The Best Illusionist Ever

Magic addict I published a book: https://a.co/d/h3yMHFe

[betterillusionist]

A Tale of Two Necromancers - Wizard101 Fanfic

Certain topics are hyperlinked within chapters which lead to the respective short where they are mentioned.

~-._.-~

The Ravenwood Necromancers

Prologue 1 & 2

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / Interim: Nolan

5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / Interim: Ceren

9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / Interim: The Young Wizard

13 / 14 / 15 / 16 /

_.-~-._

[betterillusionist]

I am tired but somehow have found time to start an AO3!!!

Gradually reposting some stuff from Tumblr there plus assorted short scenes from writing exercises and prompts.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[rizzblade]

ROLAND SILVERHEART

Info below \/ \/ \/

Somehow this guy had wiggled his way into my heart, even without voice lines.

Headcanons:

-older than most. Ancient even by the standards of magic.

- Known mostly as the Arena groundskeeper. But he does not partake in training wizards, unless they prove their worth with a blade.

- Rarely removes his helm.

- Sleeps most days away, attributing it to his ‘aged mind’

- Forgetful

- Often unaccounted for

- Homeless?? Found asleep in strange places throughout the city

- assorted past.

inspiration:

Count Roland, of la Chason De Roland, in the French epic of Charlemagne.

🤍❤️🩶

Check out my buddy’s writing with Roland, when you get the chance :3c

Post by @betterillusionist

💬 0  🔁 2  ❤️ 6 · Not Quite Friends · _...-~-..._ ~-..._...-~ Headcanon context: Simeon Firemane - ex-spy from Dragonspyre who managed to

[iodine-coated-cleaver-deactivat]

so uh tagging game

The last fictional character in your photo library, is the person you gonna sit next to in a 8 hour flight!

OHHH EMU?? Not bad

tags(sorry weh): @teto-teto505, @veilofpoe, @loftedlow, @arsonistic-carp-0-2, @pompomme4, @never-end1ng-m1sery, @mxnihil + OPEN TAGS

[l1ttlemisspuppeteer]

THANKS FOR THE TAG @stellaghost hehehehe

So let's see let's see...

Mizi...

Chat I may be cooked

@writersgonnawrite @sonichopper @hypnoasis19 @paper-bag-exploration-syndrome @writerxdelete55 @air-png

[paper-bag-yearning-syndrome]

Oh I'm cooked.

Cookity cooked.

@anakasiatenggara @notcamtop @i-lovecandy0 @thecrossoverau @just-origami @leviathanverse @milkgodprofitable @inksans-and-broomie @jylek001 @funexoticbutters

[leviathanverse]

I'm safe- I think?

@paper-bag-exploration-syndrome @lonely-gay-fool

[lonely-gay-fool]

am i safe…? idfk, its Elder Puppet, the only mischievous man, the foolish king from SMC’s story time. does this even count? i have no idea.

anygays,

@panfandomgoblin @ch3ckk0utsid3lmaao @serial-designation-j-offical @donniesgaptooth @static-errorcode

[donniesgaptooth]

AYEEE MY HUSBAND!!!!!!

@gmvofficial @smallershrimpette @riseleon @embermclainapologist @mattpurplehoodie @chizburg3r

[mattpurplehoodie]

I'M CRINEEEE

Yknow what 2012 Leo isn't bad at all, he's chill 💪

@othellovr @jellyfishsketches @nacho-calamity-reblogs @ne0n-ys @neonismyfavg @doodlespaulas @therealwaffleking @cr1staloff1cial @turtlevariabilis @max-is-not-well @verymundanetoday + whoever else that wants to join 🤤

[cr1staloff1cial]

ITS AN HONOR!! Lemme see here...

UHHH, does it count? /Silly

But fr, if doesn't then I'll stick with lil tello

He's just angy >:[

@hotflatwaffle @autisticartistnauthor @itzlunacrystal @rottmnt-fallen-stars @fulltime-insomniac @korri-the-glowstick if you guys want too!

[the-soup-specter-sillies]

thanks for the tag!! (this is rottmnt-fallen-stars’ main blog)

looks like im kicking back w shadow!! i think we will sit in pleasant silence :)

uhh tagging @letsdeweythis @shineyfish @eyekaros @reagzloof @mixel-pixel @l0rd-0f-c0ws and anyone else who wants to play!!

[mixel-pixel]

Uhhhhhhhhhh

I am going to hear about Psychic Tales #1, it is Not Optional

I will tag @expiredgogurt @dragatine-draws @antpony and @chinchillasinunison

[chinchillasinunison]

Honestly he'd be pretty chill and just sleep the whole time I've lucked out

I'm gonna tag @good-beans @bluehairedspidey @chinateacup @nite-puff @painedpen @chananderlandersalamander

[painedpen]

Omg yay!!

Hmmmm

@thenuggieking @ecogirl2759

[ecogirl2759]

Ah wait, I reorganized my folders on my phone not too long ago, let me-

...

My plane's about to fucking crash 😭😭😭😭

I don't really know who else to tag, so... @shubingus @raynee-main @betterillusionist @edgy-senju

[betterillusionist]

Ironically my gender bent self lol

And Elly and Ophila too I guess. Hello demon chair. We're flying to the frozen north!

@rizzblade @lyrianvyiel @monicole-art >:3

[ecogirl2759]

Happy new years guys :D

Someone wanted me to draw Simeon right before the year ended so here's my first post of the year I guess

[betterillusionist]

Wake From the Living Nightmare

Duncan awakens with a gasp, jolting upright in an instant. It feels like there's something heavy sitting on his chest, even now that he is no longer lying down. The world tilts gradually. His arms waver, threatening to collapse beneath his own weight.

“Hey! Dunc!”

Duncan spins around and freezes, eyes wide and wild with alarm. Nolan. What is he doing in his house?!

No– NO!

Duncan scrambles back, away from the bright-yellow Conjurer approaching him. “No, stop! Don't– Ah...” He blinks. His voice... it's normal again. After days of uncontrollably phasing in and out of the monster...

He looks down at himself at last. His legs and arms are his. His robe is back again. No doubt his face has returned, too. With a sigh, Duncan slumps, his heart racing from the panic and sudden relief from the horrific nightmare that went on and on with no end in sight.

Still, he knows it isn't gone. The darkness still warp around his form in acknowledgment of his presence. In the dimness of his living room, he is the most comfortable.

“Hah...” he breathes.

Nolan blinks back, stunned by the sudden shifts in Duncan's mood. “Uh... yeah, right, um. You... okay?”

Duncan looks back at him with a similar expression. “I... don't know.”

Those three little words break whatever spell had briefly held the Conjurer in place. Suddenly Nolan jumps back into his old self, animated and annoyed at everything all the time. “What in the Spiral was that, then? Huh? Huh?! That black winged freak was your doing, wasn't it? You could have hurt someone! You're lucky I happened to be there to stop you from doing worse!” He puffs out his chest heroically. Duncan can't help but scowl first. Because of course Nolan is taking credit for something he likely didn't even do. Maybe he had been in the area at the same time and shouted vague orders from afar while he secured his escape.

But... he knows. And he is taking it surprisingly well.

Black winged freak.

That's right. That's what he has become.

“Thanks,” he can only reply. At least, whatever Nolan did or didn't do, he's glad he was stopped in the end.

Which means that the nightmare had been real. He really did become a hollow vessel searching for a purpose by taking it away from others. He let himself become so overloaded, he let that monster take control.

And yet, merely existing felt so nice. No worries. No pain. No thought. Nothing. Letting everything go was so easy.

It scares him.

He can't let it happen again.

And Nolan... what is he going to do with him?

Nolan folds his arms and taps his foot impatiently. “Well? You caused a mess; I think I deserve some answers.”

“Why would I tell you anything?” Duncan replies with a sharp glare. “You can hardly keep your mouth shut.”

“WHAT?! I'll have you know I am very good at keeping secrets!” Nolan enunciates. Duncan narrows his eyes skeptically in reply.

“I'm not leaving until you're okay,” Nolan adds. His pride melts away into that of genuine concern, something Duncan isn't used to seeing the pompous Conjurer express.

In the silence, static fills the air from outside as the lighting rods that line Triton Avenue spark with energy. He's impressed Nolan even bothered to drag him all the way home. He's impressed Nolan even knew where his house was to begin with. He doesn't remember ever giving him his address.

Finally, Nolan breaks the staring contest. “Man, I'm hungry. You got any snacks around?” He opts to wander off into the kitchen anyway without a reply. Duncan can hear him shuffling through the empty cabinets. He's going to be very disappointed in what he finds, or lack thereof.

“Wha– Why is everything empty?!”

Duncan lets out a long sigh. It's going to be a long day for sure.

[betterillusionist]

Pawn

Nolan is patrolling his territory in Festival Park one fateful day. The fateful day. He's seeking shelter from the afternoon light beneath the colorful roof that tops the elevated stage, never straying too far away from the edges of the planks of wood. His arms hang over his staff balanced across his shoulders as if he were a scarecrow. The street is peaceful once more thanks to his genius plan that the Wizard carried out dutifully. Now all he has to fill his days are... waiting for the time to come to pick up Professor Drake's laundry.

He stares out over the glittering lake with half-closed eyes. He doesn't even go to pick it up anymore. He sends a minion to do such a laborious task for him. No more aching arms and legs. No more berating for being a hair late.

It's...

Clatter!

Single brow raised, Nolan turns around. That's not a normal noise around here-

His breath catches in his throat. His stomach drops. And finally the chill hits him; sharp, clear, wrong. He's not sure what about the thing that makes him scared. It's slender onyx form bleeding into sapphire-tipped feet and feathers inspires soft elegance. The book held aloft in its arm teems with power that washes over the small, empty space that the locals call a 'park'. The winged mask is enamoring and the floating butterfly staff that waits at its side gently glows with ethereal light. Nolan has never seen a creature like this before!

And that's the issue. This thing is out of place, and what it's doing is even worse.

Small black pearls orbit around its head, forming some kind of void-like halo. Its free hand is extended to the one guard that stands on duty, overseeing the park. He has been brought to his knees, a long tendril of darkness rising from his hunched figure, collecting itself in the creature's awaiting palm.

Nolan rights himself instantly, swinging his staff down into his hands. He grips it tight as he takes up a heroic and defensive position at the rear of the stage, glowing blue orb of mana lifted between himself and whatever that thing over there is. He watches the string become yet another pearl that joins the orbit of the rest before the creature moves on, leaving the guard sitting as still as a statue on the ground behind it. It doesn't look like it's noticed Nolan yet-

The masked face snaps to Nolan just as he thinks it'll merely glide by. Slowly, it turns to face him.

“H-Hey!” Nolan barks, his arms stiffening as he feels his mana swirl inside his chest, “S-Stay back! Or else I'm g-going to-”

“Pawn,” it merely hisses at him as it raises its free arm. Its fingers float in the air so light and lofty, five black ribbons drifting with soft intent. Its will roots Nolan in place, the edges of his vision darkening as he watches... something begin to be drawn from his body. His stiffness slowly relaxes. His pounding heart calms. His resolve... steels itself in the dying light of day.

When next he returns to his senses, he feels something cold and spherical sliding down his throat. An air of measured justice holds its grip over him for a few seconds longer before he feels the cold rush of adrenaline wash back over him. Suddenly he feels short of breath as he tries to shake off the disorientation.

That... seraph thing is gone. The dirt is scorched from battle and a few of the tents have collapsed. But... no one looks hurt? Nolan aches a bit as though he just ran a mile straight. And-

And Duncan is passed out on the ground, face buried in the dirt and dust.

