quiet in ${ehis} satisfaction. "I'm glad, ${realname}. When I finally had to come to terms with the fact that I'd lost you, too, I—" $!{ehe} interrupts ${ehim}self with a shake of ${ehis} head. "No, we agreed to move past that. And yet…"
                    
                You give Eli a curious glance, willing ${ehim} to say whatever it is that has occupied ${ehis} mind. "I…can't pretend that the last ten years didn't happen, ${realname}," ${ehe} continues. "You…what happened to you, after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?
                
                *if (emotional > 50)
                    Your brain is involuntarily flooded with the memories of everything that happened to you after Eli's passing. In some ways, perhaps between the two of you Eli was the luckier one, to have died when ${ehe} did. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out shakier than you had intended.
                    
                    Eli's face falls at your admission, and there is an intensity in ${ehis} gaze that compels you to avert yours.
                    
                    "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, and though ${ehis} grip on your arm is carefully gentle, the harsh set of ${ehis} jaw is unmistakable. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it:
                *else
                    You can feel your features pulling into a grimace. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you had intended.
                    
                    "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, ${ehis} grip on your arms a hair too strong for comfort. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it—
                *goto eliflashback
            #"It's a decade late, but Eli...thank you. I owe my life to your sacrifice."
                "Of course. ${realname}, I would do it all over again," ${ehe} says firmly, with the kind of conviction that leaves you no choice but to believe ${ehim}.
                *choice
                    #"Don't. Don't you dare promise me that you'd die for me, Eli. Never again."
                        *set emotional %+ 15
                        Eli is taken aback by your indignation, but has the grace to look apologetic. "I won't. Whatever comes next, ${realname}, we'll make it through—together. I swear it," ${ehe} says, and whatever you lack in confidence, ${ehe} doubles for you. "And I'm sorry for saying…I just want you to know that—what I did, I don't regret it, and I never will.
                        *goto knowyou
                    #"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I've had my fill of losing my loved ones."
                        Eli's gaze is fond as ${ehe} nods at your words. "I'm the same way, ${realname}. I just want you to know that—what I did, I don't regret it, and I never will.
                        *goto knowyou
                    #"I'll hold you to that."
                        *set noble %- 15
                        *set emotional %- 15
                        After all, isn't that the reason why you're here? To have a steadfast ally who will have your best interests in mind, and no one else's.
                        *if (proarcadia = "pro")
                            Common goal or no, Arcadia is a dangerous lot—and it's best that you enter their numbers with as much security net as you can.
                        
                        Eli laughs at that, and in a second it is as if all the tension had left ${ehis} features.
                        *if (noblej)
                            "You've changed a little, ${realname}. That is—I had feared you would beat yourself up over what I did, and how that night turned out, and so—I'm glad. That you've become kinder to yourself, I mean."
                            
                            "Well, we all have to grow up sometime, right?"
                            
                            "Yeah. Yeah, I'm glad that you've learned to look out for yourself, ${realname}," ${ehe} says thoughtfully. For a moment ${ehe} remains quiet, basking in a quiet sort of satisfaction, before ${ehis} brows furrow in concern once more. "But for you to have changed so much…${realname}, what happened after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?"
                        *elseif (pragmaticj)
                            "You can," ${ehe} says, nodding resolutely. "I meant every word, ${realname}. What I did that night…I don't regret it, and I never will. You've always been the sensible sort, so I doubt you would have beaten yourself up over it, but all the same…I'm glad that isn't the case."
                            
                            $!{ehe} remains quiet for a while after that, but soon ${ehis} small, satisfied smile is replaced by a concerned grimace. "${realname}, I had meant to ask—what happened after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?"
                        *else
                            "You can," ${ehe} says, nodding resolutely. "I meant every word, ${realname}. What I did that night…I don't regret it, and I never will. So please, if you've ever felt any guilt over it—if you still do—[i]don't[/i]."
                            
                            You find that there is little you can say to that, because to do as ${ehe} asks would be to unpack the tangled cluster of memories and trauma you've had since that fateful night. And given that ten years had done so little to serve that end, there is hardly any chance that you can do it just because someone asked.
                            
                            Even if that someone is Eli.
                            
                            The mage reads your silence as ${ehe} likes—as assent, undoubtedly, because ${ehe} would have pressed the issue otherwise—and for a moment ${ehe} basks in something like satisfaction before ${ehis} brows furrow in concern once more.
                            
