Crystalline water encircled her waist, the skirts of her nightgown drifting effortlessly toward the serene surface. Her fingers fluttered against the billowing linens before breaking the pristine exterior, trickling rivers down from each calloused digit. At each stream’s end, ripples bloomed, flourishing out for undisturbed waters.
A dream, Alyce realized. And this is what they call a lake?
Great bodies of water surrounded by lush grass, though she had never seen it herself, the description was not foreign to her. Neburh had ponds, which were supposedly smaller cousins to those freshwater basins.
Alyce sighed, drawing more shapes and creasing the clear veneer as she navigated the waters. If this was a lake, then she wouldn't mind seeing it once.
The lake's earthen bed enveloped her feet, while a playful breeze teased wisps of her auburn hair out of place. Sunlight’s rays crowned the top of her head and veiled her in warmth.
How peaceful.
Her gray blue eyes trailed after her man-made wavelets, traveling toward the lake’s shore behind her. Upon each ripple’s arrival, it lapped upon leaden sand before dragging itself back into the waters’ depths. Her vision wavered. Where the body of water remained tranquil, the surrounding terrain had withered, the grass and trees parched.
Agitated waters followed in her wake as she trudged toward land, her eyes scouring the wilted landscape. The malleable earth lost its leveled plane and pebbles pricked at the soles of her feet. The breeze that accompanied her sunk, weighing heavy upon her shoulders.
Arriving near the lake's edge, Alyce found each blade of grass had browned. The bed of now dried greens, brittle and hard. The water remained a distance away, kept apart by the river of coarse gray sands strewn between.
Cupping her hands with water, she toiled up the shore’s crumbling grains. The sand below had become pins, stinging at each step. The dense air made each footfall laborious and her breath trying. Yet though her journey was arduous, her forehead bore no sweat. Her constant was the sun's warm beams at her back, escorting her up the troubling sands. It lessened its radiance to make the temperature mild, but never faded from her side.
Her foot slipped sideways upon a weakened spot and an exhaled breath thumped back into her lungs. Her hands raced to brace her weight and upon impact with the ground, she coughed painfully. Wincing, she slowly hobbled on to her knees, the coarse grains beneath had pierced the soft parts of her palms. She veered her attention to what remained of her measly offering: dampened sands, the only evidence of change.
How futile.
She let out a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumped forward, hands dropping to the side. No current stirred the sands; her clothes and hair suspended into a still. The warmth remained, though even its touch did little to soothe her unmoving figure.
Water surged past her fingers and her chin jerked up, her wide eyes catching sight of waves flourishing inland. They ascended the shores, following the path she had forged. Diffused sunlight skimmed the surface, throwing glimmers atop the crest of withdrawing ripples.
Alyce lifted her face up and closed her eyes, taking in the comforting sensation of the rolling waves and the steadfast sunbeams. Then, as if a shadow passed overhead, the warmth she had taken for granted parted from her. Her eyelids became weighted and she rubbed at the delicate skin, willing for her eyes to open. She fought them to reveal the reason for her companionship’s absence, but her body did not relent. She hated the growing cold, sharing its shawl and leaning against her shoulders. With the swelling vexation scraping up the walls of her throat, Alyce pried open her lips and teeth, a strangled gasp escaped.
A weight flung itself around Alyce, wrapping arms around her. Refreshing air flooded into her lungs and she gasped before descending into a coughing sputter. Fragmented blue light danced across her vision and she blinked several times before remembering the crystal she had been given the night before. While she recovered from her fit, cold hands collected her face, forcing Alyce to meet worried blue eyes under drawn down brows.
“Bea?”
Alyce's acknowledgment brought relief to the smaller woman's face.
“You're awake! Oh!” Bea catapulted herself again over her friend. “You finally woke from your terrible nightmare!”
Nightmare? Instinctively, Alyce patted Bea’s back as she grasped for the straws of whatever dream she had awoken from. She remembered the familiar linen that belonged to her nightgown against her skin. Then -- nothing else. Alyce rested the side of her head against Bea's hair.