“D-Duncan?!” Nolan can't help but stammer, his voice cracking beneath the sheer amount of energy surging through his body. He crouches down and flips the Necromancer onto his back. He's breathing, shallow but sure. The remnants of black smoke rise from his face, some kind of mask dissolving into nothingness once exposed to the daylight. His face twitches, a nightmare running through his head.

Oh, oh, what do I do? What happened?!

He sucks in a breath as he hears the armor of the guard shift. He, too, appears to be reawakening from whatever spell the shadow thing put him under, shaking his head to clear the fog.

Nolan's gut twists in knots. He's not sure why, but he feels the need to hide the Necromancer from view. He promptly digs his arms under and around Duncan's own. Thank Raven for all that time he spent hauling Professor Drake's laundry! That, and Duncan is surprisingly light. It's not easy slinging the guy over his shoulder in the slightest but at least he can actually pick him up in the first place!

Duncan, through all of it, does not wake.

By the time the guard spins around to scan Festival Park, the black seraph has disappeared, leaving behind quite a mess in its wake. Oh, and Nolan is gone too. Probably off cowering in a hidden corner somewhere. He should be fine.

[betterillusionist]

The Angelic Horror

The front door rattles but the lock holds firm. “Duncan? I know you can hear me!”

He can. He wishes he couldn't.

Duncan's still form shifts ever so slightly, reminding him of his current form. A monster. Curled up in the dark, his blank stare fixed on anything except the direction of the front door. Knowing who is out there. Knowing there's no way he can open it looking like this. And he has no idea how to turn back.

Gretta didn't even help him. She just dropped him off at home and left. At least in this form he doesn't feel the need to eat or even sleep for that matter. As if his body has become something other than human.

It has. He has.

“Duncan!” Malorn shouts again, more impatient and worried than before.

The wings curl around Duncan's slender body without prompting – or maybe he did and he hasn't realized it yet – to protect him from the pounding and the voice outside. His knees press into his mask, right where his mouth should be. Trying to disappear into a smaller space than he'll be able to fit into. The darkness around him feels to move with him, as if molding itself around his form to let him exist within it comfortably. He hates the feeling, that he belongs within it now.

How could he allow this to happen to himself?

If Malorn sees him now, he doesn't know what he'd do.

But at least Malistaire doesn't have to bear witness to this creature. Duncan doesn't think he would have been able to handle that.

“C'mon, Dunc,” Malorn pleads. “Just… tell me you're still okay in there.”

Duncan opens his 'mouth', but as soon as he feels the distorted air pass through it, he shuts it tight once more. He can't say anything. Not while he's like this. Never when he's like this.

Finally, he breaks eye contact with the single floorboard he's been quietly trained on. But if he does nothing, Malorn will call the guard. At least, Duncan is pretty sure that's what he'll do. He's too concerned about Duncan's well-being for his own good. He's not sure why Malorn is even trying at this point.

At last, he stands from his catatonic ball and approaches the lone bookshelf, reaching for a blank notebook. If he cannot speak or show himself, a letter is the least he can do.

I'm alive.

Alive. Yes. For now.

He expected to make more noise than he actually did, gliding across the cold ground to the front door, as if he himself were made of air. He slides the small scrap underneath the door.

On the other side, he hears the paper rustle as Malorn reach for it. Duncan can't help but place a hand on the door's surface, his slender onyx fingers drawing his attention away from the outside world but a brief moment. That is not his hand, nor his arm that this hand is attached to.

Now he is forever tied to this strange, secret organization. He thought he was ready to pay any price for answers, to follow in his Professor's footsteps, to achieve his dream. But this finally calls his own thoughts into question.

What is it he was chasing in the end? Is he even deserving of his own desires? Of even having desires to call his own? When all they've done so far is brought him nothing. Nothing but a lifetime of misery.

What if misery is what he deserves?

Malorn lets out a sigh. A short, hopeless sigh. “I… I won't bother you anymore then. You know when class is. It'd be… Come stop by if you can.”

Paper rustling, the darkness that now haunts Duncan's house listens to Malorn return the direction he had come from, dejected and alone.

[betterillusionist]

Not Quite Friends

_...-~-..._

~-..._...-~

Headcanon context:

Simeon Firemane - ex-spy from Dragonspyre who managed to escape to Ravenwood near the end of the Dragonspyre Titan War. He's married to Roland Silverheart.

Roland Silverheart - a druid born in ancient Ravenwood who watched his people be killed by the Dragonspyrians fleeing from Rydall's Plague. He has since been able to overcome (most of) his grievances and has married Simeon Firemane. Can be easily gaslit over simple details due to his age.

Boris Tallstaff - minor deity-type entity with the power of stories. His physical body is made up of hundreds of magical talismans. Lives/Imprisoned inside of the Ravenwood Library because of Roland.

Ivan Soulsinger - former Dragonrider whose spirit is now stuck inside of his family's heirloom sword.

{Written & posted at the request of @raynee-main}

_...-~-..._

~-..._...-~

"We're here, daemon," Roland growls as he holds the heavy vault door open without a care in the World. The heat of lava streams into the space first, invading the cold air and consuming it whole.

"Oooh!" Boris hums with great interest as he rushes inside. He curls around the mysterious device with immense curiosity. A bright crystalline blue gem pulses in its affixed slot in a small black box, humming with otherworldly resonance. There's a second, smaller slot on top, which is currently empty. It sits at the bottom of an elevated dais, upon which sits an intricately carved piece of wood. The runes, however, are dormant.

Once he's finished with his inspection, Boris' chest flutters open, and from the cavity within he retrieves a short stack of papers and a green crystal that he can just barely cover in full with his fingers. He lets the papers float before him - three in total, two informational and one note - to make it easier for him to scan them.

- Place the Knowledge Crystal in the receptacle on top of the main panel (one with blue crystal) - Touch the blue crystal - Wait for the portal to fully open before entering - If the runes don't light up, flip the Knowledge Crystal and try again

Note p3.4 -> If you think this will ruin Roland's opinion of Simeon, please don't bring him with you. I know it's unfair for him to not know where he came from, but seeing it first-hand is not something to be taken lightly. It will be as real as it had been for us. Not just the war, but who we were to each other then, too.

Boris does exactly as the instructions say. The green Knowledge Crystal slides perfectly into the small slot atop the forward black box. Once it is nestled into place, it starts to shine with silver sparkles and hum along to the crystal below it. Then he carefully places a single papery finger to the one right below. The moment it connects to its smooth surface, the whole machine whirls to life. Bright blue energy rushes up the steps and fills the runes of the arch, bathing the two in its brilliant glow. A portal appears in its center, expanding outwards from a single central point. Its surface is murky red and purple as its hazy edges swirl like storm clouds. Distant echoes emanate from within, though the words are far too hazy to make out in full. At least the thing works.

He turns back to the instructions.

Once inside: - Don't stray too far from the crystal's owner (me), or you'll risk leaving the past and you will have to start all over again - Don't stop events from occurring. History must fly its course - Each memory only lasts for so long and contains a gateway that leads further in. Its appearance is different every time, but it will usually glow

Note p3.5 -> This is "the past" through my memory. As such, I can't tell you how it will flow, but there should be a pattern to it. You'll just have to figure it out on your own. But interact with the world as much as you want. Don't worry, it won't change anything in reality. It will all stop on its own whenever you get to the point where I die, if it brings you that far.

He turns to Roland, who stands quietly in the vault's opening, still supporting the door with a tireless arm. His long white cloak hides away most of his knightly armor, a red cross painted over the polished metal chest plate. His silver eyes gaze curiously at the Bookkeeper and the machine, though he is still quite grumpy on the inside.

"Explain," he demands at last.

Boris raises a fist to his mouth and "clears his throat", as the mortals say. "I had expressed some interest in learning more about what happened during the Dragonspyre Titan War, and Ivan graciously loaned me his Knowledge Crystal-" He stops his spiel abruptly as Roland scowls with skepticism. "Hey, I'm not a thief!" Boris defends.

"Simeon is aware of this, oui?" Roland checks.

"Well, uh, that I don't know," Boris admits with a shrug. "It all happened kind of fast. But Ivan's okay with it, so…"

"Morceau de papier volant ignorant…" the knight growls beneath his breath. Boris keeps back an eye roll of his own. Of course he's embellishing the story a fair bit - basically all of it - but only to try and dissuade the brute from following after him out of his knightly obligation. This is not that important and he can do this on his own. What harm can he be to the greater Spiral inside of a memory anyway?

"It's just archival work, Roland, it's nothing fancy," Boris says, waving a hand back at him dismissively. "I just need someone to stand guard while I poke around."

Roland, as he (sadly) expected him to, shakes his head. He steps into the room properly, releasing the vault door and allowing it to swing shut behind him. His cape very nearly manages to miss getting caught between the door and its bolted frame.

"You will not leave my sight, daemon," he declares.

"For the love of Creation, I'm not a child!" Boris exasperates. "I've done this stuff before without-"

"This is the deal we struck. Vous vous conformerez."

Worry creeps its way across Boris' face as he can only bring himself to straighten his posture. He does have a point, unfortunately. So now it's time for him to be blunt. With a sigh, he opens his mouth once more, speaking firm and clear so that there is no room for the knight to misunderstand him, "Ivan thought that it's important for… at least one of us to know what kind of people they used to be back then. If you think you'll be able to handle that-"

"Bien sûr," Roland states with confidence as he glides forward. As he passes Boris, he wills the papers back into their stack, hiding Ivan's notes from his gaze. He can't help but worry as he follows the knight through the ominous portal. Hopefully he's overthinking the outcomes. He just has to have faith in Roland. Yeah… This won't destroy any relationships... hopefully.

>>> [ Memory 1 ] <<<

An armored dragon crashes out of the ashen sky, leaving a crater in its wake and ejecting its passenger. Although armored, the boy bounces and rolls down the destroyed street, crying out in pain as he tumbles uncontrollably. A staff flies from his hand - a bright red shaft capped with a golden dragon curling itself around a perfectly spherical ruby - along with his sword. He lands with his back to Roland's feet, huffing and puffing in an attempt to gather what little of his senses remain.

Boris takes the liberty to slap a talisman to the knight's shoulder. The runes painted on its surface glow with brilliant blue light as it makes contact with his metal. Before Roland can give him a wary glare, Boris states, "It's just for translation."

The boy's hand wraps around his sword and swings it wildly through the air behind him with an angry cry. Roland catches it with ease, the blade's spectral blue metal clanging against his gauntlet. Startled, he looks up. It's Ivan, not too much younger than his ghost. His face is horribly scraped, with little pieces of stone and dirt lodged between bright red streaks that tear his face open.

He's tired, broken, and shell shocked. Tears start to glitter in his eyes as they dull, fearing the worst. That his life is over.

But that time has not come just yet.

Boris flashes him a warm smile, bending forward to get a clearer view of the wizard's face. "Hi there! Don't worry; we're here to help you. Right, Roland?" He raps the back of his hand against Roland's gleaming chest plate. In answer, Roland releases the sword and lowers his arm, his head raising up at the sound of another, more immediate threat. The marching of heavy boots and the rustle of wings echo across the ruined landscape of what once was a lively city street. Roars of bloodthirst and war rise with warning. Roland goes for his greatsword in an instant, the long blade flashing beneath the darkened sky.

