Topher awoke slowly, by degrees; pieces of him seemed to be disappearing and reappearing randomly, and for time uncountable he lay there in milky thoughtlessness, vaguely aware that something monumental had changed but not quite able to articulate what it was. Then Zanasha stirred beside him, and like a hammer blow, he came back to himself.

He turned over, facing her; her hair had fallen across her face, catching the sunlight which trickled in from a high window, and he felt like his heart would burst. He brushed her hair away with the faintest of touches, causing her to murmur and reach for him limply; her hand brushed across a part of his anatomy more wakeful than the rest, and she muttered an apology, but her hand neither lingered nor recoiled. Instead, she simply lay a hand on his chest and lapsed more deeply back into slumber; he rolled onto his back and covered her hand with his own and closed his eyes once more.

Please, God. Please just let me have this a little while longer.

He dozed again; then, suddenly, she was kissing him again and shaking him gently. "Arise," she murmured reluctantly. "We are long abed."

Eyes still closed, he smiled; he couldn't seem to keep a shit-eating grin off his face. "Mmm. Don' wanna."

He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she giggled and kissed his nose. "Nevertheless, we must."

"'Nasha," he mumbled, purely for the pleasure of saying her name; then, upon hearing a sharp intake of breath from her, he opened one eye. "Hm? Whazzat?"

She was staring down at him, a heavenly vision of loveliness; her hair fell down around her like a crimson waterfall, and the sight of her took his breath away. "Yes," she breathed. "Like 'Topher' from Christopher. Oh, my heart." She clutched his hand and pressed it to her chest; Topher had to struggle to keep his thoughts at least nominally PG-13. Sitting up, he grasped her upper arm with his other hand and held her at arm's length.

Slowly, what she was saying penetrated his drowsy brain; it was the counterpart to Hana's nickname for her, separating her name into pieces for each of them. It had only been a random artifact of his sleepiness, but it seemed to have touched her in some deep way; and, D-Rank Intelligence or not, Topher wasn't enough of a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he slid his free hand up to the side of her face and cupped her cheek, gazing into her eyes. "Nasha," he said again, feeling it out; and the sharp, hot emotion in her eyes pierced him like a lance. He pulled her to him, kissing her again, but this time it was different; her breath came in gasps, and he could feel his pulse pounding dangerously quickly.

Then, without transition, she was standing, leaving him on the bed alone; she gathered her dress around herself, chest heaving, and looked at him with a fiery, conflicted expression. "I must go," she muttered -- half-reluctantly, half-triumphantly -- and, before he could stop her, she was gone. He stared after her, trying to catch his breath, for a long time; then he flopped back on the bed with a groan of frustration.

Coulda been worse, I guess.

After a while, he rose and performed his exercises, then started looking around for facilities; to his shock, the suite had a full shower, complete with hot water, and he luxuriated in it for much longer than he'd intended before realizing from the light that the morning was already half-gone. "'Little accommodation for guests', my ass," he grumbled, then dressed again in his enchanted suit; after some reflection, he doffed the long black overcoat and stuffed it in his Magic Bag, then rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Being able to see his thick, solid forearms helped center him in his new body; he still felt like a stranger to it, but having something visible to remind him of his new condition seemed to buoy his confidence a little bit. He adjusted his Trajectile Bracelet, decided he'd faffed about enough, and cleared his throat. "Alright, Kelfir. I'm ready."

There was a long pause, just sufficient to make him wonder if he'd been heard, then the Archmage appeared in another flash of golden light. "Good morrow, Master Bailey. If you'll come with me..."

Kelfir reached out and laid a palm on Topher's shoulder -- Topher was mildly amused to see that the elf had to reach up by a good half-foot to accomplish it -- and then, with another timeless moment of non-existence, they were somewhere else.

Topher's jaw dropped open as he looked around; this was clearly the top of the tower, with a golden balcony encircling the entire area in all directions, but the thing which commanded his attention was the apparatus at its center. A great machine of shifting wheels, gears, and globes, constructed entirely of gold, whirred and clunked endlessly; tiny golden motes darted from place to place within its central complexity, and Topher's Metaphrastic senses expanded merely from being in its proximity. He could feel Kelfir's Wyrds cycling through and around it, performing some ineffable dance that had complicated and far-reaching effects that he could only just barely sense. He whistled, impressed all over again. "Jesus. Did you build that?"

"Not alone. My father-in-law began its construction; and my mate, in her youth, assisted him." Kelfir turned and gazed at it, his expression stoic. "It was my honor to complete it, and then enhance it with my Wyrd; but, as you have no doubt gathered by this point, such an endeavor does not come without cost." He turned back to face Topher, and his expression softened; a ghost of a smile even played about his lips. "Which I suppose is as good a starting point as any. Will you sit?"