“I'm alright.”
“Alright?! You were turning and groaning in your sleep!” The woman wrenched away and waved a hand at Haddie, who shared Bea's concern.
“It's true. In the years we've known you, you hardly ever move or peep while asleep."
“Perhaps the day with the Esphyr and the fire caused it?” Bea asked. “I heard they did some big magic to stop the burning.”
Alyce's fingers curled around the smooth crystal that sat on her covers. The stone’s creator willingly worked on every lesser rune presented to him. Though truly no business of his own, without even being asked, he used his powers to contain the fire. And during the latter, he had carved something into his own flesh to shape a spell.
“It's not because of him. He has been truly considerate and I have come to believe that he is a kinder mage than most."
"What's this, a change of heart?” Bea poked the hand that held the stone. “Did he give that to you?”
Shifting the crystal to rest on her palm, Alyce studied the azure crystal light.
“He did but —.”
In concert, Bea squeaked excitedly while Haddie arched an intrigued brow.
“So even you are not immune to the feelings when a boy gives a gift!” Bea exclaimed excitedly. Her body leaned forward in interest. “Why, he has even swayed your judgment!"
“And of course it wasn't a lad from from Neburh. It had to be someone interesting,” Haddie drawled. “A really mysterious someone. Someone potentially dangerous but you're still curious about — ."
Alyce sighed, shaking her head from side to side. The girls often had their heads filled with romantic notions. “Esphyr Kytes wants this returned when I see him next.”
“Are you certain that's what he said?” Bea inquired brusquely as if she was sure Alyce misunderstood. "Perhaps he said that knowing you would refuse otherwise."
Alyce pursed her lips, setting the crystal down on the covers. “We hardly know one another enough to be giving gifts and the like.” She strung her fingers through her locks and grimaced. Her eyes dashed to the window and found dawn's light slipping behind the gauzy curtains. “I'm visiting the baths.”
Haddie leaned back to fill the length of her bed and stretched. “Well, since he did return you to us quite tired —." She swung an arm up to deflect a hurled pillow. “Yes, I know it was a fire, nothing else.”
“I do hope that's what you were suggesting,” Alyce growled, ignoring Haddie’s sly grin while she stomped over to collect her hapless cushion.
Haddie cleared her throat. “I was going to say, I could take on your chores today. I'm sure the Esphyr — Kytes, was it? Still needs your guidance when it comes to renewing the manor's runes.”
Alyce pressed her forehead to her hand. “Ah, that's right. We were so occupied in the castle town all day.” Her fingers twitched. “After the fire, we returned to the manor but our lord and the Esphyr's teacher remained behind. Have you heard what happened after?”
“Ah, our lord said the father and his two boys were to be housed by a relative until a new one can be built." Bea rummaged through a chest at the end of her bed, gathering a fresh set of clothes from it. “And that to prevent future accidents like this from happening, we aught to teach our children better about things of common sense! Silly children playing make believe and forgetting basic dangers, can you believe it?”
“Sometimes terrible things need to happen in order for lessons to be truly learned and understood,” Haddie murmured. “Fortunately, no one was injured and a worst fate avoided.”
Loosening her nightgown’s waist tie, Alyce remembered the eyes that followed her and Kytes as they left the castle town.
“Yes,” she agreed softly. “I hope the people see that too.”
Bea thrust clean clothes into Alyce’s arms then snatched up the crystal light and dropped it on top of the clean clothes. “Don't forget your lover’s token.”
Alyce sighed, “It is no such thing and I needn’t a light in the bath.”
"But it’s warm! It’ll keep you snug while you wait for the water to heat," Bea protested, summoning a groan from both Alyce and Haddie.
“You truly need more things to do if there's enough time for such imagination.” Alyce shoved her feet into her pattens. “In truth, Esphyr Kytes is just a kind boy. I would wager if you girls asked nicely, he would make the same pretty light for the both of you.”
“Don't regret it later if we do!” she heard Bea call out as she swung the door open.