                            "${realname}, what happened after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?"
                        
                        *if (emotional > 50)
                            Your brain is involuntarily flooded with the memories of everything that happened to you after Eli's passing. In some ways, perhaps between the two of you Eli was the luckier one, to have died when ${ehe} did. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out shakier than you had intended.
                    
                            Eli's face falls at your admission, and there is an intensity in ${ehis} gaze that compels you to avert yours.
                    
                            "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, and though ${ehis} grip on your arm is carefully gentle, the harsh set of ${ehis} jaw is unmistakable. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it:
                        *else
                            You can feel your features pulling into a grimace. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you had intended.
                    
                            "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, ${ehis} grip on your arms a hair too strong for comfort. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it—
                        *goto eliflashback
                *label knowyou
                *if (noblej)
                    And if I know you at all, I know you're the type who would beat yourself up over it, so please…"
                *elseif (pragmaticj)
                    You've always been the sensible sort, ${realname}, so I doubt you would have beaten yourself up over it, but I…I just wanted to be sure."
                *else
                    So please, if you've ever felt any guilt over it—if you still do—[i]don't[/i]."
                    
                *if (elipos = "hug")
                    There is a tightness in your throat that prevents you from responding, and Eli gingerly reaches out to stem the flow of your tears.
               
                    "${realname}, what happened after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?"
                *else
                    You find that there is little you can say to that,
                    *if (noblej)
                        because Eli is asking the impossible of you—but there is value in letting ${ehim} believe that you are capable of the feat, and ${ehe} deserves that much at least.
                    *else
                        because to do as ${ehe} asks would be to unpack the tangled cluster of memories and trauma you've had since that fateful night. And given that ten years had done so little to serve that end, there is hardly any chance that you can do it just because someone asked.
                        
                        Even if that someone is Eli.
                            
                    The mage reads your silence as ${ehe} likes—as assent, undoubtedly, because ${ehe} would have pressed the issue otherwise—and for a moment ${ehe} basks in something like satisfaction before ${ehis} brows furrow in concern. "${realname}, what happened after I…? Did you get out alright? Have you been well?"
                
                *if (emotional > 50)
                    Your brain is involuntarily flooded with the memories of everything that happened to you after Eli's passing. In some ways, perhaps between the two of you Eli was the luckier one, to have died when ${ehe} did. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out shakier than you had intended.
                    
                    Eli's face falls at your admission, and there is an intensity in ${ehis} gaze that compels you to avert yours.
                    
                    "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, and though ${ehis} grip on your arm is carefully gentle, the harsh set of ${ehis} jaw is unmistakable. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it:
                *else
                    You can feel your features pulling into a grimace. "No, not exactly," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you had intended.
                    
                    "${realname}," ${ehe} says urgently, ${ehis} grip on your arms a hair too strong for comfort. Something seizes up in your chest, then, something kind and warm and [i]easy[/i], and when Eli opens ${ehis} mouth to speak you can hear the words even before ${ehe} says it—
                *goto eliflashback
    #I hug ${ehim}. 
        It is a clumsy, awkward affair, for you to lean down to where Eli is seated on the ground and slide your arms in the gaps between ${ehis} body and the tree bark. Eli is taken aback by the gesture, and for all that ${ehe} nearly pushes you away from the shock, ${ehe} eventually returns the hug and pats you softly in the back. You stay like that for a while, silent even as Eli stews in ${ehis} confusion—because what else could you do? It is as if ${ehe} has stolen all the air from your lungs, and any attempt at forming words—at forming [i]thought[/i]—is a folly greater than you could manage.
        
        You don't know how long it takes before you could gather the strength to pry yourself from ${ehis} form. When you finally do, Eli wordlessly reaches out and grazes ${ehis} fingers against your mask, mana uncoiling on ${ehis} fingertips and dancing along the 
        *if ((mask = "plain") or (mask = "imperial"))
            smooth clay surface.
        *elseif (mask = "flame")
            finely-carved flames.
        *elseif (mask = "flower")
            preserved petals.
        *elseif (mask = "veil")
            fine samite surface.
        *else
            smooth steel surface.
        
        $!{ehe} peers at you, wide-eyed as if asking for permission; you nod your consent, and the mask unlatches from your face with a quiet hum.
        *if ((hairlength = "bald") or (hairlength = "short"))
            You can feel the cold night air brush over your skin like a gentle touch, and as you turn your gaze on Eli, the healer
        *else
            As the tangles of your ${haircolor} hair yank free from their confines and fall over your face in sweat-matted strands, you can see that Eli
        has all but turned to stone.
        
