Vin woke up the following day drained; he'd slept- some amount of hours, but living with aliens was arduous. He wanted to start with breakfast, and luckily, Hughton was at the room's desk, though utterly unconscious. Vin wanted to start by recruiting the Warden to solve his hunger. Surely, those Ravenours hadn't forgotten that he needed food to survive.

"Get up," he said in Vulcan. His appetite had become quite unruly. His volume grew with his hunger, and he repeated himself several more times, but the man showed no signs of waking.

After a long, lame look at the man, he sighed and decided to inspect his new magic to bide time. Gideon had given him a Novice rank spell called "Shape" as a reward for yesterday's quest. As curious as Vin was, he hesitated to learn it. The story of how the Ravenour came across it was too similar to the scroll of marking. It was apparently a common spell that floated around the town for people to attempt to learn, but no one had any luck. This one had to have been more ancient, as the magic circle was less than perfect. Edges weren't as sharp, and bits of its lines were fading. Still, if it'd been copied by the Journal, it had to have been registered as a real spell.

He would have eventually learned the spell whether he swallowed his trepidation then or later. So, Vin steeled himself. He touched the drawing of the magic circle, and his vision blurred before he was pulled back into the past. His world shifted, and he found himself in a sunlit workshop. The scent of various earthy mixings was nice to his nose. There were pangs from cuts on his hand, but they would soon be a thing of the past as he was on the verge of something ingenious. He excitedly tossed any sculpting tools onto the floor, bucked up, and cheered loudly, "I did it! Finally!"

Who knew when, but at some point, he'd gone slightly mad from his obsession with creating the perfect spell. A magic that would revolutionize his craft. The spell of "Shape." A sense of direction filled Vin as the host of that memory rubbed their hands together in anticipation, then gracefully hovered their hand over a block of clay. "Shape is not about force. It's about intent. Allow your intention to create on your stead."

The block of clay rippled, then contorted on all sides before it smoothed upward in a twist and then curved. It gave rise to something, though the memory blacked out in its crucial moments.

When it resumed, the clay was already shaped like a small gray plant. Like part of a film had been destroyed. The host of the memory was shouting in celebration, hardly believing something so intricate was created with just his intent. That pride lingered even when Vin returned to himself on the bed.

"It's an interesting spell, but it's unfinished," he murmured. He'd just about asked his Journal to destroy the spell circle and harass Gideon for a new one, but- Well, he had nothing better to do. He decided to try and repair it. That meant filling in the blanks of the spell based on what the creator intended in the memory.

Vin descended into the memory again to collect what data he could. The second dive was just as botched, also having a dead juncture where nothing could be sensed, but he had more of an understanding of the person behind the spell and what exactly it was he strived for.

After a third dive, he began to experiment. Roughly 80% of the spell was presented, so he had to construct the last 20% based on the creator's vision. Vin attempted so, keeping their words close. "Shape is not about force. It's about intent. Allow your intention to create on your stead."

He ripped a blank page from his Journal and concentrated on it. He let the magic flow from his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the Shape spell activated, instantly folding the sheet in half. That was an excellent first step, but a simple fold was worthless. He spent more time adding complex directions to the flow of magic in his hand, and soon, he cracked the code. It helped that he was forced to live and think like the host in the memory, meaning he practically channeled another man's mind when fixing the spell.

After its completion, his first experiment was kept straightforward. The simplest thing that came to mind was a paper airplane. He knew precisely what instinct led him to choose that shape. Boredom and hunger were an arduous combination; he'd eat one way or another.

The spell worked without a hitch, and with the only thing on his to-do list completed and the man still sleeping, he got annoyed. Vin rewound his arm, then let the paper airplane rip. It soared from the bed to the desk and crashed into the Warden's head with a mild tap.

"First try," he said, using the spell to shape another plane without his hands. He hurled the second one, which glided over the man's slumbering body and into a wall. The third missed its mark, too, but it landed on top of two neatly stacked books. It was an impressive failure; it appeared like he'd landed the plane on a small runway.