Ivan, however, turns to the limping dragon. Its massive body blocks the road beyond it, shielding the wizard from its view. And beyond it is a wall of hazy color, an incomplete picture that Ivan never got to see, or perhaps blocked from his mind. Its wings spread and mill uselessly at its sides, revealing holes in its leathery skin. Broken arrow shafts still lodge themselves in its underbelly. "Blitz!" he cries out, scrambling to his own injured feet. He doesn't get two steps before his legs give out, making him stumble down to a knee.

The downed dragon turns its armored head to Ivan. Its voice is deep and smooth, with only a hint of pain in its throat, as it speaks, "Ivan, run."

"But-!" the wizard tries to argue, his grip tightening on his sword, only for Blitz to beat its tail against the ground and roar at the sky. "A rider's promise is his word. I will buy you time. Go, Ivan! Live!"

The result of a conversation driven to breathlessness finally arriving at its climax. And with the dragon's words, Ivan's sword flares with brilliant white light. The wizard doesn't react to the sudden change, still enraptured by his dragon. Roland raises an arm to shield his eyes. Boris is the only one that takes action, understanding exactly what's going on. The memory must be ending, and the gate has opened.

>>> [ Memory 2 ] <<<

His finger draws away from the blade as he looks up. No longer do he and Roland stand on the battlefield surrounded by ruins. Here, the houses are whole, and, while the sky remains ominous, there's the sounds of life all around them. Soldiers walk up and down the street. Dragons with their young dance overhead. Some hold aloft other wizards clutching little red and gold sticks - staves similar to Ivan's. No one pays the two obviously out-of-place strangers any mind, as if they had been standing there all along.

Roland lowers his arm and blinks in surprise, taken aback by their sudden change in surroundings. "What did you do, daemon?"

"Brought us to the next memory, I suppose," he answers.

Ivan himself is standing not far away, a brown satchel hanging down from his shoulder to rest by his hip, a white roll of bandages in his hand as he gingerly tends to an injured dragon. His sword, which is inside of a leather scabbard now, is left resting against the side of a metal fence. He must have taken it off so that he could treat the injured beast.

From the busy and faceless crowd then emerges a red specter that glides across the way, emitting an air of importance. It walks right up onto the sidewalk and stalls at the fence's edge, not daring to enter. The dragon's weary eyes open to peer at the newcomer, though it hardly moves much for Ivan's sake.

"Ivan Soulsinger?" a familiar voice asks. It's with a thick and sharp German accent that has all but gone by present day, but there's no doubt in Boris' mind that Simeon has made his first appearance.

Ivan's head tilts but doesn't turn as he remains focused on his duty. "That's me. Did another drake-?"

"Don't worry, it's not important," Simeon reassures him. "I'm here to inquire about your dragon, Blitz."

Ivan's face contorts, even as the rest of his body fights to remain calm. He continues to wrap the bandage around the wing, but his fingers are starting to shake. "He's still injured from patrol," he lies.

"After five days?" Simeon hums.

"It's pretty deep. He'll need at least another week-"

"What if I told you he was dead."

Ivan comes to an abrupt halt. His fingers curl around the ball of bandages, trying to crush it with his might. At last, he turns around, and the red specter takes shape. It is, indeed, Simeon, though it's hard to tell. His outfit is sharply different from what Boris is used to seeing. A red cap hides his eyes from view with its long bill, with half of a golden star embroidered on its front. He wears a red suit and matching pants, a cape fluttering behind him, its metal clasp hanging above his heart. Dark silver shoulder guards glint at them, a curled dragon painted on in black ink. His boots are slim but firm and appear slightly cushioned, too. His arms are wrapped around his back, and an empty smile is spread across his face.

"You-!" Ivan breathes through gritted teeth. He looks just about ready to cut down this man where he stands.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to write you up, either," Simeon promises, holding up one of his hands in a calming gesture. "I'm just here to figure out what happened."

Ivan lets out a huff. "How did you find this out?"

"I work reconnaissance," Simeon replies. Boris can't help but release a skeptical huff of his own. Simeon just lied right to Ivan's face, so easily and without skipping a single beat. Reconnaissance? That's only half of his job description. He looks to Ivan, fully expecting him to call out his bluff, but looses that hope just as fast as it had built up. This is but a memory. Ivan doesn't know anything about Simeon yet.

Ivan's shoulders slump, his eyes straying to the ground. "We were ambushed while out on patrol. Blitz… didn't make it. As you saw."

"And you didn't help him," Simeon asserts.

The wizard inhales sharply, a cord having been struck within him. "I… I did. I tried. But…" He shakes his head hopelessly. It would have been him against an entire army. If he had stayed, he would have most certainly died. But it's not like Simeon knows that.

"So you fled from the enemy and left your dragon to die," the Pyromancer sharply accuses.

Ivan steps forward, pushing his enraged expression right up to the bill of Simeon's hat. He dips his head low so that Ivan can't get a good look at his face.

"You would have run, too, if you were me," Ivan replies.

Simeon frowns, though it's just as emotionless as his smile. He's thinking, but Boris can't tell what it could be about. Ivan eventually steps away, returning to the bandaging he had abandoned. Simeon lingers for a moment longer before turning to go.

"Thank you," he says, his voice rather flat. The tat of his shoes fades away into the busy air. Once he senses that the stranger is gone, Ivan releases a heavy sigh. He rests his head against the side of the dragon, who doesn't seem to mind much. As he leans, the bandage he holds begins to glow. The path forward is now open to them.

Boris doesn't hesitate. He pushes himself over the fence, leaving Roland behind on the sidewalk, still enraptured by the moment. His sudden movement breaks the knight's concentration, however, but he's too late to hold the Bookkeeper back. He's already upon the second gate, hand outstretched…

>>> [ Memory 3 ] <<<

"Ah-!" Ivan yells in alarm. His hand rears back, abandoning the bundle of bandages he was reaching for. Boris lifts his hand as well, yanking his head away. He wasn't expecting to be that close to his face! "You again!" he breathes at last, anger boiling just beneath his words. He shifts on his knees, preparing to stand.

A young drakeling bounces at Ivan's side and hisses up at the floating boy, sputters of flames curling from its nostrils. Boris lifts himself away from the tiny creature in an instant, raising his legs as high as they can go to avoid catching fire. The curse of having a physical body… But Ivan moves fast as well, curling his arms gently around the agitated beast's neck to hold it at bay. "Calm down. It's okay…" he reassures it, though he eyes Boris with great suspicion.

"You remember me?" Boris asks, intrigued by this sudden development.

"Of course I do!" he snaps back. "Where did you go? You said you were there to help!"

"Oh, uh… yeah, about that…" Boris replies with a weak chuckle. How much should he say to the memory? It seems like they're moving forward in time, so it makes sense that some past knowledge will be retained. Ivan didn't warn him about stuff like this happening, though this could all just be his Crystal's unique quirk. But if that's the case, he doesn't want to wind up in a situation where the story strays so far from what it's supposed to be that he'll have to restart from the very beginning.

Though as luck would have it, Ivan's gaze becomes distracted, flickering beneath the floating being before him, farther down the path. Boris can hear it, too, soft yet firm. Marching footsteps. Ivan blows a breath through his teeth, his face turning livid. He releases the drake from his grasp and finally rises.

Simeon is waltzing down the slope - this time, they're situated along a spiraling pit bustling with hyperactive drakelings and their elders - arms behind his back just like last time. His march falters as he lays his eyes on Ivan's new friends, clearly not expecting the extra company. Boris can feel a cold, judgmental air pass over him. But he doesn't need to finish his trek, as Ivan storms right up to him, his trembling hands latching onto his collar. Simeon doesn't seem fazed as the boy shakes him around with all his might.

"You wrote me up!" Ivan spits, trying to keep himself from yelling too loud.

"No, I did not," Simeon corrects him calmly.

"How else did I get reassigned so quickly?"

"Did you really think you could hide a dead dragon for very long? Someone was bound to find out-"

"You found out!" Ivan states, shoving him away.

Once he regains his footing, Simeon simply raises a fist to his mouth to clear his throat. His other hand slides into a pocket and withdraws a small green Knowledge Crystal - the very same one Ivan is letting them use - and presents it to the boy before him, jumping right to the business he is here to conduct, "I am Officer Simeon Firemane from the Dragonspyre Intelligence Agency. I would like you to become my informant."

Ivan is quiet, though he emits an aura of stunned surprise.

"I stand by my promises, Ivan," he continues, lifting his chin a little higher. "I did not report you. That is not within my purview. But I promise that if you work with me, I will help you however I can. Starting with this." He waves the Knowledge Crystal higher. Ivan's head tilts forward, obviously staring at the thing with restrained interest.

Suddenly, Roland surges forward, a mass of muscle and might barreling towards the two echoes. Simeon snaps his arm back, narrowly avoiding Roland's blade as he swings it between the two, severing their conversation. Ivan as well takes a step away from the knight, startled.

"Roland-!" Boris can't help but call out in alarm.

"You are not Firemane," the knight growls down at the spy. His grip tightens on his hilt. A subtle warning that he isn't to be trifled with.

Simeon frowns ever so slightly beneath the knight's stern gaze, as if this were but a minor inconvenience to him. He gives the Knowledge Crystal a toss, flipping it over the greatsword that divides him and Ivan, whom hastily catches it on the other side with clamoring hands. He doesn't relax until the Crystal is securely in his grasp.

"Think about it," Simeon says to Ivan as he takes his leave once more.

"What do you think you're doing?" Boris exclaims, finally darting forward himself. "We're supposed to be observing, not getting in the way!"

But Roland shakes his head, his face firm. "That is not Firemane's aura."

"Of course it won't be! Alignments can change! Just look at Ivan and-"

Ivan is staring back at him, the Crystal being held gingerly in his hand. His expression is blank, but he is aware. Very aware. A pang of panic shoots through Boris. Did they say too much?

"Who… are you two?" the echo asks.

Boris whips his head around, trying to find the next gateway to no avail. They - and by "they", he really means "Roland" - must have cut what was supposed to be a much longer conversation incredibly short. Now they're stuck needing to explain to the memory of a dead man that he's… well…

Ivan slowly bows his head, his eyes straying to the Crystal he now holds. Simeon wasn't shy about who gave the thing to Ivan in the first place, though he had framed it like a peace offering or a gift. Here, it's more like a token. A promise. A desire. His fingers curl around its smooth edges, and he releases a long, shaky breath. It sounds like he's figured it out all on his own.

"I don't really have much of a choice, do I?" he asks.

"Um… not really," Boris admits with a shrug.

"And you're already familiar with that officer?"

Boris lets out a long sigh. "Yes."

Ivan's gaze remains fixed up the path. Simeon stands nearby the memory's wall of haze, his face clearly turned towards them. He's not trying to hide the fact that he's stopped to observe the group for himself. If Ivan's echo can retain memories, then surely Simeon's can as well. Which means they'll just have to be extra careful.

"I hear the DIA is quite ruthless with hiring and promotion," Ivan comments, fiddling idly with his new trinket. "He must be above exceptional to be an officer already. And to have spare Knowledge Crystals to hand out…" He can't help but return to the gem again as his thoughts trail off.

"Are those things rare?" Boris inquires.

"They are now. Dragonriders used to get them, but with this war, all the blank ones have gone to the more… 'important' people." He can't seem to help but roll his eyes. "I guess the preservation of dragon riding isn't 'important' anymore."

"Scum," Roland comments quietly.

"But you're not here for that, are you?" Ivan guesses, returning to the two visitors as he pockets the Crystal, removing it from his sight. "To learn about dragon riding, I mean."