        There's a turbulent cocktail of emotions passing through ${ehis} features, shock and disbelief and cautious hope all in the span of a single second, and when ${ehe} speaks again ${ehis} voice is little more than a whisper. "${realname}?"

        "It's me," you say...
        *choice
            #...blissfully. We've managed to reunite, against all odds...I'm happier than I can put to words.
                *set optimistic %+ 15
                *set elipos "talk"
                Yours is a bond that has endured two lifetimes, and it doesn't escape you for a moment how lucky you are, to be by ${ehis} side once more. For all that time had stretched infinitely since the night ${ehe} had burst into light, ${ehis} presence is familiar and warm and it becomes all too easy to forget the decade you've been apart.
                
                There's a rustle of movement as Eli scrambles forward, breaths labored as ${ehe} pushes past the pain. Pure, unbridled desperation tinges ${ehis} every feature, and yet all the while ${ehis} movements are gentle and deliberate, as if afraid of chasing you away like a wild fawn. $!{ehe} reaches out and presses trembling fingers against your hand, and as ${ehe} draws circles around your thumb you can see ${ehis} disbelief melting away into vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i].
            
                "How long has it been…?" ${ehe} manages through ${ehis} shaky laughter. There's something wet and scratchy in ${ehis} tone, and if you didn't know better you'd think the older mage is on the brink of tears. "I thought…${realname}, I thought I would never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
            #...wistfully. I'm glad to see ${ehim} again, but I wish the circumstances were different.
                *set optimistic %- 15
                *set elipos "talk"
                *if (proarcadia = "pro")
                    After all, Eli has before ${ehim} a @{pronvar man|woman|person} who was fool enough to place
                    ${their} faith in ${their} executioner. The life ${ehe} had worked so hard to save, only to be extinguished in less than a decade.
                *elseif (proarcadia = "anti")
                    Better for you, that is, seeing as Eli had bantered almost companionably with the Arcadians. It is clear that they have some sort of history together, and you can only shudder at the thought that Eli might have been endorsing their nefarious agenda all along.
                *else
                    You're still not sure how to feel about the Arcadians, but all the same there's far too many unknowns for you to feel truly comfortable in Tahlia's service. You can only hope that whatever plans she has for you and Eli would not separate you a second time.
                    
                There's a rustle of movement as Eli scrambles forward, breaths labored as ${ehe} pushes past the pain. Pure, unbridled desperation tinges ${ehis} every feature, and yet all the while ${ehis} movements are gentle and deliberate, as if afraid of chasing you away like a wild fawn. $!{ehe} reaches out and presses trembling fingers against your hand, and as ${ehe} draws circles around your thumb you can see ${ehis} disbelief melting away into vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i].
            
                "How long has it been…?" ${ehe} manages through ${ehis} shaky laughter. There's something wet and scratchy in ${ehis} tone, and if you didn't know better you'd think the older mage is on the brink of tears. "I thought…${realname}, I thought I would never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
            #...tearfully. I'm feeling so many emotions right now that I can scarcely tell them apart.
                *set emotional %+ 15
                *set elipos "hug"
                Are these tears of guilt? Relief? Gratitude? You don't know. Perhaps it is all three in equal measure; you don't care to figure it out and Eli even less, scrambling forward as ${ehe} does to hug you once more, this time like ${ehe} means it. $!{ehe} buries ${ehis} face in your shoulder, and for all that ${ehis} arms are as solid and steady as you remember you can still feel the tremble of ${ehis} lips through your clothes. It takes you a second to realize that something wet is pooling where Eli's face is pressed against your shoulder, and the feeling is enough to stun you into silence.
                
                It occurs to you that this is only the second time you've ever seen ${ehim} cry.
                
                "Don't cry, ${realname}," ${ehe} manages after a while, valiantly schooling ${ehis} voice into something close to stable. $!{ehe} relaxes ${ehis} hold around you then, and resolutely looks you in the eyes. Looking up at those familiar brown eyes, you can see that ${ehis} shock and disbelief has melted away in favor of vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i]. "This is a happy occasion, right? So don't cry," ${ehe} says, ${ehis} laughter shaky. $!{ehe} buries ${ehis} head in your shoulder once more, then, as if ashamed of the tears. "Jove, ${realname}. Isha-on-high. I thought I'd never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
    #I stand frozen in place. I can't think. I can't breathe.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        Eli furrows ${ehis} brows at the display, but ${ehis} expression quickly shifts to one of concern when ${ehe} perceives the way your body's trembling.
        