Half-turning, he gestured towards a chair of red cushions; when Topher accepted his invitation, he sat gracefully opposite it on thin air as his Wyrd coalesced around him to form the now-familiar shape of a golden throne. "Before we begin," he murmured, "how do you fare? It is rare that we have time for pleasantries; let us not neglect them."

"Jesus, me? I'm perfect. Better than I've ever been in my damn life." Topher's face bore a big, stupid grin plastered across it; he couldn't seem to get rid of it. "I'm in love with a girl; it's only ever gonna be downhill from here, buddy."

To his surprise, Kelfir laughed; it was a complicated sound, full of joy and rue and serenity and sorrow in inexplicable measures. "You remind me greatly of my sons," he observed wryly. "Lulein was a cheerful child; it was only later in life that he became hard-bitten and resentful. His older brother, on the other hand..." He chuckled. "I believe you would refer to him as an 'asshole', if I am using the term correctly."

"Varissian? Oh, absolutely -- he's a real shithead." Topher smiled fondly. "But he has one of the kindest hearts around, Kelfir. And that's worth a lot more than most people give it credit for."

There was a long pause; then, the Archmage leaned forward and placed his hand upon Topher's shoulder again. "Silveril", he muttered, with obvious reluctance.

"Huh? What's that?" Topher squinted up at the elf; he had a vague urge to clean his glasses. "I don't know that name."

"It is my name," the Archmage grated, "my true, private name. Silveril Leafwind." He squeezed Topher's shoulder. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from its use; but you have proven yourself worthy of it, so I suppose I must trust that you will not misuse it." He stood, awkwardly, and turned away, pacing around the room; it dawned on Topher that the elf was embarrassed. "There are many subtleties and complexities of elf culture of which you are woefully ignorant; for now, let it suffice that you are granted the privilege to know it, but not to address me by it nor to share it with others. Do I make myself clear?"

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Topher tried his best to wipe the smile off his face; he stood and made his best effort at a respectful bow, trying not to smirk at the ridiculousness of it all. Probably big serious shit to his people. Cultural differences. For once, Topher, don't be a dick. "I understand," he said in his most level voice, then sat back down. "I'm, uh... I'm sorry I don't have anything of equivalent value to share with you."

"There, as in many things, you are mistaken." The Archmage turned and sat back down, facing Topher again, and looked away with a scowl. "You have spoken insolently to me on many occasions regarding my treatment of my progeny; though you clearly know nothing of raising a child, let alone the difficulties of elf children or the particular tribulations my sons have faced, I am... forced to conclude that I cannot refute your arguments. You seem adamant in your position that I should expend further effort towards Varissian's cultivation; I cannot see any way in which it would be useful, but I acknowledge that my point of view may not be objective." He turned to look at Topher, and his expression turned plaintive. "Explain it to me, Christopher. Give me something -- anything -- that I can use to justify such a course of action."

Topher rocked back in his chair for a moment, taken aback; then, with a frown, he bent his will to the task and thought hard. "You obviously gave him training," he began slowly, "but I'm guessing he didn't finish it. Am I right?"

Kelfir nodded sourly. "He was, at best, a diffident student; lazy and slow to apply his lessons, incurious and contemptuous of theory. The area of expertise in which he specialized was mostly the receiving of beatings."

Topher laughed grimly. "I'll bet." He leaned forward. "And his Class? What did you think when you learned of it?"

The Archmage covered his face with his hands and groaned. "It was... not one of my best moments. I projected my own disappointment and fear onto him, and gave him many lectures on the hard work and diligence that would be required of him to attain even a fraction of success at Magery with such a Class. It was my hope that such things would teach him resilience and persistence, but..." He dropped his hands and sighed. "I fear it only taught him to despise and resent me."

"Yeah, probably," Topher agreed mercilessly. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, then eyed Kelfir. "And now, after knowing everything you know now, what do you think Varissian is capable of?"

The Archmage stood and began to pace; Topher could practically see frustration coming off of him like steam. "I do not know. You would have me believe that what you have achieved implies that F-Rankers are capable of greater feats than might be expected of them otherwise; but you are an Otherworlder, and many of our rules do not apply to you. And I struggle to believe that any such accomplishment would not still require dedication and effort far beyond what my son has displayed thus far in his life."

"Maybe." Topher stood and walked over to Kelfir, nodding sympathetically. "But I also think you're going about everything wrong."

Kelfir looked at him, eyes bruised with suffering. "This you have made clear; but you have also failed to give me any alternatives."

"Listen," Topher sighed, "suppose you have one test for aptitude, and it's the speed at which an animal can climb a tree. Squirrels and monkeys are gonna do pretty good at that test, but fish and elephants, not so much. Does that mean fish and elephants are worthless? Or that your test just sucks for people who are different?"

