August was a bit taken aback at the sudden developments. He was worried he had done something wrong, even if his dad had told him this was not the case. He knew he should let it go, but he worried often he was a disappointment to his father. August wasn’t like his brothers and sisters. Each of them, though kind and even-tempered, had steel in them that August lacked. He was aware that he had plenty of growing up to do, and that he would be much more than what he was now. However, it is hard to remove the sense of not belonging.
August paused in the long walkway, the pitter-patter of his small feet ceasing on the tiled floor. Surrounded by an absence of sound, his mind was startled by the thoughts that filled him. Since when did he think like this? His sense of unease grew with every thought that seemed to cascade through his mind. He was a smart boy, he knew this, but his mind had never felt so clear. His emotions never felt so substantial as to be held and examined. Along with his sense of unease was an overwhelming curiosity. Just what was happening?
As more thoughts and idle meanderings pushed at his psyche, he stumbled into the wall to his side, his vision seeming to take more information in than it ever had. The silence was crushing, and it was as if each sound was a violent tempest robbing him of his balance. The soft blues and purples of the mana sconces in the hallway were now brilliant fonts of light that lit up the interchanging golden and black tiles covering the floor. It was too much. It was far too much.
Crumbling down into an undignified heap, he tried to prevent the loss of his lunch by closing his eyes. Though granted a momentary reprieve, his ministrations were made useless by the arrival of booming footsteps. Heaving what felt to be all the food he had ever encountered in his short life from his stomach, August thought perhaps he might need some assistance.
“August? August, are you ok?!” A family guardsman and attendant, the duck-kin Quacksworth, yelped as he rushed to August’s side. Without a second thought, the attendant scooped August up, a little surprised by the boy’s weight. Quacksworth inspected him and found that August's eyes were bloodshot, and sunken in as if the boy had not slept in a week.
“August, can you hear me?” Quacksworth asked, though he honestly did not expect an answer. He searched for a passerby to assist him in cleaning the mess and fetching a healer when a meek voice responded from his feathered arms.
“I can, but you’re terribly loud Mr. Quacksworth,” August replied, his voice hoarse from losing his lunch. “Please, help me to me to my room. Then you can send for my father and ask what he would like done. Don’t make a scene as we have guests.”
Quacksworth was startled. That the boy was still conscious in such a wretched state was astonishing enough; but for one so young to be thinking of things such as appearances at a time like this? Maybe, if it was William, the Dukes' firstborn, but Quacksworth doubted that even he would have been of similar temperament at Augie’s age. What was more, this was August, the most youthful and innocent child of the duke’s line. Something was off, but his priority was to help the duke’s child.
“Alright, Augie, close your eyes and rest. Leave everything to your old pal Quacksworth!” The attendant said as he plucked a feather from his arm.
After quacking a series of utterances that were, presumably, tangentially related to the concept of speech, he threw his snow-white feather into the air. As the feather fell, he breathed out a grey mist. While doing so, violet stars sparkled on the shard of space that made up his bill.
As the gray mist touched and surrounded the white feather, the feather grew to the size of an adult man. What was more, its harried fall to the floor stopped abruptly, robbed of all momentum. Quacksworth gently lowered August onto the enlarged feather, and still, it did not budge. Looking down at the mess on the floor, he breathed in for a moment, then puffed out a jet of boiling water. The water seemed to coat the tiles unnaturally as if made of a sticky, viscous substance. After the entirety of the offensive remains of August's lunch was covered by the fluid, it all seemed to congeal and contract into a ball. The ball contracted ever more until finally, it seemingly ceased its existence.
“Fantastic!” Quacksworth beamed at a job well done. After a moment of self-satisfaction, he was reminded of the entire reason he had done all of this and grimaced at his oversight. He brought forth a feather for himself, and once again blowing the grey mist onto it, expanded the feather to an appropriate size. Jumping onto the feather, he leashed August’s own to his, and set off at a rapid pace, blurring forward in an explosion of movement.
Even though they were moving at a tremendous speed, not a single person or object was disturbed by their passing. Quacksworth specialized in water and spatial magics, with his Ideal being that of a Traveler. No matter where he wanted to go, he would make it there. At least, if he was strong enough. While traveling on his feathers, he, and anyone with him, was in a dimensional pocket that existed parallel to the reality around it. This allowed for movement through space without direct interaction with people and objects. This had its’ limitations, however, such as any abilities that focused on negating spatial movement, or people and objects with deep inherent connections with reality.
As it was, he was able to move through the mansion with ease, having gotten permission from the duke to do so when warranted. This all goes to say that, though they were in the lower parts of the mansion moments ago, they made it to August's room in only a few heartbeats.
Bringing the boy down onto his bed, he felt the boy’s body was too warm. Ducking his head out of the boy’s bedroom, he shouted to a nearby servant.
“You there, hurry to the duke and let him know that his son… that August needs him immediately. Also, send for Isaac. Be quick about it but use the servants’ paths. If anyone asks for a reason tell them that you were ordered to do so by me.” he yelled, startling the poor brown-robed servant. He was a youth that Quacksworth had not seen before, so most likely a new addition to the ducal house.
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“Right away, Mr. Quacksworth!” The youth responded, before promptly dropping the laundry he was carrying and rushing off.
Chuckling to himself, Quacksworth tugged at the laundry with a tendril of mana and pushed it into the corner. Returning to August, he surrounded the boy with a thin ring of water. Breathing out a thin stream of gray and black mist, he created a circuit around the boy that removed the excess heat from his body. He did so by moving it into the water and outward, until finally releasing it into the thin ring of space created by the mist.