        "Are you alright?" ${ehe} asks softly, and for all that you search for the strength to reply there is a knot in your stomach and no air in your lungs. Perturbed by your persistent silence, Eli gingerly pulls ${ehim}self up and grazes ${ehis} fingers against your mask. Mana uncoils from ${ehis} fingertips and dances along the
        *if ((mask = "plain") or (mask = "imperial"))
            smooth clay surface,
        *elseif (mask = "flame")
            finely-carved flames,
        *elseif (mask = "flower")
            preserved petals,
        *elseif (mask = "veil")
            fine samite surface,
        *else
            smooth steel surface,
        the act slow and deliberate so as to give you the chance to pull away.
        
        $!{ehe} peers at you then, wide-eyed as if asking for permission. You nod your consent, because it is all you could manage, and under the trickle of Eli's mana the mask unlatches with a quiet hum.
        
        *if ((hairlength = "bald") or (hairlength = "short"))
            You can feel the cold night air brush over your skin like a gentle touch, and as you turn your gaze on Eli, the mage
        *else
            As the tangles of your ${haircolor} hair yank free from their confines and fall over your face in sweat-matted strands, you can see that Eli
        has all but turned to stone. There's a turbulent cocktail of emotions passing through ${ehis} features, shock and disbelief and cautious hope all in the span of a single second, and when ${ehe} speaks again ${ehis} voice is little more than a whisper. "${realname}?"

        You swallow the heavy lump in your throat. "It's me," you say...
        *choice
            #...blissfully. We've managed to reunite, against all odds...I'm happier than I can put to words.
                *set optimistic %+ 15
                *set elipos "talk"
                Yours is a bond that has endured two lifetimes, and it doesn't escape you for a moment how lucky you are, to be by ${ehis} side once more. For all that time had stretched infinitely since the night ${ehe} had burst into light, ${ehis} presence is familiar and warm and it becomes all too easy to forget the decade you've been apart.
                
                There's a rustle of movement as Eli scrambles forward, breaths labored as ${ehe} pushes past the pain. Pure, unbridled desperation tinges ${ehis} every feature, and yet all the while ${ehis} movements are gentle and deliberate, as if afraid of chasing you away like a wild fawn. $!{ehe} reaches out and presses trembling fingers against your hand, and as ${ehe} draws circles around your thumb you can see ${ehis} disbelief melting away into vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i].
            
                "How long has it been…?" ${ehe} manages through ${ehis} shaky laughter. There's something wet and scratchy in ${ehis} tone, and if you didn't know better you'd think the older mage is on the brink of tears. "I thought…${realname}, I thought I would never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
            #...wistfully. I'm glad to see ${ehim} again, but I wish the circumstances were different.
                *set optimistic %- 15
                *set elipos "talk"
                *if (proarcadia = "pro")
                    After all, Eli has before ${ehim} a @{pronvar man|woman|person} who was fool enough to place
                    ${their} faith in ${their} executioner. The life ${ehe} had worked so hard to save, only to be extinguished in less than a decade.
                *elseif (proarcadia = "anti")
                    Better for you, that is, seeing as Eli had bantered almost companionably with the Arcadians. It is clear that they have some sort of history together, and you can only shudder at the thought that Eli might have been endorsing their nefarious agenda all along.
                *else
                    You're still not sure how to feel about the Arcadians, but all the same there's far too many unknowns for you to feel truly comfortable in Tahlia's service. You can only hope that whatever plans she has for you and Eli would not separate you a second time.
                    
                There's a rustle of movement as Eli scrambles forward, breaths labored as ${ehe} pushes past the pain. Pure, unbridled desperation tinges ${ehis} every feature, and yet all the while ${ehis} movements are gentle and deliberate, as if afraid of chasing you away like a wild fawn. $!{ehe} reaches out and presses trembling fingers against your hand, and as ${ehe} draws circles around your thumb you can see ${ehis} disbelief melting away into vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i].
            