The Archmage frowned, but nodded. "Continue."

"I'm guessing you tried to teach Varissian the way you'd teach another C-Rank or D-Rank Mage -- give him all the runes and let him figure everything out from there. But it just doesn't work like that for F-Rankers." Topher began to pace, anger building up in him as he remembered the ease with which all the C-Rank and D-Rank mages had mastered spells in minutes while he and Haruko had struggled inch by bloody inch for each scrap of progress. "We're slower. We struggle. But that doesn't make us weak." He turned and pointed at the elf. "Varissian's Class is Scullion, and you probably think that's just another symbol of how he's not good enough. But it's a strength you can't comprehend -- a Scullion is somebody who does the important jobs nobody else can be bothered to do, and if he ever gets the chance to apply that to magery, I'd bet he could become a better Mage than your sorry ass." He crossed his arms, defiant, then abruptly had to laugh at himself. "And, of course, I mean that with the greatest respect and kindness."

The Archmage tried to hold onto his scowl, but couldn't; a smile burrowed onto his face by inches, expanded into a grin, and bubbled over into a chuckle. Topher, unable to help himself, joined in; and, within moments, they were both howling with helpless laughter. Their bellows and guffaws echoed outward over the balcony and down into the city below; unseen by either of them, the occasional elf looked up in confusion, for such sounds had never been before heard from the Golden Tower of Kal'Pandu. Most of them just put it down to the strangeness of sorcery; but one indigo-haired elf woman, resting in a spider-silk hammock between two birch trees at the foot of the tower, looked up with a relieved smile and closed her eyes.

After some time, Topher and Kelfir managed to get their giggles under control; Kelfir raised his hands in surrender. "I acknowledge my superior in these matters; if such mercy is granted to us, I will see if I can set such things aright with my son." Slowly, he sobered. "But, if we are to have any hope of such things, we must turn our attention to our present predicament. What more can you tell me of our situation? I alone of the Archmages was not present at the battle; I suspect there are elements which would mean little to you, but may be of great import to myself."

Topher nodded and did his best to explain as much as he could; Kelfir nodded reassuringly at his garbled description of Vashyarl's True Rune, expressed what Topher felt was a reasonable amount of astonishment at the revelation of the Demons' true forms and abilities, and seemed ummoved by Topher's new Status. "I am not certain any other Clerk has reached Level 99," he commented; "Depending on the aftermath of this evening's convocation, it may be prudent to document your Class abilities. Kal'Pandu has an extensive library of such lore, as do many other elf cities."

Topher rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. But what do we do at this convocation thing? Why do we even need to go?"

"You cannot be serious." The Archmage regarded Topher sternly. "Suzume Saiki has betrayed us and joined the Demon Lord; Sora Sugimoto is lost in the Infinite dungeon, and most of the remaining Otherworlders are scattered or dead. You and your companions, depressing as it may be, are the last hope for the mortal races; your Levels combined no doubt eclipse those of we Archmages." He turned away, looking out over the city. "Without you, we must surrender to despair."

Bile rose in Topher's throat; angry, hurt emotions surged and crashed with him. Oh, you need us now?! You think you can spit on us and then do a 180 without so much as a please or thank you? But he swallowed them all; more than any of the other folk of this world, he felt that he could understand the haughty, self-loathing worldview of the elves. This was as close to a plea as he was going to get even from the Archmage, whose self-geas made him less of a dick than nearly any other elf; meeting failure with contempt wouldn't help anybody. He sighed. "Alright, sure. Fine. But how the fuck do we do that?"

Kelfir began to pace again. "Much of it is out of our hands; you are already better-equipped than we can improve, and we lack the skills or knowledge to assist with the... unique... talents of your companions' Classes. But you, at least, have potential we can understand and use." He turned to Topher. "When you channeled akasha into the Soulstone of Vashyarl the Black, you were able to hold his True Rune within yourself -- wield his magic, emulate his thoughts. If we still had the Stone..."

Topher shook his head. "Sahlerra took it. We could check and see if she still has it at the convocation, but --"

"She does not; it was destroyed the battle." Kelfir continued to pace. "Furthermore, you may recall that Zytis and Tuveinth were bound in slumber against the eventuality of the Demon Lord's victory; sometime during or shortly after the battle, a person or persons unknown entered the place where they were sealed." He turned back to Topher, his expression bleak. "All the guardians and warders were killed; Zytis and Tuveinth were destroyed, and their Soulstones were taken -- for the purposes, I expect, of denying their powers or knowledge to us." He hung his head. "I do not know if the Demon Lord was responsible, but someone clearly does not wish us to have access to their knowledge or power -- even if it means exterminating the living gods of the elves."

"Well, sucks to be them." Topher reached into his Magic Bag and produced the Soulstone of Irineth the Blue. "Because I still have the last one."