Making a face, Alyce wrinkled her nose at her tittering roommates and snapped the door shut.
----------------------------------------
His usual store burned with reinvigorated fire, overflowing into each nerve and vein. It set him on edge and since the first blush at dawn, Kytes had been searching for every depleted fire rune in the guest wing and turned the coiling internal flames' affection over to them. From the hallway sconces to the vacant upper floor rooms’ fireplaces and bathing basins; every fire rune glimmered with furious vitality.
He had just turned his attention to the foyer’s suspended chandelier, and was considering whether he should find a way to lower the grand light source, when Kytes heard a polite cough behind him.
Leaning on his herding stick, the manor's owner smiled at him with a tinge of worried regard. Although it was still fairly early, Connall looked quite awake and already dressed in his sensible work clothes.
“The rune up there has not been renewed in decades. Even I have forgotten its existence,” Connall said, peering up at the chandelier. “Only used during special occasions, otherwise, I am impartial to its gaudiness.”
Behind the nobleman's leg, a small shadow lurked, peering out to gawp. Kytes inhaled sharply. For a moment, the small figure’s stature reminded him of the two young boys, who had accidentally started the fire.
But unlike the village boys, this child was much younger and his clothes were not darned at the knees or elbows. There was some evidence of age in the faded dark breeches, light stains on the vest and sleeves, but the garbs were crafted of fine material and much better cared for.
“My son, Ryles, thought perhaps we had a haunting in the house, after hearing doors to empty rooms opening and closing, but it was only you, Esphyr Kytes.” Connall guided the child a step closer as he spoke.
“Forgive me.” Kytes bowed to the young boy. “I thought I would repair a few runes this morning.”
“I would say more than a few.” Connall's eyes crinkled at the edges. “After last night, I would have expected you to be resting longer.”
Kytes’ face suffused in red. When he had informed his teacher of his discovery, Hollis had advised they keep the event quiet until they could test the maid further.
“I had consumed some foodstuffs, which aid with replenishing magicks,” Kytes admitted. “Although upon waking, I had forgotten that I had and —.” He sighed, recalling his blunder. Morning grogginess got the better of him and he had drunk from the pitcher Alyce had held the night before. When he realized, it was already far too late. Whatever blessing she gave, he had taken it. “A mage can only hold a certain amount of magic within themselves. Any more and it would punish us for our greed — or forgetfulness.”
A firm hand rested upon Kytes’ shoulder, encouraging the mage to look up. “If doing magic helps to relieve the burden then let's find you work. Ryles and I were just about to visit our home chapel. There are several candleholders we would like renewed. Perhaps you can help us?”
House Is'et's estate was significant but the manor was modest in comparison. A dual-level house with its entire second floor dedicated for guests and the manor's occupants. The few servants, who lived with the small noble family, stayed on the ground level, close to their responsibilities in the scullery, kitchen, or stables. Down the quietest corridor, away from the foyer and busier areas, was the entrance to the grandest room within the manor.
Beyond the wooden cross braced door laid a vaulted room, its roofing arched with bricks and stones. At the center of the chapel were a few rows of enclosed seats, long benches made from oak. Behind the pews, space was left empty where people could stand and listen to sermons, as well as another pair of grand doors, the public's entrance to the chapel. Built into each corner of the sacred room were narrow niches; the two at the front accompanied by slim wooden doors.
A vibrant hue glass, depicting representations of the goddess, Thyis, and her daughters, decorated the long side wall. The morning's light added a touch of life in its vividity, blooming the goddess’ swirling agate hair. Her copper skin was made of amber glass, her dress paned white and gold with thin strips of meticulous red, green, blue, and violet embroideries at the hem and sleeves. Underneath the glass mural was a high altar made of wood, stained the same color to the frame that wrapped around the window. Though fairly bare, a pair of ornamental candle holders decorated the tabletop.
“The glass is beautiful,” Kytes murmured in awe. He had seen plenty of frescos, murals, statues, and even other stained glass features, all homages to the world's deities, but the size and expanse of such a glass piece must have been difficult to create and install.
