abraxaslogs | [closed] stay green a little while

This section of the castle isn't where Kahlil originally intended to exit from the Gray Space. The landscape he once could navigate with ease fights him at every turn, snaring his clothing and tearing a fresh cut across his palm. The wards these witches have set up to block any kind of passage are worse than the shattered lands in the north of his own homeworld.

He's too stubborn to stop, though. Not until he's wound his way too far into a sharpened corridor to turn back and try to return from where he came. Finally he flicks two fingers and shears an opening back into the natural realm.

Normally, if he were to notice someone else standing there on the other side of reality he would wait until they departed, even if it might take hours. He is the Kahlil. He has spent the past ten years half living in this space, observing unseen. He would never not notice another person playing with flames only ten feet away from where he decides to exit the Gray Space.

Well, except for today, where that's exactly what happens.

What Wilhelm sees is: a thin line torn through reality, the whoosh of cold, sterile air that pours out along with a tall stranger who steps right out of nowhere.

Kahlil stops, staring in confusion at the young man.

"Hello."

Well, what else is there to say?

Edited 2022-08-08 19:30 (UTC)

Between a little elemental magic and an entire person stepping out of a rip in the air, the latter wins the prize for most bewildering. Which is to say that Wilhelm stares up at the man with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open a bit. The flame he'd been passing back and forth slips from his hand, finding purchase in the grass beside him. What follows is a flurry of cursing and frantic movement as he tries to scoop it back up, so Kahlil will just have to wait for an actual response to his disproportionately nonchalant greeting.

Once he's got his flame collected, Wilhelm blows his hair out of his eyes — or tries to, but it doesn't really work. Carefully ensuring that the flame stays put in his other hand, he pushes his hair back. Then his attention returns to the man who appeared out of nowhere.

"Hi," is his brilliant response. Having never seen this man before, he's not sure if he's one of the castle mages or another Summoned. He'd seen some new faces around the North Wing, so it seems Ambrose must have brought in another batch of recruits. Rhy was brewing up a welcome party for them.

"If I'm not supposed to be doing this over here, I can go somewhere else."

He watches as Wilhelm scrambles for his flame, instinctively taking a step forward to help stamp it out— and then thinking better of it when he realizes the boy's trying to pick it back up. It gives him a moment to recover from his own surprise at nearly stumbling into someone else.

"No, it's alright—" he offers with a slight, almost distracted shrug, eyeing the flame in his hand, "— I can pretend I didn't see anything, if that's any help."

After a moment he drags his gaze up from the flame to his face. He looks young, can't be any older than eighteen. His demeanor softens a bit, eyebrows raising.

"Should you be working with that alone?" His gaze shifts over Wilhelm's shoulder, then back, thoughtfully. "I'm not up to date on the rules yet, but you should probably at least have a fire extinguisher handy..."

His tone implies that he's gently teasing. The sight of the boy holding a flame in his hand disturbs Kahlil more than he'll admit or show, something he pushes back like so many other truths about himself that he has no time or will for.

Edited (i just switched icons i'm sorry) 2022-08-09 04:26 (UTC)

Based on the man's response, he's leaning toward newly Summoned. Wilhelm isn't sure what he feels for the realization that he's now been here long enough that he isn't the greenest one anymore. Surprise, for the slipperiness of time. Homesickness, but also relief for the uncrossable distance between him and all the things he was tired of dealing with. He still thinks of his life back home as his real life, while this one is a detour, a diversion.

And additional relief for the minor accomplishment of lasting this long without messing up too badly. Yet.

But the fire dancing in his palm prevents him from digging too deeply into that pocket of emotions. Wobbling toward the grass again, it calls his attention back. He lifts his hand to hold the flame away from the ground and, for good measure, stands up. It's good manners anyway.

"I can put it out myself. No extinguisher or water or anything."

A little proud, a little defensive. He won't mention that before he figured that part out, these little practice sessions were, well, like playing with fire in the metaphorical sense as much as the literal sense. Nor will he mention that it often takes him a few tries to put it out.

"Watch—"

To prove it, Wilhelm steadies his focus with a slow breath and curls his hand shut. In answer — defiantly delayed — the flame puffs out. His expression relaxes into a grin, and his shoulders sink in relief. Thank God, this was one of the times he gets it in one try.

There's something about that pride (and defensiveness) that resonates with the part of him that can recall a past training at Rathal'pesha with the priests, remembering what it was like to always have to prove himself.

He'd sought out places to be alone then too, away from the priests and the other trainees.

With the demonstration he lets out a soft puff of air, like huh, and gives an approving nod. He's sure it likely took a second or two longer than the young man intended for it to work, and his gaze scans Wilhelm's hand for any redness on his skin like burns. No blood, no bone. It's so strange for their to be no sacrifice. Maybe it's not as easy to see as cuts drawn across flesh. Maybe this world is a kinder place.

Or maybe this is just his wishful thinking.

"Did you learn that here?" he asks, nodding toward the castle proper.

There is something to be said for the walls put up by young men. False confidence, artificial cool, eggshell tough. Behind it, he worries that he doesn't belong here, that he's behind in some immeasurable way. That approving nod keeps it all propped up, though.

Although one sleeve of Wilhelm's shirt is a little singed, a testament to some mishap, his hands are blank of burns. He slips them into his pockets once he's waved off the lingering heat. He answers the question with a nod.

"Well, it just sort of...happened," he explains, with the sort of tone one might use when made to answer for a broken window. "I had to learn how to control it."