The two books weren't the only things on that desk; there were rolled scrolls, ink, a quill pen, and a standing candle. Even how Hughton leaned his sword against the wall was perfectly parallel between two lanterns. Everything was orderly and intentionally aligned—so neat that it made sense why the man had overreacted to messes.

Vin didn't give it much more thought and prepped another plane. A barbarian with OCD was hardly the strangest thing about that place. He took aim for the man again, but his eyes slithered from him to the lit candle on the desk.

There were no dark thoughts or contemplation. His mind was as empty as his expression when he unconsciously threw the fourth paper craft directly at the candle flame. It was narrowly off-center, but the parchment wing grazed enough of the candle to kindle. Vin watched the fire gradually spread across the plane before it crashed on the floor, and he listlessly watched that red flame engulf the paper.

A new desire flashed quickly across his mind; it was gone before he could rebuke it, but oh so very bad, he wanted to see that fire spread and raze everything to the ground.

Incinerate everything. Even himself.

That red flame was also too bright and cheap… It'd look better in purple.

An injection of concern jerked his body far back, tipping him over the bed and causing him to crash on the floor. Vin rose, hunched over the bed, palming his face with an unsteady breath and a full-body chill. He was afraid.

It would be okay if he intentionally thought those things. However, those weren't thoughts in his mind; they were notions from a dark corner of his soul. They were etched into him like carvings onto a stone wall. He lost his autonomy for a moment, which was even more frightening than the deadliest man or monster on that planet.

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The floor was hardwood, and no paper or trash littered the ground, so the miniature fire made no progress. There'd be no blaze, but the foreign desire remained. Vin mulled the feeling. He just knew that Pheonix had to have done something to him, but what? Even if he knew, what could he do about it?

Vin upped the production of paper planes and even added cranes to the assembly to deflect the dread of it happening again. He kept his mind busy for at least an hour, and the Warden never awoke within that time.

Much later, there was a bang on the door, and Gideon arrived and finally violently shook the Warden awake. Heated words were exchanged, as Gideon was not happy about being given a chore by anyone other than the royal. They spoke so fast that Vin couldn't capture the whole translation. However, from what he could tell, Gideon had brought someone on Hughtons behalf.

A young Ravenor girl entered the room and, without exploring, roamed to the desk and took Hughton's seat while he bickered with Gideon. Vin noticed her, but she wasn't observant at all. She was a small, pale child with straight black hair, growing horns, scales, and a robotic expression. She pulled a book from the satchel on her side and placed it on the table to read.

That place was no school, and Vin wondered what a child was doing reading in the same room as him, those people's "savior." The only conclusion he could infer was that she was the Warden's granddaughter.

The arguing closed, and then Hughton walked to the girl, knelt beside the chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He had a contrived smile as he began to speak to her, but Vin could sense a more genuine sprightliness in him.

As the man spoke in varying levels of excitement, the child slowly deadpanned toward him, her red, lifeless eyes barely open. She looked like a creepy doll, moving unhurriedly and without a spark of vivacity. All of the man's efforts to gladden her were futile, and more, it was galling to watch. One thing Vin learned from his childhood was that he hated when adults tried too hard to force an understanding. If the Warden were to reach her, it'd be under her terms, not his.

As he predicted, the girl lost interest in his ramblings. She returned to her book, leaving the conversation one-sided. Once she looked back to the table, she happened to spot the paper plane that'd landed on a stack of books. The child picked it up and eyed it from all angles without a spark of interest. The Warden, on the other hand, was more inquisitive about the thing on this table and peeked at Vin, who was scowling at him with a rumbling stomach.

Gideon walked to the desk, zoomed in on the folded craft, and asked, "What is that?"

Vin shrugged, then redirected the conversation to breakfast, in which Hughton apologized for sleeping in. The young girl became aware of the human presence and stared blandly at him. Vin wasn't much more expressive but retrieved one of the many planes he'd folded and tossed the paper craft at Hughton. It soared smoothly across the space at them, but Gideon caught it out of the sky.