“The chapel was a part of the old noble clan's castle, before the first lord of House Is'et dismantled near every brick from the building.” Connall smiled sadly. “A pity, really. But those were tumultuous war times. I should be happy my ancestors at least kept this place intact. Even they were reluctant to remove such a lovely art piece.”
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Stepping before the altar, Kytes bowed deeply. Even though he possessed no affiliation to the spritely aurais or the many earth and water nymphs, it was in his best interest to bid respect as he would to the lampades.
His eyes darted to the depictions of the spirits he owed his magic to, richly curved figures in ruby dresses and obsidian shawls. One lampades carried a torch, her twin had her hands outstretched, azure and citrine flames rising from the palms and dancing up the arms. Both fire nymphs were illustrated with emotionless red eyes upon pale glass.
A creative retelling, he thought amused before resting his eyes on the neighboring characters to the lampades.
With gleaming flowing hair, three feminine figures wore sapphire dresses and slender citrine belts at their waist. Two identical sisters were kneeling, interacting with the merging waters of a nearly translucent stream to a large body of water. The remaining nymph stood closer to the lampades, one hand delicately resting on her bosom, the other entangled with the fire nymph’s.
Water nymphs of the rivers and seas. His own hand traveled to his chest, the core of his fire resting beneath his heart. It was still scolding him for consuming too much of the enchanted water the maid had blessed.
He recalled the fine droplets which gathered like mist around Alyce, slowly descending into the floorboards as more wisps formed. As mesmerizing as the scene was, it was a display of magic taking control of its host. Upon realizing, he had weighted his fire against her water, and though still strangers, he shared the memory of human comforts: touch, heat, voice. It had worked, broken her trance.
She could be the one protecting Neburh, and if she is, she's a remarkable find. He approached the altar to inspect the candle holders. However, she's unaware, untrained. No matter how effective the spelling was, all of this is nearly akin to child mage throwing a tantrum and creating unnatural storms. It will one day fade when the child is pacified or learns control. But if she is truly that powerful, without learning control, she would —
He took a step back, glaring at the serene expressions the water nymphs wore. The fine line between human and elemental spirit was razor thin for a mage.
A light tug on his sleeve shifted Kytes’ attention to the young Ryles, holding two candles in his small hands. The boy smiled and looked expectantly in the direction of the altar.
“Oh.” Kytes retrieved the candleholders. “Are we lighting them?”
Ryles nodded. “We do it every morning for mother.”
Remembering the host family's current make, Kytes hurried to attend to the brass holders. The fire runes were engraved on top of the base, each inscription the size of a thumbprint. Unlike most of the runes he renewed in the castle town, these were unscratched and treated with care, the only similarity was the absence of power.
Pressing a singular finger on the base, he felt the rune greedily absorb the seed of fire he planted. It was a minor spelling compared to a large oven and Kytes finished the spell quickly. He only had time to glance at the result of his work when a shadow bobbed close.
Ryles was fascinated, bouncing on the tips of his toes to catch a glimpse of the enchantment's glow. Kytes understood that intrigue, he remembered his own as a boy when he watched his mother and older brothers performing magic. He saw the same admiration with Fanya's twins and the other children in town. And a pang of guilt ate at him.
“Fire is still fire,” Kytes told the boy sternly, when Ryles teetered back on the soles of his feet. “Even with a magicked item, if you touch the candle's flame or touch the dripping wax, it will hurt.”
Ryles looked up, tilting his head. “I know. Alyce says the same,” he said somberly.
“Ryles frequently follows our servants, while they attend to their chores,” Connall explained, hauling a crate that clinked upon each footfall. “He's seen the minor injuries resulting from human mistakes and in turn, he's more cautious than most children.”
Ryles patted the mage's shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“Don't touch that when the rune is in use,” the boy gravely advised, nodding at the candle holder's capital.
Within the child's warning, he heard a familiar tone that brought a smile to Kytes, relaxing his initial wariness. Colleen Alyce must have some influence on the boy’s life.