“This is all I can do for you; I am not a healer. Hold on for Isaac, Augie” he said to the now unconscious boy. He then focused his attention on maintaining the heat-sapping spell-work and prayed that Isaac and the duke would be quick.
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Leon Castellane, Archduke of the Castellane dukedom, heir to the patriarch of the Castellane family, the Lord of Tempests, the hero of the Island Wars, was currently being yelled at by his loving wife, Astarte. In Leon’s defense, there were plenty of battles he had fought that were far less terrifying than his wife when she was worried about her children. This, however, was one of the many reasons he loved her.
“Are you even listening to me?” Star asked him, noticing his vacant expression. “You’re thinking about how scary I am again aren’t you.”
“Never!” Leon boldly lied, and then seeing as he was caught, he confessed. “Maybe a little.”
This was not a first for either of them, playful banter coming easy to them in stressful situations. They were partners, a single unit that always moved together. They had been this way since they were young, and Leon hoped they would always be this way. By no means were they callous, rather they were both used to dire situations from their long campaigns.
“Seriously Leon, I about tore the house apart. If Ketsuhl had been any slower, we would need a new eastern wing. What happened, and is August okay?” Astarte asked, her fury subsiding into a look of concern. Her aura was still visible, encapsulating her in the brilliant orange of a sunlit dawn. The scent of the primordial forests billowed off her, filling the room and causing the plants in the study to grow and bloom.
For her to be radiating such power, spoke to the worry she had felt upon feeling Leon move his mana. While extremely rare, attacks on noble houses do happen. Usually, it would be due to a beast rampage, as they are attracted to the naturally high ambient mana surrounding a noble’s home, but the danger is still very much real. There is also a more… sentient possibility. The Castellane family was under heavy scrutiny after the former duke, Leon's father, betrayed the Empire. Even if Leon was the one who ultimately put his own father down, that black mark led to plenty of descent amongst the nobility. With that kind of descent, violence sprouting is a matter of when, not if.
“Augie is fine, star. He lost his concentration during the last summoning, and I moved to stop the sprite. I moved my mana quickly and forgot to hold back due to the sense of urgency. August is on his way to his room to prepare for the confirmation as we speak. We will meet with him before the ceremony, but we have a few things to talk about.” Leon spoke with a certain solemnity that put Astarte on edge, but his reassurance that her son was fine helped ease some of the anxiety. She knew she would not truly be alright until she laid eyes on her son herself, but the look in Leon's eyes told a particularly serious story.
“What happened, Leon?” Astarte asked, her tone and manner shifting into a composed mask.
“August likely earned a feat, as we thought might happen. What is more, gaining the feat forced his initialization into the system.” A sharp gasp left Astarte following Leons' proclamation. “You know as well as I the scrutiny we are under. Your grandfather will be joining us tonight, but I am thinking of delaying the ceremony until we can have him join us. The only way I can see out of this mess that doesn’t involve a worsening of political relations would be to use the emperor as a shield.”
Astarte sat down on a plush blue sofa near her, resting her head in her hands. After a few moments passed, she looked up with weary eyes. The study they were in right now was Leons, and it housed a refinement reflecting the regal and stalwart nature of the man himself. The decorations were hardy, black marble with spirals of azure and verdant green gracing the floor and walls. Bookshelves seemingly carved from the same marble engrained into the sides of the room, as if they were all one structure. Ivory pillars stood resolute in key areas to keep the burden of the ceiling's weight at bay.
She sat amongst one of the two couches in the center of the room, across from her on a similar couch, though this one a verdant green, sat Leon. She looked towards the desk that sat at the far end of the room, the desk carved from that same ever-present marble, and the windows behind it, that allowed the fading light of day to shine in upon them. Behind the desk was the duke’s seat of power, a heavily carved wooden throne that bore scenes of his great deeds and meritorious service.
She looked back toward her husband, examining him. She saw the same tired look in his own brown eyes. They had always reminded Astarte of the woods after a fresh rainfall, but today they seemed more like the calm of an oncoming storm. His once purely dark hair was now speckled in the blues and greens of his magic, a light dusting of colors amongst the pure stygian mane. Signs of his manas growing influence in his body.
“You look tired Leon, are you taking time off like Isaac told you to?” Star asked, knowing his response before he spoke, as they had done this dance many times before.
“I will when things settle down Star, I promise.” He said, his voice tired, and his words even more so.
“Do you think your grandfather will help?” Leon asked, “I know we aren’t on the best of terms right now.”
“He probably will, he and you bear many similarities. His love for family will likely outweigh his disappointment and anger from your fathe… from Magnus’s betrayal.” Astarte winced, knowing that though he did not show it, Leon carried a heavy toll from his father’s actions, as well as being the hand that ended him.
Leons' jaw tensed at the mention of his father, and he sighed in frustration. He needed to get passed this. It had already been a decade, yet still, the wounds held firm in his heart. Locking eyes with Astarte, he couldn’t help but feel himself calmed by her presence. Truly of all the blessings his life had been filled with, she was the greatest, her and the loving family they had fought so hard to make.
“Then, I shall send Ketsuhl to explain things to him, and hopefully he can meet us here quickly. With his help, I pray we can divine a way through this.” Leon finally said, flashing a small smile to his wife.
“No need, my boy! I am already here, after all!” Said a loud, boisterous voice from the far end of the room. As both Astarte and Leon turned, their auras flaring dangerously, they felt their attempts to summon their power crushed by some omnipresent weight.
“Relax you two, it is only me.” Said Emperor Hadrian Aurelius the Third, while sitting upon the ducal throne, his legs stretched upon the desk. “You are both too tense; of course, I will help my darling granddaughter and my grandson-in-law. What kind of man do you take me for!”