Jazzy tilted his head at the paper glider. He held it with both hands and observed it to dissect its functions and how it flew. The Ravenour child glanced at the aircraft she had, then mimicked Vin and tossed it. Upon her release, it glided upward before going into a downward spiral into the ground. She glimpsed at her palm as if she'd exploited some magic of flight.

Without a word of awe, she rose from the chair and claimed the paper craft before throwing it again. The Warden had obvious gripes with a growing Ravenour engaging with unfamiliar human inventions. He hunched over and extended his hand, telling her to give him the strange flying paper. A second later, another plane came crashing into the side of Hughton's face.

He bucked upward when he was hit and glared at Vin, whose expression sank. "If you want, I can wander around the castle and find a kitchen for myself."

The man loured, but his first word was intercepted by a faint, quick giggle. It was only a second, but something resembling humor emitted from the girl's motionless face. The Warden stopped in his tracks, then snapped his head around, his jaw dumped. Gideon, an opportunist, also tossed his plane at the Warden and hit his backside, which caused the older man to flinch.

Another brief laugh escaped the girl's mouth, this one lingering, and then she, too, tossed the folded craft at her guardian. Hughton was finally starting to get the hint, and he pretended to be upset and shook his finger at the girl in discipline.

Vin heard a controlled chuckle leave Gideon's mouth, so he eyed the young guard, curious what the proud barbarian looked like when they laughed. Seeing any of those people demonstrate any positive emotion in that war-ready town was rare. It was likely why that girl was so deprived. Growing up there must have been rough, even more challenging if her sole guardian was that uptight brute.

The enjoyment that the child found would be temporary, but since Vin unintentionally played a role in her laughter, he hoped the Warden would hurry with his duties as thanks. In the meantime, he returned to his Journal. Vin's mind had pacified enough that he didn't need to mindlessly fold paper to forget what had happened. He began to read, though before he got far, the child appeared in front of him with all the planes. Her usual grimness had crept back in as she handed them to him. Vin pushed the folded crafts back into her possession, then added the best of his paper cranes to the pile. "Keep them."

She uttered soft thanks, and Vin reached out and gently patted her head. "You're welcome."

The child Ravenour steadily played as if it was a crime to indulge in frivolity. Vin put his face back in his Journal, but his thoughts lingered on her. 'So that's the child Hughton wanted to be revived to protect. He hasn't said anything about her since that night in the jail, but since he brought her here he must trust me.'

'I remember that he was her grandfather, her sole guardian... Meaning that her parents must have died. That also means Hughton lost his son or daughter.'

'I've seen, or heard about so many dead Ravenours, but I haven't seen a single cemetery while following Meave and Gideon. Do they not bury their dead?'

Vin sought the Journal's knowledge out of interest, but it couldn't provide information about Ravenour culture. Any more of his questions would have to be resolved with a conversation, but not with the child listening.

Hughton pushed his duties onto Gideon, who left and then returned with meals for all of them. Soon after, Jazzy grumbled to the Warden, "Once I'm stronger than you, i'm going to make sure you regret all of this."

On a totally different subject, Hughton looked at the unperfect floor and frowned. "I'll be living here from now on. In the future, you'll take your shoes off before entering the room."

Gideon clenched his fist and grumbled, "I'm the princess's guard; I don't have to listen to you." He stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Sure enough, the next time he returned, he took his shoes off at the room door. To Jazzy's misfortune, he often had to meet with Hughton to relay messages to and from the back ally insurgents.

The Warden was a decent roommate; the space was always tidy, and he was wise with his years, educating Vin on the knowledge of Auroraan. He also learned that the child's name was Less. A fitting name for someone who hardly had a presence. Less never really left the chamber; Hughton educated her himself. That was for the best, considering the town's current circumstances. It was a place of corruption. When just standing out was a death sentence. A village full of incomplete households or unfortunate orphans.

For a place so rich with faith, fate sure had forsaken them the most.