“I won't,” Kytes promised, accepting a held out candle before kneeling down. With a light brush of fingers against the rune, the capital began to warm. The wax on the candle’s mid section softened and easily fixed itself straight atop the platform.
“Do you have siblings, Esphyr?” Connall asked after both candles were seen to and returned to the altar.
Kytes looked back to see Connall watching them. The crate he had brought was emptied and dozens of lanterns strewn across the flagstone floor.
“I have a much younger brother, who studies at Thalhurst.”
“Ah, then your family resides —.” The baron faltered, spotting a flicker of grief in the young man's eyes.
Kytes shook his head and bared a courteous smile. “No, just my brother and I. My hometown was Decayed, we were away when it happened.”
The young man did his best to not check for a sympathetic or wary gaze, turning his attention to the lanterns. He hardly cared if others viewed him as unfortunate or cursed. Kytes inspected a few lanterns carefully, but found that unlike most lighting vessels, there was no evidence of runes upon the handle or base.
“I’ve a request for you, Esphyr Kytes. One that I am willing to pay for,” Connall finally said when Kytes looked at him with a quizzical expression. He waved a hand in the direction of the chapel’s main entrance. “This is a public facility, but besides the elderly, most rarely come and pray. However, that changes when the end of harvest is near.”
Kytes’ focus stumbled to a halt. “It’s already late autumn?”
Connall smiled at his apparent disbelief. “Indeed. And the festival before the long winter at our doorsteps. Many still share the belief that on this day, the veil between the living and deceased is lifted for spirits to cross. And so the townspeople visit the church here to pray and seek a light to bring back to their homes.” On cue, several voices were heard outside the side church door, followed by a flirtatious giggle and stern rebuking. "And even though the young men and women are less superstitious than their elders, such festivities are always much more wildly celebrated by them since it’s the last day of harvest. The night will be long and it would not do for them to stumble in the dark.”
Kytes wore a troubled expression. He was familiar with the eve and festival, which marked the end of the fall and the beginning of winter.
In the cities, the late autumn festival was celebrated at the main churches, where large communal fires would be made and Sanctus mages, usually those blessed by lampades, would pray to those flames from dawn to sunset. Then at night, residents could bring home a lantern, filled with the same bespelled fire atop an expensive candle made of beeswax. It would be left at the front door and as long as the light persisted, it was said to have enough power to ward malicious spirits from entering the home's entrance. However, the holy fire would extinguish within time. No rune on lantern or candle could maintain the ward blessed by a few dozen clergymen and even if renewal was attempted, the effect was significantly weaker.
“I don’t think that I can provide such a magnitude of warding on my own,” Kytes admitted hurriedly. “Forgive me for disappointing you. I can try — perhaps if I will it enough, it might hold some protection —."
“Esphyr Kytes.” The rumble in the evenly spoken voice drew the younger man's attention up. “I was not expecting you to imbue it with any blessing, only fire’s light.”
“But those fires are usually — ."
Connall clasped his hands before him. “Is that what the people, who reside in the major cities expect?” When Kytes didn't respond, the man's patient smile waned. “Interesting, is it not? That the people protected by the most powerful of mages demand it is a necessity when others, who require those blessings the most, cannot afford it.” The baron directed his gray eyes to the glass mural. “My people live on traditions and thrive on hope. They would be plenty happy with any gift during Samhain."
“The people…” Kytes began to say, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Would they be happy to accept a magical trinket fueled by the person that convinced children to believe fire was a plaything?”
“You think they blame you.” Connall turned his attention back to Kytes. “The damage could have been worse, Esphyr Kytes. You acted quickly and did something so fantastical that it never crossed my mind how fire might be boxed in and put out in such fashion. Many owe you thanks, not just for containing the fire, but for every little favor you did that day.” The baron's smile relaxed when Kytes turned red. “Yes, I know you did not strictly obey the agreement set, but as long as you are satisfied with their payment, I will allow it. You are good willed and did a remarkable thing. The people will clamor for a lantern spelled by a heroic Esphyr.”