"No, we're not," Boris replies a bit more comfortably. "We're actually trying to stalk Simeon-" Roland shoots him a glare, driving daggers through Boris' thin skin. "-but since he wears his Crystal 'round his neck all the time and won't tell us anything, you're letting us use yours as a substitute!"

A weary and mildly hurt smile tugs at Ivan's lips. "I see…"

"You wanted us to do this," Boris tries to reassure the echo. He reaches back into his body and retrieves the handwritten note and instructions, holding them out for Ivan to see. "Even wrote a whole essay and everything!"

"Is this wise, daemon?" Roland asks as Ivan stares at the papers with interest. "Letting the dead read his own handwriting?" Ivan stands a little more rigid at the sound of his comment as he shuffles to the next paper.

"You don't just call it out like that," Boris mutters back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's already figured it out anyway. Why not?" Roland still releases a disapproving huff, turning back to observing their surroundings.

It takes Ivan a while to read it all, but when he finally reaches the last page, he laughs. "Damn, you weren't kidding! I never write like this in class!" His smile falters as he reaches the bottom of the page, however. That, Boris will admit, was perhaps an oversight on his part.

"Anyway, we're stuck here waiting for the next gate to open," he says, quickly ripping the papers from Ivan's hands with a casual flick of the wrist. "Don't know when that'll be or where."

Ivan nods, though his attention diverts itself away from Boris and back towards the drakeling he had been trying to care for earlier. It plays with the bandage ball with happy snorts, using its sharp nails to roll it between its paws. He steps back over and retrieves the ball from the ground. "That's not a toy," he chuckles softly, lowering himself down to his hands and knees. The drakeling lets out a disappointed whine that's only soothed by the Dragonrider's soft touch along its snout. "Sorry about that. Where does it hurt?" The drakeling turns over one of its front paws, revealing a small cut that bleeds a dark gold substance.

As Ivan sets about fulfilling his original duty, Boris takes a glance over his shoulder. He just barely manages to catch a glimpse of Simeon's boot disappearing into the fog. He stuck around for quite a while…

But there's still no gateway, which is what's troubling him. And with this being only the third scene, he doesn't have enough information to try and predict what it is they should be looking for. First his sword, then the bandages… His eyes dart to Ivan's Crystal-shaped lump in his pants. It can't be that, can it? If it is, his armor is doing a good job at blocking the light. And if he's right, he can't help but wonder where they will wind up next.

"Ivan," he speaks up, floating down to the Dragonrider's side. He points to his pocket and asks, "Can I see your new Crystal real quick?"

He blinks back, confused for a moment. But then it dawns on him why he is being asked such a random question. "Sure." He shifts his leg to reveal the small cut in the fabric of his outfit. Sure enough, barely managing to leak out into the ashen air are the lightless rays of white he's been waiting to see.

"Perfect!" he beams back. "See you in the next scene!"

"Uh… yeah," Ivan breathes back as Boris reaches out for the Crystal.

>>> [ Memory 4 ] <<<

"Thirty-two dragons."

A paper rustles. "It says there's six still out on patrol."

"That report is getting updated tomorrow. Two were sent out yesterday and they haven't come back. Another went missing two days before-"

Ivan pauses as his eyes go wide with surprise. Boris keeps down a gasp as he flies backwards, pressing his hands against Roland's armor. Simeon's head snaps back not even a second later, his cold gaze scanning the empty space behind him.

The four have been crammed into a small room constructed out of blueish-purple brick. It's only slightly larger than one of the dorms at Ravenwood. Bed, closet, desk, and pots of dirt, all decorated with the Dragonspyre crest. Besides the obviously pre-provided basic necessities, an air of Death magic hangs in the air. A black banner adorned with a white skull hangs over the bed. A hanger has been nailed into the brick, where Ivan's satchel rests at the ready. Beside it is an empty staff mount with a bright red backing. His Knowledge Crystal has been set out on his desk, next to his writing tools and a small stack of books.

Roland's massive form shifts behind Boris as he crouches down, the ceiling not quite high enough for him to stand completely straight.

Simeon finally turns back to Ivan. "Is everything alright?"

"Ah… yes," Ivan stammers back, trying to downplay his shock. "Sorry, I just… remembered something that I forgot to do."

The Pyromancer lets out a hard hum. It's doubtful that he believes such a weak excuse. Boris certainly doesn't, even though he knows the reason why the Dragonrider freaked out.

"The Dragonriders have been instrumental in keeping track of the enemy's movements," Simeon says at last in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "Of course, there's always certain risks that come with such a task, as you no doubt know." Ivan slowly nods back, his eyes dulling as Blitz springs to his mind. "Don't worry too much. The Hatchery is well secured, and casualties are few and far between overall."

Ivan shifts his weight around uncomfortably. "Right…" he mutters back.

Simeon's swagger isn't even fazed by the dour student standing before him. In fact, he's already turning towards the door, his business concluded. "If you have something else to get done, I will take my leave. Honor and glory, Ivan."

"Honor and glory," Ivan halfheartedly echoes.

The spy strides across the room, luckily skirting around Roland's brutish figure on his way. It's not like he can see the two at the moment, though Boris can't help but heave a sigh of relief once the door snaps shut and the three are left alone in the small room. He lifts his fingers away from the knight at last. Ivan has to blink a few times to comprehend the sight before him.

Finally, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Couldn't you two have picked a better time to appear?"

Boris smiles and shrugs back. "Sorry! We can't really control that."

Ivan just shakes his head and sits down on the bed next to him. His shoulders slump, seeming exhausted.

"Well, thanks," he says. "It's been… hard talking with him."

Boris just hovers in the air quietly, his lips pursed as he swirls with sympathy. Poor Ivan. It's hard to not make comparisons between the echo and the ghost. He's never seen the Dragonrider look so down before since he first met him. Of course, it could largely be because he's dead now; the normal trials and tribulations no longer apply to him in quite the same way. But in here, they plague the boy as heavily they once did.

In the silence, Roland sees it fit to kneel. His eyes shut so that he can think, his jaw stiffly clenched. A low, rumbling hum emits from deep within his throat as he thinks. Boris can't help but feel bad for him, too. As much as he hates to admit it, the druid is getting up there in age; he's probably struggling to find his footing with how fast the Knowledge Crystal has been moving. It's a young mind eager to show them everything. Boris would love to slow things down for him, too - he barged right in without letting Boris prepare him in advance, and already that's caused a small problem - but he doesn't know how he'd be able to do that.

"Is he okay?" Ivan asks, nodding towards Roland.

"Oh, yeah, of course he is!" Boris replies with a smile, patting the knight's shoulder. "He's just getting a little old for this sort of stuff."

"Silence, daemon," Roland demands beneath his breath.

"Look, you could have stayed behind," Boris points out, poking at one of the wings on his helmet. "But you didn't."

His eyes crack open, shining silver staring off into the distance of his own mind. They eventually shift over to Boris, slow and smooth, and he demands, "His papers."

Boris flicks his eyes as he produces Ivan's written instructions. Only his instructions. The knight yanks them from his hand and begins to read them over as Boris drifts to Ivan's side.

"Hey," he whispers into the echo's ear, his voice becoming the soft rustle of papers blowing in the breeze, "I'm going to need you to play along with me. He's going to ask where the note is, and we're going to pretend like it doesn't exist. Okay?"

"Why?" Ivan breathes back.

Roland is already weighing the two sheets of paper in his hands, scanning them both at the same time. He's starting to scowl, something amiss deep within his gut. Boris probably shouldn't be saying this at all, but Ivan's already seen the papers. And once the two of them leave, all that Ivan knows in this instance will be forgotten.

"Because him and Simeon are married," he replies. Ivan sucks in a sharp breath, shifting on his bed. Boris rests a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Roland looks up, his glare sharp and accusing. "There are three."

"No there isn't," Boris retorts, forcing a frown across his face. "It's just those two."

"Don't play games, daemon," he growls back. "I saw you with-"

Boris shakes his head. "All he gave me were those two sheets."

A chip carves itself into his face, confusion slowly tinting his annoyance. He takes another glance at the papers in his hands. "There are references written here-"

"Yeah, I saw that," Boris sighs, trying to sound annoyed by the "small, unexplained detail" scrawled beneath each checklist. "I guess there was supposed to be a third one that he just forgot to hand over." He gives an exaggerated look towards Ivan to get his attention. He lifts his eyebrows at the Dragonrider expectantly, his eyes darting back towards Roland. Now is as good of a time as any for him to speak up.

"Yeah…" Ivan speaks slowly, turning towards the knight, "I, um, I only read the two, too. Sometimes I leave that kind of stuff in for personal reference and I forget to erase it. It's not really meant to mean anything to other people…"

"Ah, so that's why," Boris hums.

Roland releases a heavy sigh and, shifting the papers into one hand, rubs his aching forehead. Boris gives Ivan a soft pat on the back, even as he wears a troubled frown. It's for the best.

He floats back over to the knight and gently reclaims Ivan's instructions. He lets them go without hassle. Boris opens his cavity once more, careful not to show it to Roland or rustle the note still inside or else immediately expose his lie. He can't help but feel bad. He likes to mess with Roland's ailing memory so long as it's about something benign and silly. But this time he's treading on thin ice with his perception of Simeon. He still can't tell for sure how Roland will emerge from this experience yet. The last thing he feels the knight needs to read is big, bold, block letters screaming at him,

DON'T TRUST SIMEON

He might take that advice back into the real world with him. That would almost certainly bring about an early end to his newest partner, a man he already had to break down his own ancient barriers for to trust enough to fall in love with.

A growing glow of light catches Boris' eye. On Ivan's desk, one of his books begins to take on the gateway's bright halo. Boris almost jumps at the mere sight of the gateway, but he flinches just as hard, holding back. Dread settles on his papery form. For the love of Creation…

Roland looks up once more, alerted to the change in his environment. He follows Boris' outstretched arm towards the glowing book. "That means… it is time to move on?" he asks, recalling the instructions he just read.

"Yes," Boris confirms with an airy breath. Roland shifts on the ground with a grunt of effort, climbing back up onto his feet slowly and carefully. He has to hunch forward at the waist to keep his head from ramming into the ceiling. Seeing that Boris isn't moving, he lumbers up to the desk, an armored arm extending from beneath his cape.

"Bye!" Boris manages to chirp, giving Ivan his best cheerful wave. The Dragonrider blinks back at him, though he does manage to raise his hand in a parting gesture just before the book drags the two forward into time.

Please, please, please, don't let this next memory happen in the library…

>>> [ Memory 5 ] <<<

Roland lifts his hand and his head as the colors of the world clear up once again. Boris keeps back his first visceral reaction - panic. It's the Academy library. For the love of Creation, why did Ivan's memory have to bring them here?!

The book itself rests on the central desk, waiting on top of a pile of others to be returned to their rightful places on the shelves. There's not many people here milling about, and those that are present are dressed head to toe in armor. To be fair, there is a war going on presently; who has the time to pick up a good book anymore? Ivan is nowhere to be seen, though he must be around here somewhere.

He turns his gaze to the second level, searching… Ah! The faintest rustle of a book just barely reaches his ear.

He taps Roland's shoulder, causing the knight's head to turn ever so slightly.

"I'm going to look for Ivan up top, if you can look around down here," he proposes.

Roland heaves a reluctant sigh. "Do not cause trouble."

"I won't, I promise," Boris semi-lies. He should really be the one telling that to Roland. He doesn't know if this will count as causing trouble, but he still must go. He best deliver a warning now, just in case…

He rushes off before his smile can falter and dives into the outer-ring of bookshelves. Almost instantly, he feels a second presence latch onto him, staring at him with a heavy air of confusion and panic.

