Instead of remaining inactive, Vin found ways to bide his time. He rotated between studying and doing light exercises. As a break, he'd tear paper from the books' endless supply and close his eyes.

He remembered a grade school teacher who was fixated on creating paper cranes. Throughout the year, she'd made hundreds of different shapes, sizes, and colors. Even during lunch breaks, she sat alone in her classroom instead of with the staff and folded while she ate. That was her routine, her sanctuary.

Vin discovered her alone one remarkably rainy day. She, too, was quite a social outcast. They both communicated just fine; Vin could easily convey his messages. The problem was that he lived and breathed skate. Nothing excited him more than fawning over pros. At first, no one minded the occasional topic of skateboarding, but naturally, others found new amusements. When any conversation shifted to video games, films, or school crushes, Vin felt isolated and unable to chime in. Ultimately, he was just regarded as the skate-nut who only knew one thing and lost his seat among the other kids.

Eventually, he gave up on trying and searched for somewhere he could eat alone. That was when he found his match, another nut. His teacher was in the class during a storm with all the lights off and curtains drawn open. The entire room was barely lit from the melancholy gray outside. It was the gloomiest day he'd experienced until then, and there she was, folding cranes alone with a smile.

For better or worse, he learned that happiness is to each their own. That you should do what you love, even if others don't understand.

Every lunch, she taught him how to fold cranes and, at times, even listened to him ramble about his dreams of becoming a pro skater. That continued for the school year until, eventually, life led them down different paths.

Eyes closed, he remembered all those years ago. The blackness of his mind painted vivid images, just like in his dreams, and he could picture the woman's hands as she gracefully touched red parchment and performed precise creasesfolds. He could hear the sound of skin flowing across the paper texture and oddly recall the smell of her ranch-drenched salad that day.

He emulated her actions, step by step, and then when the memory ended, he opened his eyes and breathed. His eyes narrowed at a sepia-colored lump of deformed paper. "Guess it's not that easy."

While his first attempt was a failure, he'd recreated a memory from roughly ten years ago—and just inside his mind.

He paused momentarily, staring at the wanna-be crane, then picked it up and tossed it behind his back. He tore another sheet from the Journal, then tried again, pondering more on this strange skill. He was always imaginative and could picture skateboard tricks before doing them, but that was different. It was extraordinary, and he wanted to know more about why and how his dreams and thoughts were so surreal.

Within hours, he was surrounded by a litter of folded pieces of paper. The ground was hardly visible, shrouded in corrugated paper like a blanket of rough snow. With each subsequent attempt, he'd gotten closer to what he envisioned and could have gotten there soon. However, he was disrupted. Hughton had left earlier and now returned to the room, vulgarly staring at the disorderly ground, speaking at him angrily, questioningly.

Vin stared back at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Then he flipped to his notes page and added.

_______ "What are you doing?"

The Warden shook his head in irate frustration, then grunted while communicating via third sense, "Clean this up; we're going out."

Vin inspected the random coverings he'd taken from the wardrobe in that room. He was dressed in dark brown ankle-cuff linen breeches and a black lace-up tunic of the same material. It was adequate, so he tightened his shirt's lace, then slipped on a simple pair of dark leather boots before embarking.

When Vin left the room, he entered a grand hallway and strode down the stairs of a massive corridor. He stepped outside the grey castle to a cool evening with brisk winds. The sun was on an upward track, flaring rays of the golden dawn.

Vin stuffed his hands in the pocket of his pants to keep them warm, then lightly stomped the stone ground with his new shoes. After trekking the forest barefoot, it felt odd to be in footwear now.

At any rate, he had plenty of time to adjust. The Warden steered him, directing him down the massive town square that could accommodate most, if not all, the residents for gatherings. As they passed, Vin scowled at the centerpiece of that space, the fountain statue of the accursed Pheonix.

Their stroll led down the sole, large road, which split the town into two massive sections. Despite it still being day, very few people were about. After about a five-minute walk down the main path, he was guided down a side street with rather large but simple buildings. There, Vin saw the first sightings of residential structures, not just shops. After a short trek, they arrived at their destination, where they were met by Gideon, who was outside a small, humble home with open windows.

Hughton had his own plan for the day and left Vin with the tall Ravenour. Gideon told him to enter, and Vin willingly stepped inside the single-story structure and cautiously glanced around. The aroma of sweet flourishes became evident soon after entering. The interior was currently tended to by a housemaid; it was neat and unusually eloquent for a race of barbarians. The dark walls were lit by the open windows, so he could see the art on the wall well, various painted depictions of heroes, and, of course, the black Phoenix.

Tristen walked out of a chamber at the back of the home, smiled, and beckoned him to come. The atmosphere suddenly condensed and lulled, and there lay the master bedroom and its owner—an old, ghastly, pale woman tightly tucked beneath the cotton cover. There were chips in her dark horns, and dark rings made resident around her eyes that would or could not open. If not for Vin's ability to see her idle, muddy soul, he would have assumed she was dead.

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The princess he'd met at the river was beside the bedridden Ravenour. Maeve. Her long, pointed ears, missing wing, and horns made her the most abnormal among those people. She was different, and he found it somewhat consoling that he wasn't alone. He found himself staring at Maeve, who'd held gaze on the dying homeowner. Her ruby eyes were just as sharp as their first appearance, but tints of cloudy mourn infected the beautiful amber of her sound soul.

Maeve spoke without adjusting her gaze toward him, as if she just knew it was him who entered the room. Vin knew she'd aimed her words at him and not Tristen by the uncertainty of her essence. She sought something with no guarantee of success.

Vin had only just begun to study the language, so he couldn't make out what she'd wanted; however, it seemed she'd known that and continued to speak so Tristen could translate. The light-haired Ravenour dialed into Vin's mind once she'd finished and summarised her intent.