Precise clicks on the cobblestone floor drew the men's attention to the side door opening wide and admitting Hollis into the sanctuary. Following closely behind was Alyce, her hands full with a basket.
“It is far too early to ask favors from my young apprentice.” Hollis' musical voice rang through the chamber.
In contrast to the air mage's haughty entrance, Alyce's was more subdued. She greeted Connall and Ryles, the latter excitedly welcoming her and trying to peek in the basket. Unlike the night before, her linen underdress, apron, and skirts were changed. Her face and hair were clean of ash and soot.
Kytes was relieved, then he startled when Hollis veered close into view.
“Well, you are certainly brimming, more than from an average rest,” his teacher commented, frowning as she adjusted her spectacles' seat on her nose. “Is that why you're spelling lanterns?”
And, of course, Master Hollis could sense what's happened, he wearily supposed. His magic truly was seeping out from his discipline if Hollis noticed. Then again, this was his teacher. She knew the form and nature of his magic better than anyone.
“I had forgotten about the water when I woke,” he mumbled to her. “My mistake.”
Hollis hummed and looked over the scene of lanterns, which littered the floor.
“Good morning?” Alyce's greeting came in the form of a question, but a light smile played on her lips.
“Colleen — .”
“Alyce brought honey cakes!” Ryles announced, still clutching the maid's skirts.
“Esphyr Hollis found me but we did not have breakfast ready. This was all we had available,” Alyce admitted. “Really, this is a dessert.”
“I like it,” Ryles said reassuringly, only to giggle when Alyce huffed and gave him a stern look.
“And I do too.” Hollis alleviated the basket from the maid and sauntered to an empty bench. “Come eat with me, young lord Ryles. Kytes won't be able to stomach this right now. He has magic to do.”
The child gave Kytes the most forlorn pout. “You won't eat?”
The unfortunate side effect of having a surplus of magic placed Kytes in a difficult predicament. On one hand, his nose was enticed by the sweet cake’s honeyed aroma. On the other, he knew his body would not agree with consuming more energy.
“Oh!”
At Alyce's exclamation, Kytes looked at her. Her gray blue eyes danced with realization.
“Do you like the Esphyr?” she asked Ryles, who promptly hid his face into her side.
Kytes felt equally embarrassed before the bashful child. Neither he nor his own brother displayed much familial endearment for one another. He had been so immersed with his own studies and believed his sibling was most likely the same.
A distant memory urged him to kneel before Ryles. “Allow me to finish the task your father has given me and I will join afterwards.”
Kytes' instinct didn't betray. Ryles released Alyce's skirts, a wide grin on his face.
"I'll save some for you." With a happy chirp, Ryles happily trotted to the bench where Hollis waited.
Retrieving the closest lantern, Kytes sat down on the hard floor. He inspected the light's make, brass frame and translucent panels made of a beast's horns. As he called to mind the sigils he required, his companion's close presence was not ignored.
“I thought I would help,” Alyce explained, organizing her skirts as she settled next to him. "Afterall, I'm to help you in regards to all of Neburh's runes."
Balancing the lantern on its base, Kytes smirked at her reminder. "I remember, Colleen. And I see you have lined the lanterns for me. You're helping already."
"Hm, wouldn't want to keep Ryles waiting for too long. You being his new favorite person."
"Is that a hint of jealousy?" He laughed, recalling how Ryles hung to Alyce, how the boy mimicked the woman's scolding mannerism.
When she didn't retort, Kytes glanced in her direction. She was lacing her fingers together, stretching them apart.
"Surrounded by girls, I sometimes wonder if he would rather have an older brother to play with instead." There was some sadness to her answer then she looked at him, her eyes dancing. "I bet he would love to meet Mouse. He absolutely adores horses."
He nodded. "And you'll visit Mouse with us?"
"I'll bring a whole basket of apples for her."