The papers rustle. You…?! How is there…? Why is Roland…?

Don't worry, he tries to reassure his past self, we're inside a Knowledge Crystal.

An air of understanding passes through the space between them as the Bookkeeper settles down. Interesting…

I don't have much time, Boris starts. I need you to stay away from Simeon Firemane. You know who I'm talking about, right? That officer from the DIA?

Ohhh, him! Why?

If you're not careful, he's going to find out about… us- you- yeah, you. And for my sake, I don't want that to happen. Memories are retained from moment to moment here, so-

Oh… his other self hums quietly, stiff with disappointment. He takes a moment to breathe, the books nearby gently fluttering. I'm sorry, that… that already happened yesterday. You're too late on that.

'Yesterday?' Boris breathes back, the tomes near his consciousness tremoring. What? There shouldn't be a yesterday, should there? But then he remembers some of the comments and reactions Ivan has made. How he kept reacting like many, many days have passed by between each scene. Does that mean that the time when him and Roland travel between memories still simulates itself? And that the characters within the Crystal still live through history, but can also act in accordance with the knowledge that the two Crystal travelers impart onto them?

He had been getting close. It was only a matter of time, the Bookkeeper confirms. It was like… he knew what he was looking for already.

Did you two talk?

No. But he knows. I'm sure of it. I'm sorry.

No, it's okay… Boris mutters. But just… just don't talk to him, whatever you do.

…Okay…

With that, Boris breaks free from the shelf, leaving his past self to zoom off. Peering over the railing of the second floor, he doesn't see Roland anywhere. Has he found Ivan yet? He hopes he has. He also hopes that he isn't causing any more trouble…

Boris doesn't have much of a hard time locating him once he floats back down to the first floor. The bookcases are quite low, letting Roland's towering head stand well above them. If he were to stretch his arms up above, he'd come close to touching the underside of the second floor. His head is already bent, his gaze engaged by whoever stands before him. Boris holds back a relieved sigh as he approaches, not wanting to jinx himself just yet.

"...be surprised if he's done... things," he hears Ivan comment, his voice muffled by the environment. The Necromancer lets out an airy breath full of frustration. "He... really likes that little piece of paper."

Boris comes to a gliding halt on the ground, his footsteps soft. He runs a hand along the side panels of the bookshelves. The brute's large back faces him as he peeks around the corner.

Roland's cloaked figure heaves, releasing a conflicted hum. "He has reasons for his methods."

"Of course you'd say that," Ivan grumbles.

Roland's head tilts to the side, unsure what to make of his comment.

"Ah, you found him!" Boris says at last, making his presence known. Roland turns his body, revealing the short wizard standing before him. Ivan's eyes are weighed down with black bags. He doesn't even try to put on a friendly smile as he regards Boris. "For the love of Creation, Ivan! You look-"

"Yeah," he yawns. "I've been studying."

"In the middle of a..." Boris' thought trails off as Ivan shoots him a glare. Right. What a stupid question for him to ask. Classes will keep going right up until the Academy is destroyed.

Roland shifts, making his cape sway behind him. His silver eyes are locked onto Boris so intensely that they appear to begin vibrating. Boris kicks himself up into the air to lend the knight's stewing thoughts a private ear.

"Firemane's alignment has darkened again," Roland confides. "It is..." He doesn't finish, but Boris can interpret. It's making him worried. Boris can't help but frown back, trying to imagine in his mind what it is Roland can see.

"Well, time still seems to simulate itself-" Boris starts to explain, only for Roland to shake his head.

"No," he states. His eyes shift to the side, gesturing to Ivan behind them, who stares up at two whispering Crystal travelers with a rather annoyed expression. "He... made it."

Seeing as Ivan has quite a clear view of Boris' face, he does his best to keep down his bewilderment. Ivan did what? What in the Spiral happened down here while he was off on his short detour?

He's about to ask Roland to clarify his extremely vague statement for him when a small ray of light peeks out from beneath Ivan's sleeve.

Oh no, it looks like the gateway is opening again. He'll just have to pester Roland for more details in the next scene!

"Oh, well, looks like it's time to go!" he announces suddenly, gesturing to the Dragonrider. Ivan scowls and looks down at himself, trying to find what it is that Boris is waving at. It takes him a moment, but he eventually rolls up his sleeve to reveal a simple leather and iron bracelet clinging tightly to his wrist.

"This?" he asks, holding it up to Boris. The Bookkeeper nods back with a smile he feels is probably a bit too wide. "My... Academy bracelet?"

"Yep, that's it!" he says, darting forward, one hand already outstretched. Only this time, Ivan yanks the gateway away from him.

"Hang on a second!" Ivan demands. "Don't you realize what's going to happen?"

"What? Do you want me to apologize in advance for appearing in your face again?" Boris sighs.

"Well, uh... I don't know. But I'll probably be at school! You can't just show up on campus grounds like that!"

"Why not? We just invaded your dorm-"

"Simeon, you flying bucket of dragon dung!" Ivan hisses back. "Simeon's going to be there!"

"I mean, he's already been present-"

Ivan makes a small, strangled noise as he blasts Boris with a burst of air. With it, though it's hard to say for sure, the entire library - the memory - feels to tremble ever so slightly in response. It makes his papers rustle anxiously as his magic tries to figure out what exactly he just felt.

"Ivan, please, we have to move on now," Boris tells him gently. "Whatever it is you're worried about, we'll just have to deal with it whenever it happens."

Ivan remains steadfast in his decision for just a few seconds longer before finally relenting, holding his bracelet up for Boris to touch. But his tired gaze fixes itself elsewhere, not wanting to watch the floating stranger flash out of existence.

>>> [ Memory 6 ] <<<

"Eighteen dragons."

That's about as far as the conversation gets before the world snaps back into focus. Two sets of eyes turn to the newcomers. Boris lifts his finger from Ivan's wrist. The Dragonrider hardly reacts at all this time. His tired silver eyes simply stare on.

The group is tucked away between two buildings etched into a stony wall. Other children around Ivan's age chatter amongst themselves as they mill about the nearby courtyard in their colorful robes and gleaming armor. Despite the light murmuring, there's an unspoken tension lingering in the air.

Simeon quietly folds the piece of paper he holds in his hand and stashes it away. Whatever plans he had in mind have been foiled once more.

"Perhaps it's time you introduced me to your new friends, Ivan."

Ivan takes a deep, hesitant breath. He doesn't know what to say, where to begin, or if he should even speak at all. So Boris jumps in for him with a wide grin. "Don't mind us! We're just here to observe."

Simeon purses his lips. His head remains still, making it hard to tell if his gaze shifts around at all, if he can even see in the first place.

"Observe by raising a sword," he hums.

"That was just a mistake-"

"Hmph." His mouth twitches, keeping down a smile. "No one simply 'observes' for the pleasure of it."

"Yeah, well, we do," Boris lies.

Ivan shifts his foot forward, annoyance radiating from his figure. "I thought we were going to talk about the dragons, Simeon. The war?"

"Until we were rudely interrupted," the spy responds.

Silence descends on the group. Boris shifts in the air, waiting for the conversation to start.

Roland taps his shoulder at last. "Let us leave them."

"But-" Boris starts to argue back. He wants to listen in to what they have to say! Every time they try and have a normal conversation, the two strangers have always ruined it. He just wants to hear one…

But the knight simply clamps down on his arm and drags the Bookkeeper away, leaving the two students in peace. Boris lets out a frustrated huff, scowling all the way.

Roland brings the two of them to the foot of a tall golden statue, a magnificent brass sculpture of Merle Ambrose, where he finally lets Boris go. The students pay them no mind at all, their faces all blurred and their chatter but whispers on the wind. Looking back, Ivan and Simeon are engaged in conversation once more, though Ivan looks to be quite annoyed with the cold and uncaring stone wall before him.

Boris lets out a sad sigh as he stares back at them. Roland does, too, his eyes narrow and intense. His body is tense, alert and aware. Waiting for something to happen…

Suddenly, a ripple of unease shakes his silver armor. "Again…" he mutters beneath his breath. Boris tilts his head curiously. As far as he's aware, nothing has changed.

The man swallows hard, his lips pressed together tightly. He turns to Boris, his eyes lost for words, searching for a way to explain what he saw.

"Tell me," Roland hums, "how does one change their alignment through speech alone?"

Boris shifts, folding his arms as he racks his inner-library for an answer. All he knows about the shifting of "good" and "evil" come from Roland himself, so... not much. As far as he understand it, the aura the knight sees is the culmination of a person's karma - all their deeds weighed against one another. Of course, there's variations within the color too, that he's briefly described but don't make a whole lot of sense. Either way, he can learn quite a lot about a mortal from one simple glance.

"Wishing harm?" Boris guesses.

Roland shakes his head, his stare becoming sharp. "Non. Thought and speech are hollow unless acted upon. It is not something that happens."

"Not like I was going to know that..." Boris grumbles back. It wasn't even a trick question!

"So then explain why Firemane continues to grow darker whilst doing nothing," the knight challenges rather gruffly.

Boris is just annoyed now. Being asked questions he has no answers for isn't fun for him. "I don't know, Roland."

He's inclined to believe that there's something else going on here. Something that they're not privy to. Or that it's just a quirk of the Crystal. Perhaps all of Simeon's unknown deeds are being compiled in real time as Ivan learns of them. But he doesn't want to speak on what he can't see.

"What do you think about all this?" Boris asks instead, gesturing to the memory.

Roland releases a thoughtful hum, his silver eyes scanning the shadowed sky. "It is... mélancolique. To measure progress by dragons..."

Or the lack of progress. It's eighteen now. It was thirty-two not that long ago. Well, the passage of time between memories is hard to read accurately, but... it's been quite the sharp drop.

"Ivan is a strong spirit," Roland comments. Boris can't help but nod in agreement. It's hard to see Ivan's smiling, happy-go-lucky face floating in the air of the modern day in the midst of these painful memories. He suffered through much in his short, bittersweet life. And yet he's still somehow able to find joy long after all this heartache. It could be that he's been dead for so long that he's been able to reconcile everything that has come to pass...

Fire cuts through Boris' thoughts, as well as his gaze. Bright, swirling flames suddenly appear from nowhere, a red arrow engulfing the two beings standing peacefully off to the side. Wind claws at Boris' body, threatening to rip the papers from his thin form. Instinctively, he twists away from the gust and tucks his arms and legs in, contorting into a small floating ball. Beside him, Roland raises an arm to protect his exposed face, shielding his eyes from the blinding light-

>>> [ Memory 7 ] <<<

-and when next they know, they stand at the top of the spiral pit, positioned at the edge of the sidewalk at the very top. A new memory. But… how?

The wind still roars, but now they stand in its weak tail. A bright fiery arrow explodes over the pit in what would be an awe-inspiring display if not for the given situation.

Taking a quick glance at their surroundings, Boris can see Ivan's small figure far below as he mingles with the drakelings. And Simeon stands on the pit's edge as far as he can safely go, one foot flat and the other resting on the toe of his boot as he slides his rapier back into its sheath. Flames swirl and sputter as the hilt clicks into place, one last display for the gathered crowd. When he raises his hands, he quite proudly flaunts a strip of yellow paper aglow with bright blue light trapped between two fingers.

Boris can't help but grow cold as he darts over to Roland. The knight, too, is surprise, one arm raised to his empty shoulder with wide eyes. There's a thin scratch against his armor that's already in the process of fading away.