                "How long has it been…?" ${ehe} manages through ${ehis} shaky laughter. There's something wet and scratchy in ${ehis} tone, and if you didn't know better you'd think the older mage is on the brink of tears. "I thought…${realname}, I thought I would never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
            #...tearfully. I'm feeling so many emotions right now that I can scarcely tell them apart.
                *set emotional %+ 15
                *set elipos "hug"
                Are these tears of guilt? Relief? Gratitude? You don't know. Perhaps it is all three in equal measure; you don't care to figure it out and Eli even less, scrambling forward as he does to pull you into a tight hug. $!{ehe} buries ${ehis} face in your shoulder, and for all that ${ehis} arms are as solid and steady as you remember you can still feel the tremble of ${ehis} lips through your clothes. It takes you a second to realize that something wet is pooling where Eli's face is pressed against your shoulder, and the feeling is enough to stun you into silence.
                
                It occurs to you that this is only the second time you've ever seen ${ehim} cry.
                
                "Don't cry, ${realname}," ${ehe} manages after a while, valiantly schooling ${ehis} voice into something close to stable. $!{ehe} relaxes ${ehis} hold around you then, and resolutely looks you in the eyes. Looking up at those familiar brown eyes, you can see that ${ehis} shock and disbelief has melted away in favor of vivid, full-bodied [i]relief[/i]. "This is a happy occasion, right? So don't cry," ${ehe} says, ${ehis} laughter shaky. $!{ehe} buries ${ehis} head in your shoulder once more, then, as if ashamed of the tears. "Jove, ${realname}, I thought I'd never see you again."
                *goto metooeli
*label eliflashback
*page_break
[i]@{evar Elias|Eliana} cuts off a lock of the boy's hair before ${ehe} buries him.[/i]

[i]It feels starkly like something ${ehe} shouldn't have done—you can vaguely recall theurgy tomes condemning the desecration of the dead—but you suppose that if ever there was a place for sacrilege, this would be it. Perhaps it makes it better that the one committing the act is the boy's own @{evar brother|sister}. Not that anyone's ever told you that, but the pair's coloring is too similar for it to be otherwise.[/i]

[i]The @{evar boy|girl} grips the lock of hair for a long while, with force that makes you fear for the skin of[/i]
[i]${ehis} palm. $!{ehe} casts a stubborn glance at the earthen crevice where ${ehis} brother is laid to rest, and there is a flicker of white mana that leaps through the air and buries itself in the still form. The body jolts in its cradle and you can swear that its eyes—his eyes—took on the sheen of something like [i]life[/i]; but the moment passes as quickly as it had come, and the boy's form falls slack once more.[/i]

[i]It is @{evar Elias|Eliana}'s sob that draws your attention away, the sound outlandish because this is not a place for tears. Tears are a vicious temptation, a desire that would set Father down on you like a flash of cruel thunder. They would give him cause to drag you to the spell circles, to draw up the kind of strident magic that still graces your nightmares.[/i]

[i]You worry for ${ehim} almost out of reflex—because it cannot be out of genuine concern, not when it has only been a week since ${ehe} arrived and you have never spoken to ${ehim}—but Father is out of earshot, burning a cigar on the other side of the grounds, a storm brewing on ${ehis} features over ${ehis} latest failure.[/i]

[i]So you walk up to the older @{evar boy|girl}, ${ehis} hands stained black by the earth that would bury[/i]
[i]${ehis} brother, and take them in your own.[/i]

*choice
    #I try my best to comfort ${ehim}.
        [i]It isn't an easy feat, given how few interactions you've had with others over the course of your life. But you summon the thought of Sister smiling kindly through her pain, her whispers sweet as nectar as she encourages you to endure, and find that it is all too easy to emulate her.[/i]
        
        [i]"I'm sorry," you say, the words a foreign slickness on your tongue. Consolation is a thing you've always received rather than dispensed, and it is a strange feeling to be the one that holds the cards. "I think he is somewhere better now. Somewhere kind."[/i]
        
        [i]The older @{evar boy|girl} startles beside you, and there is a rustling of tunic as[/i]
        [i]${ehe} yanks ${ehis} hands free of your grip. $!{ehe} succeeds, because you let ${ehim}. After all, for all that the snub is unfortunate, it is not unexpected. You recognize the fear in ${ehis} eyes like an old friend, like a festering wound you had let nest in the recesses of your mind, roaring to the forefront when you were at your weakest. You have long since learned to phase it all out, but the @{evar boy|girl} is still infirm. Like a fawn finding its footing.[/i]
        *goto elinext
    #I tell ${ehim} to quiet down before ${ehe} gets us both in trouble.
        [i]You can understand grief and self-pity, though you've never had the chance for such frivolities yourself. But these are things best reserved for when the lights are low and the bedding will muffle the sounds. Not here, out in the open, where Father might catch ${ehim} in the act and give you both something to really cry about.[/i]
        