Kytes grinned. "You'll spoil her. She'll never want to leave." He skimmed a thumb over the brass fount that was the lantern's base. "I'm glad you're -- well, Colleen."
“As am I-- for you,” she murmured.
Pressing down his thumb against the metal, Kytes drew a steady intake of air into his lungs. He lit his eyes on the dull amber panels, setting his intention on the lantern’s empty chamber. Within his veins and every muscle that ached from the overflowing fire, he reined his soul's flames to the concentrated core in his chest. Every nerve seared with excitement as it arrived in swells. The fire was eager, prying to know what he had in mind. It was tired of simple renewals. What it wanted was spells like the fiery gaol from yesterday.
He tightened his will upon the blaze and it obediently molded itself into a tightly compressed orb. Years of training had taught the fire that its host was the disciplined sort, but with it came true fulfillment. The flames lingered patiently, awaiting its host to share his thoughts with it.
The shape of two lines meeting at a point came first. It was the sign of his element's sigil and a binding rune's birth. The flames leapt forth to imprint it in the metal, branding it a bright blue glow.
We are making a gift for the people. He presented an image of a different rune. The same people we came to meet.
The fire recognized the gray pony he imagined alongside the sign; the companion, that despite the little inconveniences, was a comforting spirit. Their journey together had been long and he was grateful for the pony's patience on the road. Blissfully, his magic adjoined new strokes against the fire's namesake lines.
Kytes shared images more foreign to the blaze. In return for their hospitality. The baron and his son, though he had not interacted with them much, he would like to. Connall had offered them a warm bed and comfortable stay, Ryles wished to share honey cakes. He thought of the kindness the young mother, Fanya, had given him: her friendly conversations and the simple apple pottage. The townspeople had been quite generous with the boughs of food.
But you were far more generous in exchange. Kytes tried to banish the intruding mumble before it influenced his spell, but a tendril reached out. And some blame us for the human accident…you wish to gift them fire too?
He affirmed his decision with resolution. There will always be the doubtful few, but Connall had assured him that most would not cast blame. And Kytes believed him.
Or wanted to believe.
He hurriedly combined the rune of gift with the sigil before more doubts could surge forth. Already, his magic's flames begun to waver. Any more and the spell would weaken further.
Fire has always been one of the gifts to humankind. He reminded it furiously. They need it for protection and their livelihood! Be it for food, warmth, or light.
The torch rune upon the flattened gray pebble, enough only to bring waves of gentle heat. A crystal imbued with the same sigil and paired with the sun. The wispy tendril fed on the images and wondered if those were made with the same intentions: a gift.
She needs it. She's -- unstable. He hesitantly painted the receiver of those enchanted stones in his mind. Those will help her. Afterall, she might be the one —.
The final sigil bit into the brass as he recalled the protection rune in vibrant detail. Beast guardians, there were many sheep that roamed the county’s land. Those same animals fed on the lush hills behind the manor, where a certain maid lived. She was the one who delivered power to the waters. By passive luck, her protection reached far and lasted far longer than it should have.
The one that is preventing the outwardly disaster from stepping across the border. He told the flames, which curiously peeked at his thoughts. I give this gift to her and the people she loves to steady her magic. Protect them as she has them, for if she knows the truth of what is happening beyond her home —
The fire surged forth and caressed a final stroke upon the rune. With its work completed, those same flames leapt and skipped to another brass surface, searing the plane with the same tale Kytes had shared with it. Like a wandering bard, the enchanted fire ventured out further and sung the spell's story. It spun deep and bound itself within the newly etched engravings that graced each lantern.
With the last rune drawn, Kytes broke out of his trance and slowly opened his eyes. In his hands was the final lantern, the sigil on its base smoldering an orange red. The light in the chapel had shifted, the colorful hues no longer on the altar but cast upon the benches and lower walls.
“Esphyr?”
Blearily, he looked up to meet concerned gray blue eyes. Seeing that he recognized her, Alyce smiled and leaned forward to take the finished lantern from him.
For if she knows the truth of what is happening beyond her home, the strength of her protection might wane.