"Today," Simeon speaks casually, "I'm supposed to walk down there and ask him the same question I always do… But I don't think I'll do that this time." His head turns slightly, revealing the corner of his mouth that has curled into a cold grin. "You two have been quite the exciting mystery to unravel instead."

Immediately, the two Crystal travelers stiffen. Roland's hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. Boris can only rest a tentative hand on his shoulder to try and ease his sense of impending danger.

Simeon half-turns, raising Boris' talisman with twisted pride. "I must thank you first, Bookkeeper. You have been quite… cooperative with my endeavors." His head tilts ever so slightly as his gaze strays to Roland. "Did you know, sir knight," he hums with glee, "that your little companion here was-"

In an instant, the runes of the talisman darken beneath Boris' sharp glare. The spy stops the moment he feels the hum of magic die. He takes one glance down at the paper still between his fingers before rearing back and letting out a rather amused laugh.

"Bold of you to assume that would silence me!" he mocks. His accent gets in the way of his English, but it's good enough for even Roland to understand.

Still, the damage has been done. Roland's ire lands on Boris, his silver eyes narrow. "Daemon?" he asks with heavy warning.

Boris takes the opportunity to part himself from the knight at last, his hands flying out in front of him in preparation for the worst.

"He," Simeon begins again, waving the paper at Boris, "was in the Academy library all throughout this war."

The air trembles with the might of magic as Roland begins to take on a bright halo of ancient light. His eyes glow with sharp fury. Boris' gaze can't help but dart between him and Simeon standing so small yet so large right beside him, grinning coldly from ear to ear.

"Look, Roland, I-I can explain-!" Boris tries.

"YOU," Roland roars, "LEFT RAVENWOOD WITHOUT TELLING ME?!" Simeon jolts, keeping down an amused chuckle.

"I was trying to save what books I could, okay?" Boris replies in a panic. "I didn't have the time to ask! I didn't want them all to-"

Despite his age, Roland still moves faster than Boris can react. His strong, plated hand latches to his neck. He has no qualms over clenching his fist tight, crushing the papers that make up Boris' neck before pulling back, ripping them from his form completely.

He backs away in an instant, raising a hand to the new gap in his form. The core of his being aches with a cold throb; he is not in pain in the slightest, but mourning. A part of its light has died, and he has already forgotten what that was.

Then he raises a glare to the spy. He must have made them move forward. Like he knew what the next gateway was going to be. Or maybe he forced it. And he stole the talisman in the process, which he then used in that simulated time frame to leverage - threaten - information out of the Bookkeeper - him.

He knew the boy was a spy at the time, and quite good at his job, too, but never did he seem to be so… cutthroat with his methods.

This could all just be a consequence of meddling with the Crystal's history. And yet… he can see it now for himself. A scheming, secretive, ruthless spy, reveling in his unknown atrocities openly. This is not Simeon. This is a caricature of him, and quite a disparaging one at that.

Roland releases a breath, soothing his momentary burst of rage. He opens his hand and lets the crinkled papers fall. Some of their edges bear small rips already. Not knowing what else to do with them, but also not wanting to leave them lying around either, Boris summons them back to his side and stuffs them into the cavity of his chest. They're useless to him now. He doesn't want a crooked neck. Even the talisman that Simeon holds; it worms its way out of his grasp, answering the call home.

"So he knew all this time?" Roland asks, a stiff growl still in his throat.

Boris dips in the air in defeat. "...Yes, he did. But we only ever talked twice!" The first time was when they met. The second time, he was seeking advice-

"And you," Roland draws his greatsword, leveling it with Simeon's face, "dare to weaponize us with your words?"

Simeon can't seem to help but laugh back, amused by the knight's assertion. "I merely seek truths and share them with others. What you do with that information is up to you. But..." He gives them a sharp glare, his smile cooling in an instant. "...I don't quite like it when strangers stalk me inside of a Knowledge Crystal that isn't my own."

A heavy silence passes between the two parties. Honestly, Boris is past the point of being surprised now. Only Simeon would have figured something like that out all on his own. He was the one that gave Ivan his Knowledge Crystal, after all, and the two travelers have been appearing by the Dragonrider's side quite consistently.

After a moment, Simeon casually places a hand on the hilt of his weapon, shifting his weight. He purses his lips, his expression switching to that of disappointment.

"Ivan doesn't know what he's doing," he sighs. "He never does. All he is good at is taking care of the dragons. I don't know why I ever decided to stick with him for as long as I have. Tell me: how long did I consult with that disgrace of a rider?"

The travelers don't respond right away, taken aback by his crass assessment of the Dragonrider. Boris quite literally has no words. He doesn't really know what to make of this whole situation.

Does Simeon actually hate him this much? Or is this a perception that Ivan has ascribed to him?

"You still do," Roland speaks at last. "He is far from being a 'disgrace'."

Simeon scowls, confused.

But Boris nods along before he can speak up. "After Dragonspyre gets destroyed, you two become good friends!"

Simeon's entire demeanor shifts in an instant, a sharp blast of heat radiating from his lean form.

"After Dragonspyre is... destroyed?" he asks, his tone flat and dangerous.

The young spy has gone deathly pale, his swagger draining from his form. It's an odd sight to behold. How could he accept being within a Knowledge Crystal so readily, yet panic at the news that his home has fallen in the present day?

"Yes," Boris confirms. "Things didn't go so well for-"

"Not possible," Simeon interrupts. He shakes his head hard; it looks like he's trying to snap his own neck. "Dragonspyre can't fall. It will not fall!" His feet shift, his hand finally latching onto the rapier's hilt. It sings as he slides it from its sheath, flames already curling around the sharp silver blade. A brief flash of his eye reveals a burning inferno itching to be unleashed, consuming all common sense and rational thought. "HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST US TO BE WEAK!"

Roland's massive silver frame shifts in front of Boris. "Go. I will keep him here."

"R-Right-" Boris stammers. He doesn't waste any more of his time near the raging pyromancer. He flings himself down into the pit towards Ivan as a blast of scalding hot air presses against his papery back, threatening to make him combust there and then.

His eyes scan the area around Ivan as the dragons and drakes and riders themselves turn their attention to the explosions happening above their heads. Flames of impossible size curl their way across the air, some taking on the shape of roaring dragons breathing fire down upon their enemy.

"What's going on up there?" Ivan calls out. "Where's that senile guy?"

"Simeon's lost it!" Boris answers in a panic. His hands clamp down on the necromancer and shakes him sharply. "We need an out, Ivan! We need it now!"

"Simeon's up there?"

"GATEWAY, IVAN!"

"I-I can't do it on command!" he stammers back.

"Well he did it somehow! Just... focus or something!"

Ivan's amethyst eyes dart around, trying to make sense of his own racing thoughts. The small collection of young drakelings that linger near his feet, sensing his distress, shuffle forward and snake themselves around his ankles, looking up at him with their beady yellow eyes. His moment of confusion ebbs away as he glances down at them with a small smile. There's four of them, their scales an ashy black, freshly hatched.

It takes a second, but one of them starts to take on a white hue.

"Thank you!" Boris rushes out as he reaches down to pet the shimmering scales.

>>> [ Memory 8 ] <<<

Boris straightens in an instant as the world takes on its new form yet again, this time to the sound of intense battle. The little drake cowers in a dark corner, looking up at him with big eyes begging for protection. Roland is standing nearby now, his sword still drawn and his breath heavy as he looks around.

The sky is thick with descending Draconians, their red scales and silver armor glimmering against the swirling black clouds. Battle has erupted on the streets of the Hatchery, dragons and their riders alike banding together to drive back the invading force.

And there is Ivan in the middle of the fray, desperately fighting back against his enemy. His sword glows with spectral energy as he strikes down a Draconian, only for a second one to quickly take his place. Though it looks like he's fighting a losing battle as more Draconians land, forming a wall between the three of them and the rest of the Hatchery beyond.

He catches a glimpse of Roland and Boris behind him. "Help!" That's all he manages to squeak out before he must raise his blade again to block an incoming attack.

Roland surges forward without hesitation, striking down the Draconians around him with ease, lightening the boy's load for the moment.

"What's happening?" Boris inquires as he studies the chaotic battlefield.

"We're being invaded!" Ivan replies, breathless, as if it weren't obvious to see already. "What do you think is happening?!"

Oh... Boris sinks in the air ever so slightly. He knows what day this is.

The day the Hatchery falls.

Ivan turns back to the battle, joining Roland in the fray, shouting at him and gesturing to the wall of chaos that blocks the pathway back to the Hatchery's only entrance and exit.

Roland cuts through the Draconians with ease, his honed finesse expertly outmatching the invading force. But no matter how many he defeats, more descend from the sky to take the places of their falling comrades, hissing and spitting with fiendish delight.

Then...

"Ivan!"

Simeon's distant call just barely manages to break through the noise of battle. Panicked. Pained. Yearning for some kind of hope. That Ivan heard him. That he's still alive.

Ivan pauses just momentarily, lifting his head with confusion written all over his face.

Boris catches himself raising his hand, his fingers twitching as he wills them to stop. His skin glows with the power of his talismans, his ancient power begging to be released. A single flick is more than enough to eradicate the Draconian force before him. But deep down he knows he shouldn't bother trying to get himself involved. It's pointless, after all.

The roar of the remaining dragons fill the air. Ivan's yelling a proud war cry as he raises his sword again, battling his own way through the enemy away from the wall of scales and armor. More Draconians litter the street behind them in greater force as dragon fire rises in spiraling columns, flaming beacons of distress that Ivan is wading towards.

"Roland!" Boris calls to the knight. "We have to stay with Ivan!"

Roland pierces through a chest plate as though he were cutting paper and lifts his head. The haze of the memory's edge is starting to inch closer as the Necromancer disappears into the thick of battle. If they don't get moving now, they won't know how this memory ends. Though, with how things are looking currently, Boris has a sinking feeling that he already knows what its outcome will be.

"IVAN!"

Desperate is the cry that they leave in their wake.

Boris is surprised to hear Simeon's voice. He didn't think Simeon had been at the Hatchery this day at all. Why would he? The swarm hit the entire World, so would he not be more concerned with other areas besides the Hatchery?

They carve a path through the Draconians, arriving at a small group of dragons that are corralled by the attackers. One is heavily injured, being guarded by two other, larger beasts as best they can. Sadly there are just too many Draconians crowding them to successfully fend them off. One or two swords manage to get past their frantic flailing and rends through their scales and flesh.

Ivan dashes right in without hesitation, blade swinging with fury upon seeing his favorite creatures under threat. He pushes back a few of the Draconians and kills another. Boris sticks close to Roland to avoid the worst of the battle.

Hrk-

The little hiccup drowns out all the noise around them, as if they have been suddenly submerged in water.

Ivan dispatches another Draconian and staggers back, his free hand to his stomach. The cloth beneath his metal breastplate is quickly darkening as he sways on his feet.

The dragon behind him sees this and lowers its head. "Hide, little one. This is not your fight." It picks Ivan up with its teeth and quickly yet carefully places him down behind the injured and dying dragon they are all working so hard to protect. Towards a tower looming over them.

On the two chase after the young Dragonspyrian.

Roland sheathes his sword, appearing beside Ivan in a blur of speed. He grabs the boy to support his staggering. "At ease."

"Th... Thank you..." Ivan mutters weakly. Roland shoves open the door to the tower and they all file inside. It's much quieter in here, the muffled noise of the world beyond becoming mute entirely. The tower shakes and dust falls around rows and rows of bookshelves stacked with ancient boxes and scrolls. With a grunt, Roland helps Ivan rest against the back wall. The color is draining from his skin as he lifts his hand momentarily to see his injury. A slick, deep sword wound cuts through his stomach, bleeding profusely.