        [i]"That's enough," you say shortly, your tone somewhere between concern and annoyance. "Your tears won't bring him back. Don't let them come out if you don't want to join him too."[/i]
        
        [i]There's a rustling of tunic as the older @{evar boy|girl} whirls on you, features twisted into a snarl—and then in a second[/i]
        [i]${ehe} thinks better of it, opting instead to purse ${ehis} lips together. You know it's because ${ehe} hears the wisdom in your words, harsh though they may be. Because for all that ${ehe} is older, where this place is concerned ${ehe} is still young, infirm. Like a fawn finding its footing.[/i]
        *goto elinext
    #I don't say anything—I just want ${ehim} to know that I'm here, if ${ehe} needs anything.
        [i]The act feels almost foolish, to meet ${ehis} lament with [i]nothing[/i], and your tongue itches to reach for the first meaningless platitude it can find. But you force yourself to think of Sister's quiet breaths, her gentle caress on your forehead in the wake of your bloodiest dreams. You know then that the greatest solace is often found in silence, in restraint. In a grip strong enough to be reassuring, but soft in a way that leaves ${ehim} with the choice to pull away.[/i]
        
        [i]It is a choice that ${ehe} takes, in the end. You meet the gesture with indifference. After all, for all that the snub is unfortunate, it is not unexpected. You recognize the fear in ${ehis} eyes like an old friend, like a festering wound you had let nest in the recesses of your mind, roaring to the forefront when you were at your weakest. You have long since learned to phase it all out, but the @{evar boy|girl} is still infirm. Like a fawn finding its footing.[/i]
        *goto elinext
*label elinext

[i]The @{evar boy|girl}[/i]
[i]refuses to meet your eyes and instead casts ${ehis} gaze skyward, onto the flickering carpet of stars—like ${ehe} can transfer ${ehis} anguish there, to writhe elsewhere.[/i]

[i]"He was in pain, right up until he passed,"[/i]
[i]${ehe} says after a while, quietly intense.  "That—that man carved something onto his skin. A strange symbol, like the ones you'd find in the old books…he said it burned, and that he couldn't breathe, and I…there was nothing I could do for him," ${ehe} says at length, biting down on ${ehis} lower lip. $!{ehe} stubbornly refuses to cry, but you hear it in ${ehis} voice all the same. "It was shallow, the kind of cut that would heal within the month, but the way he shivered, I…"[/i]

*page_break [i]"I know."[/i]

[i]Your skin tingles with the admission. There is a shade to the @{evar boy|girl}'s[/i]
[i]agony that mirrors your own, and it revives something dark and heavy within you, something you thought you'd long laid to rest. You pull down your sleeves subconsciously, but the @{evar boy|girl}[/i]
[i]perks up at the gesture and peers at you with wan curiosity.[/i]

[i]"Are you alright?" ${ehe} asks, hesitant. You briefly wonder how ${ehe} could muster such concern, when ${ehe} is the one whose brother lays glassy-eyed in the bed of dark earth. "If you're in pain, I can try to help, I—"[/i]

[i]"Can you?" you ask wryly, because the idea of ${ehim} helping you is almost amusing. What a novel idea it is, for pain to be something that comes and goes like the changing of seasons. No—for as long as you could remember, pain has been something as constant as the flow of your bloodstream, a ghost that you take to bed every night. It is how you've always lived, a truth as steady as gravity, but the children would ask you again and again like they couldn't comprehend. [/i]When does it end?[i] they'd cry out, and they would refuse to listen, refuse to understand when you told them the truth—that it doesn't.[/i]

[i]None of them lived for very long, in the end. And it grates on you, to have to explain each time.[/i]

*page_break

[i]So you pull up your sleeves and show the older @{evar boy|girl} the runes branded onto your arms. Fine edges and sinister curls, pulsating with ancient magic that threatens to rip through your skin. It is a pain great enough to die from, evidently, because such is the fate of all that bore them, apart from the two of you and Sister. Such is the fate of[/i]
[i]@{evar Elias|Eliana}'s brother.[/i]

[i]Only where the boy had died from one, you bear two on each arm.[/i]

[i]The older @{evar boy|girl}'s curiosity twists into cold silence, and it's a reaction you've come to expect—to the others, you are the embodiment of all that they have yet to go through; too often they anger, because your survival is the cause of their pain. You are the success story, the benchmark everyone else is held to—and Father grows ever bolder because you have proven that he should[/i].