He studies his face this time, taking in his almost guilty tone as he chooses carefully what he says next. He hadn't exactly been planning on sharing what he could do with anyone yet, even Jack. But Wilhelm just saw him appear out of nowhere, so there's no point in trying to pretend he didn't.

"My power came on suddenly too. I was young, and terrified right as it happened." His tone is gentle in a way he hopes will sound more understanding than patronizing to the teen. Fear had motivated his first escape through the Gray Space.

He lets out a puff of air, a derisive sort of sound, and glances up at the open sky.

"I never got along with the other..." His thoughts stumble over ushiri'im and so there's a slight pause as he searches for another word, " ... classmates or teacher. I practiced alone often."

At that he lets his gaze drop back to Wilhelm, questioning.

He was definitely still wondering how the man managed to step out of an invisible seam in the air. Luckily, he's saved the trouble of working out how to broach the subject as Kahlil does it for him. In that look he sets on him, Wilhelm feels the weight of a question — curiosity mixed with concern, maybe.

"It's just easier to concentrate away from everyone else." Shrugging, he toes the grass. One clump has grown longer than the rest, which makes it perfect for squashing under his boot. His answer is enough of the truth, anyway.

Back to the more interesting matter.

"So is your power teleportation? Did you just...take a step one time and suddenly you were somewhere else?"

He can see how that would be a terrifying thing, so his awe is tempered with sympathy.

Wilhelm seems to be without other visible signs that might alarm him, no broken and bruised knuckles, black eyes or shorn hair, so he lets the subject drop for now.

"Something like that," he admits, staring at some point over Wilhelm's shoulder. "It all happened very quickly, I mostly remember wanting to run away."

Edited and sanitized for the boy's sake. There's no conflicting information to this memory, unlike so many others. He remembers the cold barrel of the rifle pressed to the back of his head and his sister's screams, the husk that was their mother still smoldering on the pyre. In the present, the scent of burning flesh seems to waft through the air —

He eyes Wilhelm for a second as he banishes the memory, frowning to himself.

"It's difficult to travel that way around the castle, the mages here have the whole place covered in wards." He waves his hand in the direction of the stone walls. It is extremely annoying. But then his frown shifts into a grin as he admits aloud, "I'm not used to having to open so many doors the normal way."

Edited 2022-08-11 17:56 (UTC)

There's something in the way the man's expression shifts, fading to somewhere far away, that makes worry slither in Wilhelm's gut. He can't help but wonder what else lurks in those memories. It might be better not to know, and it's definitely none of his business.

Though the whole concept of teleporting oneself from room to room is novel, he supposes it's much like his own dependence on technology. There's still a spark of annoyance every time he has to light a candle instead of flipping a switch. There's still a reflex to reach for his phone when he can't sleep in the middle of the night.

"There's a lot to get used to here." A tone of commiseration. "Stuff like that isn't even possible where I'm from."

Stuff, in this case, meaning traveling through tears in space and setting fires with only one's hands and thoughts for flint.

He nods.

"It's really not all that common where I've come from either."

Not to the extent that the Thorneans have outfitted their castle. A regular person in Basawar could go their entire lives without having to worry about encountering a boy that can control flames, or one of the ushiri'im. They'd count themselves lucky for it too.

He inclines his head toward Wilhelm's pocketed hands, curious.

"What else have you learned so far?"

He's always trying to piece together what kind of world the other Summoned come from, a game that runs quietly in the back of his thoughts. Except calling it a game implies that it's for fun, when it's more like a tool with which he measures himself against others, and invariably finds himself falling short. Compulsion might be more accurate. What he knows so far about this guy's world: it's the kind of place that has fire extinguishers, which speaks to a certain level of technology, and magic too, but only in the hands of a special few.

"I can transfer the fire to something else and still control it. I can make it spread faster, or not at all."

A pause, in which his eyes roll upward as if scouring his brain for any detail he might have missed. Scratching his head, he concludes, "That's all, so far."

Barring the last five minutes, he's been very careful about what he shares with most of the Summoned. He has memories of living in Nayeshi for ten years. Pretending to be from there without explicitly saying so isn't all that hard when there are so many others. Better to blend in whenever he can than to stand out right now. Especially with men like Lucifer in their midst, unpredictable and potentially dangerous when given the wrong information.

It also means he doesn't feel as guilty as he would outright lying to people like Jack and Wilhelm.

That's all, the young man says. It'd be enough to send him to the Holy Road in Basawar.

He frowns, a deep crease at his brow.

"Then it's good that you've already learned to control it." There, at least, is faint approval coloring the concern in his expression and tone. "I should let you get back to it."

He flicks his wrist, and with a motion comes another burst of cold air as a tear appears out of nothing.

(he's already been made, so he might as well show off a bit)

"I'm Kyle, by the way. I'm staying in the North Wing for now."

So that the young man can seek him out, if he needs something. Or finds himself in any trouble.

Despite his own incipient magic, Wilhelm still manages to be dumbfounded by the sight of the air tearing open. It instills him with the sense of something coming apart at the seams. More questions bubble up, but even if Kyle weren't signaling his intentions to leave, he seems a guarded person who might not want to share so many of his secrets.

"Wilhelm," he returns. "I'm staying there too, so I guess I'll see you around."

Staying, not living, because the permanence of the latter is too overwhelming to consider.

He watches Kyle disappear into the rip he's created, as abruptly as he arrived. Alone again, taking a deep breath, Wilhelm settles back into his practice.

[closed] stay green a little while

I

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: violence, murder stuff

r u ok kyle

yUP

hm...x to doubt

no subject

no subject