His eyes roll themself upwards to the two strangers. "Can... you...?"

Boris' papers rustle. He wishes he could. "I'm... sorry. No."

"S... Simeon... Why...?"

Roland takes a smooth breath. "Petit soldat, we all are our worst in times of war. But... there are times when our truest selves shine through. And his is that he cares. Deeply. When he allows himself to."

Ivan slowly blinks, fighting to open his eyes again. The light is slowly draining from those amethyst orbs. They search Roland's stoic face for something unspoken. With each breath, the boy slumps a little bit more against the wall.

I'm sorry.

The two words reverberate around the room as the tower begins to shake. Roland sucks in a breath as he stands, backing away from the dying boy.

"What is this now?!" he demands.

"I think we're at the end of the Crystal's memory," Boris replies, "but I... I don't know what to do!" He pulls out the notes and scans them quickly, but Ivan has made no mention of anything regarding what to do when the memories end! Do they just stay here and let the place collapse?

"The door!" Roland suddenly announces. Boris lifts his head and spins around. A halo of light surrounds the edges of the closed doorway. The way out!

A giant stone nearly brushes against Boris' shoulder as it slams into the ground next to him. And not a moment too soon to boot!

>>> Dragonspyre <<<

The two stumble out of the rip, returning to the dreadful present of Dragonspyre. The machine hums as the crystals inside it shudders and hums with sharp resonance.

And then there's Simeon standing at its base, arms folded and a deep scowl across his lips.

For a long moment, the three of them are quiet as they exchange looks. Roland is somber. Boris, surprised. It's jarring going from seeing him in his old Dragonspyre uniform earlier to now facing him in his Wizard City robes.

"What do you two think you're doing here?" Simeon demands.

"Uh, hi Simeon! Hehe... We were-"

"Leaning about you," Roland replies. Boris almost wants to elbow the guy.

"Using Ivan's Crystal?" Simeon continues to interrogate.

"Oui."

Simeon lets out a groan and facepalms.

"In all fairness, Ivan gave me permission to use his Crystal!" Boris defends. "Roland just so happened to tag along!"

"And you didn't tell me."

"You wouldn't have let us anyway if we did," Boris points out.

"Look, my Crystal you're not allowed to touch. I would have let you used Ivan's if he let you. But it would have came with a warning."

The two look back at him with confusion.

"What did you learn in there?" Simeon asks instead.

Boris purses his lips, but Roland is all too willing to give his husband a clear answer, "You were far from the wizard you are now. Darker. Angrier." He places a hand on his own chest. "I understand how you felt, mon-"

Simeon lifts his head, letting the fabric of his hood slide back just enough to reveal one of his sharp, crimson eyes. "You really think Ivan would have shown you the real me?"

"Well, no," Boris replies this time. "I mean, he didn't in that one scene... Or maybe the time skipping made your echo more jaded than normal?"

Simeon just shakes his head with great disappointment. "Well, one thing it sounded like it got right was our relationship. It wasn't great, forged out of necessity in the midst of conflict. He hated my guts and I put up with him in return. But he was a useful contact and I valued him greatly. With that in mind, what makes you think you would have gotten an accurate retelling of my character at that time from his Crystal?"

"Oh, remercier les dieux," Roland breathes in relief. "I was worried..." The old knight trails off, but he need not finish his sentence anyway. He didn't want to believe Simeon was potentially worse than how he is now. Roland can hardly stand evildoers of any kind. "Is it possible for a Crystal to alter its own memories?"

"Yes and no," Simeon answers. "It still must track with certain events but the perception of the person will paint certain things in a light that may not be entirely accurate. Memories are always biased. So even if you wanted to learn more about me with his Crystal, it would have always been an imperfect version, one way or another."

Roland steps forward and gives Simeon a hug. One he reciprocates with a low hum. The big man is much more at ease in Simeon's presence, soothed by the reassurance of having journeyed through such skewed memories.

Boris, however, remains somewhat skeptical. There must have been some truth to them regardless. Even inaccurate retellings rest on a foundation of truth.

"If you wanted to know more about me, you can always ask," Simeon tells Roland in a soft, calm voice.

"I know," Roland nods back. Though he turns to Boris with a slight scowl. "I cannot vouch for this one."

Simeon pats his arm. "You don't need to. Now, let's get out of here before the Draconians come."

[betterillusionist]

I FINISHED IT! FINALLY!!!!!

[ecogirl2759]

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUSY GUYS GUSYG UYSU GUSYGU YSYGU

BLOODBOUND TOMORROW

Here's some simple character concept art to commemorate the occasion :D

Please come join we're gonna yap about books and draw things together ^w^

[ecogirl2759]

I haven't been able to draw anything lately due to The Busy™️

DUMP OF OLD ART, GO!!

^ This last one was traced from an Ice Cream Sandwich video btw

[betterillusionist]

So he Stared into the Void...

Duncan is brought into a small circular chamber lit with ominous red lighting, though its origin point is unknown. And in the center is a basin filled to the brim with what seems to be black water, sitting so still that its surface hardly ripples at all. Gretta steps into the room behind him, and the door slams shut.

"Deimos?" the witch calls out. "He's ready."

The long shadows cast by the room's pillars shift and warp in answer to her call, and from them emerges a figure dressed in all black. Their robe, head to toe, hangs loose, the color of the fabric as deep as the darkness within the small basin. Their face is hidden by a vaporous, formless mask decorated by a sapphire symbol which distorts so much it's unclear as to what it may even be depicting.

"Duncan Grimwater," the masked figure laughs, even their voice horribly distorted to the point where he cannot discern their gender. They raise their arms, turning the surface of their light-absorbing robe into a polygon. "The one and only."

He can't help but suck in a breath. They know his name already? But it's only been a few hours! His talk with Gretta, the sudden trip here...

Unless... they've been eyeing him already?

"Tell me," Deimos continues. They tilt their robe to have it fall back, revealing long fingers phasing from pale skin to bright blue claws. "why you think you'd be fit for the Cabal."

An annoyed scowl flashes across his face. Must he have to answer that question now? He's hardly been told what the Cabal even does in the first place! He's not been given any time to organize his thoughts yet. This is all moving so fast...

So he says the first thing that comes to his mind: "Gretta said that Malistaire once aided your organization in return for information. I'd like to make that same deal."

Deimos lets out a laugh. "Ah, Malistaire. What a devoted man. A shame he wasn't interested in joining us or else he'd might still be alive. If only I had been in power back then..."

He grits his teeth at Deimos' lack of care for the fate of his Professor. Malistaire was strong enough by himself, at least until that Wizard showed up. Was there really no other way to stop him?

"So you don't wish to join the Cabal either?" Deimos asks.

"No..." he timidly replies.

"Well, we'd not simply let you in if you wanted anyway," the robed figure chuckles. "Malistaire was only given a fragment of information and that led to his doom. But by joining us you'll have the entire Spiral at your disposal and the resources to search its far corners without ever needing to lift your own fingers. And entire library will be open to you, filled with centuries of research and theory. Maybe you'd find a better answer to your question than Malistaire was given for his.

"But it's not just knowledge we offer, but power. Great and ancient magics beyond your wildest dreams. Politicians and lobbyists to mold entire societies. The Cabal is vast; not even I know its true reaches. But it will all be yours to command."

His fingers curl into fists as he stares long and hard at Deimos' mask. A library full of ancient knowledge and the magical power to make his wants reality? But all at the expense of... what, exactly? There has to be a catch here.

"If I were to try and join you," he says slowly, "what would I have to do?"

A low, knowing chuckle emits from Deimos as they extend their long fingers once more, gesturing to the basin between them. "The process is twofold. First, you will be blessed with the magic held within this chamber. If your mind survives, then you will be given a physical test. Pass both of these and the Cabal's doors will forever be open to you. Fail, and..." Deimos shakes their head and unleashes another laugh, indicating that failure is most likely not really an option for him. It'll be all or nothing. At least, that's how it sounds.

"And if I refuse?"

"Well, we can't have just any old wizard running around with knowledge of the Cabal," Deimos answers ominously, and a blast of cold air batters his face. The buzz of their magic presses against his thick robe, chilling his bones with dread.

His gaze turns to the basin now, the surface of the dark water hardly being disturbed after all that's been happening around it. It reflects nothing, light entering its surface and becoming consumed by the void. As much as it makes him nervous, in the back of his mind, distant whispers tickle his thoughts. It sounds like they're calling to him, coaxing him to come closer to the basin and dip his head into it. He can't explain it, but a part of him feels as if he were meant to be here. Whether or not he joins the Cabal is irrelevant; the basin already contains his destiny.

"I..." he speaks at last, "will join the Cabal."

Deimos nods once, the motion detached and disingenuous, as if they had always expected for him to accept the offer even if he had been given the chance to walk away from this encounter freely.

From behind, Gretta gives him a shove with her broomstick. "Alright, boy. Up you go."

So he stumbles up to the basin and stares into its void with dry lips. It fills his senses; it consumes his sight with its vast nothingness, roars in his ears even though it emits no noise, presses against his skin with an unfathomable presence, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of blood. And yet he's completely calm, as if this were simply an every-day occurrence for him. The voices continue to call out to him from the water. The longer he stands and stares, the more he can feel the icy grip of phantom hands clawing at his cheeks, trying to drag him down.

"Drink," Deimos instructs, "and embrace your new gift."

He wants to cup his hands and drink the water that way, but the hissing of the voices ridicule him for his ludicrous thought. Immerse yourself, they seem to say. Peer deeper into the darkness. See what you will become.

He grips the curved edges of the basin with both hands as hard as he can, takes a deep breath of confidence, and shoves his whole face into the water below.

Eyes open, he finds himself now utterly surrounded on all sides by the darkness of the water, as if he's dipped his head into an alternate space completely removed from reality. Air tickles his nose; cautiously, he sucks in a small sip of air, then releases a relieved yet somewhat confused sigh. He can breathe.

A low rumbling fills the space. Screams echo from somewhere far away. The vibrations rock the core of his very being as his head slowly starts to spin, gradually growing more and more unsure as to which way is up or down in this dark land. There's no light to guide him, no thing to use as reference. Only ghoulish hisses and murmurs comfort him, and that's already saying quite a lot.

"Duncan!" a sharp shout calls to him. It's Malorn's voice; he'd recognize his friend anywhere. As his name rings in his ears, rage slowly begins to bubble in his gut. Why is he angry? He doesn't know. The unseen shout continues, "Duncan, get a hold of yourself!"

He wants to ask why, what he means by that, but his mouth is glued tightly shut. The anger continues to build, steam starting to fill his head.

"Come on, Duncan, keep fighting!" Malorn carries on shouting, though his voice is growing distant, getting lost within the building storm inside his chest. The ethereal whispers grow in strength, trying to drown the voice of his friend out completely. "Don't let it control-"

And then the darkness lights up with red fire. Ash rains down from the sky as the strong stench of death permeates the air. His body beyond the basin falls away; now he's standing in the middle of Ravenwood, one long hand with sharp shadowy fingers wrapped tightly around Malorn's neck. He sputters and claws at his arm in a vain attempt to get him to stop. And the worst part is that he wants to stop, but now a being full of hate and rage, he also greatly enjoys the outlet for his boundless emotions. He watches the life drain from the poor wizard's emerald eyes. The eyes that once lit up with joy whenever the two of them were together. The eyes always full of determination for learning all there was about Necromancy. The eyes that offered him solace and comfort when he needed it the most.