[i]But when you look up to meet the @{evar boy|girl}'s eyes, it isn't disdain or wrath that you find—instead, ${ehe} looks at you with something dangerously close to [/i]pity[i].[/i]
*choice
    #This is the first time anyone has shown concern for me—I'm crying even before I realize it.
        [i]$!{ehe} stems the flow of your tears with trembling fingers, with a kindness unbefitting of one so recently bereaved. "You've been through so much," ${ehe} says gently, and you answer with wracking, full-bodied sobs in lieu of a confirmation.[/i]
        
        [i](Because it is one thing to derive strength from Sister, steadfast and firm in the face of the hell she is put through. It is another entirely to have your torment be acknowledged by someone else, someone who truly understands.)[/i]
        
        Sometimes it helps, just to talk it through,[i] Sister had said to the girl, the one that came before @{evar Elias|Eliana}. [/i]So I'll listen, okay? For as long as you need me to.
        
        [i]She wields the platitudes with masterful ease, schools her tone into something that both affects and revolts you. But strangely, inexplicably, @{evar Elias|Eliana}'s[/i]
        [i]concern evokes something entirely different. $!{ehis} presence by your side is both sun-warm and ocean-strong, and you are like a dam breaking when ${ehe} seizes your hands in ${ehis} own and solemnly whispers—[/i]
    #It boils my blood. How dare ${ehe} pity me, when I have been through so much more than ${ehim}?
        [i]$!{ehe} doesn't so much as flinch when the snarl escapes your lips, only looks at you with those wide, kind eyes—unbefitting of one so recently bereaved. "You're strong," ${ehe} says gently, and pride swells within you at the acknowledgment, "but you shouldn't have to be."[/i]
        
        [i]The sentence falls from ${ehis} tongue with wicked simplicity, but the weight of it hits you with the force of gravity asserting itself. Because being strong comes to you as naturally as breathing, and it is all you've known to emulate Sister and plant your feet on the ground solidly as she does. To withstand all the hell you are put through and come out the better for it.[/i]
        
        [i]And for all that you know the older @{evar boy|girl}'s words to be folly, there is a warmth in[/i]
        [i]${ehis} voice that makes you want to chance it all the same. To inspect the value in weakness, in sympathy, in pity.[/i]
        
        [i]So you look ${ehim} in the eye, almost defiant, daring ${ehim} to teach you the life that you could not live. And ${ehe} answers you with a gaze that is at once sun-warm and ocean-strong, seizing your hands in ${ehis} own as ${ehe} solemnly whispers—[/i]
    #$!{ehe} is wasting ${ehis} time, to show concern for me, and I tell ${ehim} as much.
        [i]The older @{evar boy|girl} takes in a slow breath, almost gasping, and when you meet[/i]
        [i]${ehis} eyes ${ehe} wears ${ehis} sorrow there like a jewel. "You're strong," ${ehe} says, gently enough that the compliment feels like a slight. "But you shouldn't have to be."[/i]
        
        [i]The sentence falls from ${ehis} tongue with wicked simplicity, but the weight of it hits you with the force of gravity asserting itself. Because being strong comes to you as naturally as breathing, and it is all you've known to emulate Sister and plant your feet on the ground solidly as she does. To withstand all the hell you are put through and come out the better for it.[/i]
        
        [i]And for all that you know the older @{evar boy|girl}'s words to be folly, there is a warmth in[/i]
        [i]${ehis} voice that makes you want to chance it all the same. To inspect the value in weakness, in sympathy, in pity.[/i]
        
        [i]So you search ${ehis} face like you might find the answer there, a resolute inquiry into the life that you could not live. And ${ehe} meets your demand with a gaze that is at once sun-warm and ocean-strong, seizing your hands in ${ehis} own as ${ehe} solemnly whispers—[/i]
*page_break
"Tell me. Everything."

And you do.
*page_break
*goto_scene Chapter8_Aulain_2