The homeowner's time was nearly spent. Soon to part with nothing but the miserable life she'd held surrounded by war and the nightmares of night. Maeve wanted Vin to show that dying woman his flame, the fire of their concealed God that protected them for lifetimes.

Vin heard them out, then calmly rejected. He turned his back on the situation and began to walk off, conveying, "I'm not your savior."

It would start with one act of God. Then, before he knew it, that would lead to him being hoisted inside a church as an icon being praised for the wrong reasons. Vin always wanted to make a name for himself like his father, but circumstances like that wouldn't bring him happiness. He was near the door when Maeve spoke, and Tristen relayed, "You want to meet your family again, right?"

A scowl broke across Vin's face, and he cracked around, peered at Maeve, and let the malice bleed from his voice, "Is that a threat?"

Tristen couldn't understand Earthian. However, he could feel Vin's negative emotions, so he stepped in front of him and interpreted, "We told her about your situation; she only means that she can help you get to the human settlement faster."

Vin made it known he didn't trust any of them and continued on his way. However, something outside of the situation was hard for him to ignore. That person lying on the bed truly had lived an unhappy life. He'd only seen extreme shades of hatred or regret in the souls of those people. However, the near grotesque disdainful sludge brown the older woman's essence emitted made him pity her. He knew that he, too, had died with an immeasurable amount of regret inside that swamp. The difference was that sickness stopped his heart before he could find reasons in life to smile, and she, while brief, had time to find at least one thing. Just one grace to send her off.

Vin lowered his head, covered his eyes, then released a grave sigh. He turned back to see Tristen and Maeve staring at him, previously convinced he'd made up his mind. He agreed to help, though he had no clue how to create the purple flames himself since they'd only erupted when he died.

Vin instead suggested transferring a small amount of the flame from the castle gate. However, that idea was shut down as publicly displaying a symbol of the Violet Flame religion would cause turmoil and likely incite another riot. With that said, if it was magic, perhaps he could cast it like the Center Gravity spell.

Vin tried to recall the memory of that blaze, the senses he felt being basked in them. He could see and feel its essence so clearly, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reproduce those flames. Amid his concentration, he felt an answer, but it wasn't to his call for fire. He left the room and followed a subtle resonance to a simple candle on a shelf. One that he removed from its candelabra and brought to the elderly Ravenour's bedside. Vin felt capable of so many things at that moment; there were so many aberrations within his head and heart. He sat the candle on the woman's chest, then channeled the Center Gravity spell to keep it upright. It'd been hours since he'd felt the memory of that skill, yet he easily recollected the actions as if he'd recently touched the magic circle.

Next, Vin stared at the woman's core and transmitted a gentle wave to rouse it. To everyone, even his own surprise, she gradually awoke without being physically touched. Her eyes opened to Vin, an outsider most Ravenours initially hated; however, she laid her tired eyes upon his form, then whispered. Perhaps it was because she was already halfway into the realm of death, but he understood her; the woman said she'd never felt anything more gentle in her entire life. Vin's brows tightened as the ends of his lips dipped. He didn't like the burdensome feelings infiltrating his core. It was somehow inappropriate. Damaging. So he hurried.

Vin slowly clasped his hands over the candle fire, and when he released his palms, it had become a dark, lasting lavender flame. The woman's eyes widened as much as they could. Vin could feel that she, too, wished she could be encompassed and be reborn like that dark flame. She looked at Vin, hoping it was possible that the ancient myths were true and that he was the angel of death there to bless her. It was with a heavy heart that he shook his head. Thus, life was much too unfair.

The older woman frowned, but soon after, she began to free her frail arms from under the bed covers. Vin helped her by untucking the sheets and then guided her hard to the fire so she could feel its legendary warmth. A smile grew on her face, and brilliant yellow dyes brightened her soul as it slowly quenched. Within seconds, her fire had extinguished, and she became motionless.

Vin backed away to avoid accidentally interacting with her soul as it departed. He remained lethargic for a while, wondering why the princess of that town of brutes would do that for a single woman; he asked, using his recent lessons, to communicate in Vulcan, their native language, "Who is she?"

Maeve's eyes lowered, and she somberly replied, "Just someone who'd lived a very long life."

Maeve asked Tristen to inform the housemaid so they could make arrangements, then the long-eared woman left. Vin picked up the candle and tried to blow out the fire, but when that didn't work, he swallowed the whole wick. It truly was a burdensome element to deal with, which soon became even more apparent.

That house call was only the start, and next, Maeve brought him to the basement jail. Even after many hours had passed, it burned with the same intensity since the incident with no signs of quelling. Maeve told Vin to put the flames out, and he tried, but in the end, he felt no control over the fire. Since that was the case, it was inferred that he was still magically incompetent. Magic had ranks in the same way adventurers did. He had an innate ability to convert regular flames into eternal flames like the Phoenix; however, once they were transformed, the fire became a high-level magic that he couldn't control at Novice rank. Much like a warrior trying to wield a mighty sword that was way too heavy for them to lift, it was still a powerful weapon by nature, just useless to them.

Maeve used Vin more after that. She ushered him around town like a medal. Everywhere they went, he wondered if the people of that town were bowing to him or her. She was well-liked among the Ravenours; townsmen treated her with respect born of trust, not fear. Workers gave her free gifts, such as bakery goods, flowers, and jewelry. She even stopped to share the sweets she was gifted with kids they'd passed by.

He was irked that she used his reluctant status to settle differences between other Ravenours. Apparently, her declaring that the son of their God was sent to judge them was enough to kick the believers of the Black Phoenix into gear. She definitely took advantage of him; however, Vin couldn't deny that she would make a great leader one day.

Not that the bar was set very high.