The rage fills with sorrow, heart leaping into his throat as he tries to turn his gaze away from the scene, yet also powerless to do anything other than squeeze the boy tighter.

Finally, Malorn's hands slip, hanging limp as his sides as his stare turns glassy and his lips blue. His emerald eyes are empty, looking up at nothing in particular. His body is heavy in his powerful hand.

Now, and only now, is when he regains the power to react, and with an animalistic yell he rears himself back, lifting his heavy body with all the strength he can muster out of the black basin. He gasps for air as his heart races, the horrific scene quickly fading from memory as if he had only dreamed of it. But the emotions stay with him: anger, sadness, resentment, and self-loathing. A single drop of the dark substance rolls down the side of his face, deathly cold against his skin.

Deimos and Gretta stand silently as they let the boy to collect himself once more, waiting for more to happen. He can't help but stare back into the darkness, the scene completely gone from both his sight and mind. In its place, however, a masked face stares back at him, its deep purple surface smooth and painted with two long wings in place of a proper face. He tilts his head, and the mask tilts along with him. Curiously, he raises a hand to touch his cheek, only to find that in place of his dark fingers is now the black, clawed hand that fills him with a strong sense of dread. The water reflects his arm as well.

He stands straight in an instant, feeling a mysterious weight attached to his back. Wings. They flutter and stretch this way and that, uncoordinated as he explores their existence for but a mere moment. His black robe is now made of cold shadow and tinged a dark purple. His feet are thin with a sapphire hue. A hood covers the rest of his head; just the mere thought of pulling it down somehow makes him scared to the very core of his being. But above all, he locks his gaze onto Deimos, if he even has eyes anymore, with nothing but confused anger.

"What did you do to me?" he demands, stepping around the basin with motions so fluid they feel unreal. His voice is distorted just like Deimos', only not as thickly as theirs. Deimos stands quietly in place. He feels like they're smiling at him.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" he yells, lunging forward. His hand goes right for Deimos' neck, but it collides with nothing but air as he passes right through their body. Where his arm enters, Deimos turns to black mist. They laugh. It sounds like they're mocking him.

"Do not be so quick to deny your new gift," they speak, spreading their arms wide once more. "You will grow into it in time."

"What is it?" he asks desperately. "What is this?"

"Shadow."

He stumbles away from Deimos, his head spinning once again. Shadow magic? That's what he's been given? The forbidden school said to corrupt any and all that possess it?

A sickness stirs in his gut, but even though he feels himself open his mouth he senses no hole for it to even leave from. So he takes a gulp of air and pushes the sensation down as best he can.

So that's the catch. He had to give up his sanity. And now he has. What a black mark he unwittingly painted himself with. If anyone finds out-

"The Cabal does not tolerate snitches," Deimos says to him. "Spread the word to others, and everyone you've ever spoken to will cease to exist. Although, now with your new gift, I suspect you'll want to keep all of this as secret as much as you possibly can."

He lets out a strangled growl, all the while knowing that they're completely right. Shadow magic isn't taught at Ravenwood. If he were to be discovered as a Shadow user, he'll most likely be asked how it happened and then get promptly expelled from Ravenwood and banished from Wizard City. His entire life, all of his friends and memories and experiences, his family grave and his childhood home, would be completely forfeit.

Deimos raises a dismissive hand. "You will be called upon for your second test soon enough. Until then, keep a low profile. I hope I'll be seeing more of you, young Shadowmancer." With that, Deimos turns and melts back into the darkness from whence they came from.

[ecogirl2759]

2nd book cover drop soon....

[ecogirl2759]

Get hyped

[monicole-art]

Modern Amaze (AmberxBlaze) my lil crackship from Shadowbound!

we determined she carries the stool around via straps like a backpack <3

[rizzblade]

Speaking of the worst guy ever

I catboyed him for his crimes

[betterillusionist]

Test Realm: Zafaria

That lazy smile of his, always plastered onto his face. Not that they hate to see it. But... it's different. They can't quite place what about it is. It seems like everyone they meet is so... so...

Plastic. Fake. Stale. Lifeless.

As always, they are more than helpful with finding words for them.

“'ey, Wizard, you listening?” Snap! Snap!

I am, they confirm with an over-exaggerated nod. They're not. Not really.

There are too many emotions bouncing around inside them to muster up anything beyond that of apathy as they stare at their surroundings. Not that they don't care, either. They do. They also don't. And everything in between. Like always. Like normal.

The skybox is yellow. The terrain is also yellow. The mud is brown. The enemies... lions of varying colors. There's a new gardening NPC somewhere. Something, something... That's about it. All that's interesting so far, anyway. There's a story going on, too, they suppose, but with them clamoring over everything they're having a hard time focusing on the smaller details for themselves.

Aaron blinks back at the Wizard. He, too, hardly emotes much at all, always in a passively chipper mood to match his blank grin and basic red and white beginners robes. And yet - and it could be their eyes playing tricks on them - it seems like Aaron is ever so slightly... hurt? Perhaps the [DEVELOPERS] have made some tweaks to him since last the two have seen each other.

Aaron puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to one side, his forever-smile seeming to drop ever so slightly. "Yeah, I know. Test Realm is a bit chaotic for ya. Lots of opinions. Lots of feedback." He pauses momentarily as his eyes are drawn to something just off to the side, visible to him but unseen to the Wizard. "Welp, that'll need to get fixed later..."

I am excited, they try to reassure him as best they can. A new World is always interesting.

"Man, I'd love to talk about all the Worlds I'm scouting out for the future, buuuuuuuut..." Aaron chuckles. "[DEVS] said I gotta keep it a secret."

I understand.

"Hmmm..." Aaron holds an arm up to his face and pulls back his sleeve. It looks like he's checking a wrist watch for the time despite the fact he doesn't have one built onto his model. "Hows about we call it quits for today? I'll need to close the place up for the night soon anyway."

Sure.

Even so, there's countless disappointed wails from the ether. They always hate it when Test Realm has to close. Sadly, it's not like Aaron can keep this subdimention open forever without it becoming greatly unstable. And so the Wizard, despite seeing it to be a good idea, is also sad as they watch Aaron work his own magic. With the simple clap of his hands, the two of them are teleported away from the yellow Savannah and into the flat cornflower blue expanse that is Aaron's domain.

Here, it is quiet. Their collective shout disappears from their mind, leaving behind a very hollow and aimless character as a result. The Wizard looks around at all the stuff Aaron has collected here with no thought or feeling towards anything in particular. Large signs shine over each pile of seemingly random junk:

DANGEROUS (but cute)

!!! POINTY !!!

REMOVED: [???]

Made me angry

Looks like a missing texture

Mine

As endless as this domain appears to be, the piles occupy but a small fraction of the limitless space, crammed all together as if Aaron thought these piles weren't going to continue to grow in size over time. And this is only the second newest World since the end of Arc 1.

And yet there is a sense of coziness to this place, too. Some of the things from the nicer piles jealously removed from the Spiral for their pleasing aesthetics have been scattered about the place, forming small cozy seating areas and wall-less room mock-ups. Lamps line the large central pathway they stand on and mark the corners of the many piles around them despite the place already being well-lit by some unknown, unseen light source.

"Ahhhhh, home sweet storage space!" Aaron beams, letting out a long stretch.

I have to go, Aaron, the Wizard states. They weren't expecting to be brought here at all. They are needed back in the Spiral - the real Spiral - for them.

"It's server downtime there too. We've got some time," Aaron reassures them with a dismissive hand wave. Once more, his expression appears to falter ever so slightly. Is his model breaking?

"Actually, I wanted to show you something I found."

The Wizard doesn't reply, but a large question mark briefly appears beside their head. They can say they are curious but they know that the emotion is incomplete without them around to borrow from. Nonetheless, Aaron motions for them to follow him.

At the end of the large central walkway is a series of screens floating in the air and a large static rift behind them. Text crawls across the screens at a rate the Wizard can't even read, though they doubt they'd even be able to understand them anyway. This is Aaron's place, after all. It's all for him and him only, not them.

But it's the rift that catches the Wizard's eye. They're not quite sure what the rift is supposed to be, nor have they asked or Aaron offered an explanation of his own accord. But stuck in the center of the white and gray noise is some kind of flat, jagged black crystal. The Wizard pauses momentarily, a flash of... something uneasy filling their hollow being. But Aaron walks right up to it unconcerned and grins wider as he presents it to the Wizard as if it were a trophy the [DEVELOPERS] modeled specifically for him.

What is it? the Wizard asks.

"It's just a mirror. Well, a piece of one, anyway. It works, too."

The Wizard steps up to the shard of broken mirror a little cautiously. They can't quite shake this dread within them. It is not from them, either; it feels like they are the one feeling it for themselves. And... it is just a regular mirror, it seems. They can see themselves in its black reflection quite clearly despite the dark surface. Their smooth, porcelain face and shadowed eyes stare back at them. Despite their face not once breaking from their usual blank scowl, their reflection furrows its brow and its mouth falls into a scowl. Likewise, Aaron's reflection beams with pride and joy he usually cannot express with his model.

Something else stirs within them, as if they have returned yet... they have been condensed into a single voice. Quiet, weak, trying to find some sense of presence. And it is telling them that this is rather unimpressive.

This is it? they inquire, their emotionless tone taking on a slightly sharper edge to it.

"Cool, right? We can break our models with it!" Aaron puts his fingers up to the edge of his mouth, and his reflection stretches it wide and sticks its tongue out back at the two.

Where did you find this?

"Dragonspyre. That's why it was so late getting released."

The Wizard's reflection seems to raise an eyebrow, but it's hard to tell with their face being so obscure with shadow. But it reflects their interest. This little thing caused the delay of the finale of Arc 1 from being released on time?

All because of this mirror?

"Yep."

Why?

Aaron shrugs, his reflection pursing its lips with a confused expression. "Dunno. But it was screwing with the link back to the [DEVS] so it had to get removed."

And so you keep it with all your personal things?

Aaron's reflection scowls with annoyance. "Geez, I can't like being able to stare at myself?"

The Wizard is annoyed too, the emotion swelling within their chest. There are plenty of other mirrors.

"Yeah, but I like this one. I can make faces with it."

You don't even know what it is, do you?

"If you don't like it just say so," Aaron sighs with frustration. He turns away from the mirror and the Wizard to take a deep breath.

He was feeling enough to need to calm down?

I... do not, the Wizard tepidly confirms, also breaking eye contact with their reflection. At once, the little voice fades away once more and they fall back into their usual hollowness.

It isn't like them to make 'I' statements at all. There is no 'I'. 'I' implies they are one being, one identity, one voice. But they are a representation of them; there is no room for individuality when a collective must be served. And being their vessel is their only purpose.

And yet... it feels like something has changed within them. It's so slight it's barely even noticeable, but in the silence the Wizard can feel it. Hear it.

That singular voice, barely an audible murmur buzzing in their ear.

It is not someone from the Spiral. It is not them. It is not the [DEVELOPERS].

I should return now, they state.

"Oh, yeah, right," Aaron hums, having forgotten that the Wizard is not supposed to be here. "See you later, Wizzy!"

An inexplicable burst of frustration boils inside them. Don't-

But they are returned to the Spiral before they can even finish their thought without so much of a sound. Whatever strangeness they were feeling is drowned in an instant by their voices once again. Telling them what to think, to feel, to do, to be.

Everything and nothing. As they should be.