Hope

Irwyn awoke with short gasps, his mind reeling to adjust to no longer having senses the body never had. His vision swam together with nausea that kept him in place for moments longer, the fabric of his bed grazed against his oversensitive skin uncomfortably.

Gradually, he managed to recover enough for coherent thought. It was still a while before dawn, he knew. But that was not on his mind at the moment.

Irwyn had assumed that his first vision had been a one-time thing, caused by the strange artefact that had seemingly dissolved in his grasp on that heist gone awry. Yet suddenly, he had serious evidence to the contrary.

He had to consider what that meant for now and for the future. Would the visions continue? It seemed possible, even likely now and Irwyn would have to plan with that assumption in mind. After all, there was not much preparation involved in having no such further visions. That wasn't even mentioning the content of that vision. Or was it a dream?

At least Irwyn was quite confident whose eyes he had seen through this time. After all, in the Book of the Name there was only one son of Ignis and Lumen, sharing the name of both. That begged the question whether that first vision had also been from the same perspective. It seemed possible - both shared great power over Starfire, though that could just be because Irwyn did control it too and thus warranted visions of his betters in that art - though if they were the same the first vision must have been much later chronologically. After all, in the new one he had been almost juvenile emotionally.

Besides the identity of whose memory he had beheld, the contents were fascinating and by the end disturbing. The seven demons, the seven sins, Irwyn remembered them mentioned in the Book of the Name, though not quite as the vision had shown them. He quickly found the section:

And in opposition and equation, thus Umbra insisted; that for each virtue manifest that Lumen had borne, so she would forge into flesh sin. And they are thus:

Bearers for Wrath - for their fury would gather and fester onto their back.

Kobolds for Greed - the small with the greatest appetite for taking.

Devourers for Gluttony - in hunger that knows not an end.

Stilled for Sloth - they who sap all that which allows motion.

Succubi for Lust - to tempt and be tempted in turn.

And lastly, those of Pride - extinct and no more in the Betrayer’s wake.

And indeed, the descriptions in the book were distinctly different from the vision. Though that did not necessarily mean they were wrong. After all, the vision had clearly transpired before the First Betrayal. And the Book of the Name had repeatedly told him that Sin used to be much less negative of a concept at that time, only twisted by Umbra’s death into something far fouler. If that was the case, the demons would have likely been changed as well.

And perhaps Irwyn would have left it at that if not for the last. For the demon of Pride. Singular demon while the Book implied multiple. And that could not be right even if Pride had truly died in those days. In that case, Irwyn had to admit that either the vision or the Book were at least partially incorrect. As for which Irwyn came to a realisation after a bit of thinking: The Book of the Name, albeit a text he had looked up for guidance and insight, must have been written by someone. It could not be providence, for it spoke much of the Death of Aspects and of what followed. And that meant it could only contain what the author had known. For one, the account around the First Crusade albeit containing fascinating descriptions of righteous wrath against necromancy and its banishment across all realms had been rather sparse in actual details.

In other words, the Book of the Name described reality and its history as the author believed it to be, not as it necessarily was. For secrets could be as ancient as Time. With that in mind, Irwyn chose to believe in his visions. At least until he had a bigger reason to doubt them. Not that it mattered too much at the moment.

Knowing he would not be able to sleep for now, Irwyn sat up and continued to digest what he had learnt and felt. It was near the end of that deliberation that he realised there was light still floating next to him from when he had gone to compare his knowledge with the Book of the Name. And he had summoned it so easily that he never even registered casting or maintaining the magic.

Have I truly improved that much? Irwyn questioned. His magic had become noticeably easier to wield after his first vision, it would not be without merit to consider the same effect repeating itself. Unfortunately, that might be difficult to accomplish, as Irwyn did not really have a proper benchmark as to what degree his magic had reached. He had been, after all, on the run ever since. It had been… less than a week since that failed raid. And felt like far longer. And the most ‘free’ time Irwyn had was spent treading through a barely-not-traitorous path through woods and trying to construct magics he thought would be needed for his continued survival. Never quite in the state of mind to properly push his limits and see how far they had gone.

A mistake, in hindsight. Though there was little he would be able to do about it now. He considered redeeming that fault immediately, though, unfortunately, that would be ill-advised with Old Owl so very near and definitely keeping an eye out.

Whatever his limits were, it was only prudent to not casually reveal them to others; even to likely allies.

The next day, Irwyn shared a silent breakfast with the old Fowl and then went on his way. As Old Crow’s letter had told him, he would head towards Abonisle.

Reaching the next big town at dusk of the second day since departure, Irwyn thanked the caravanner and vanished into the streets. He made damn sure no one was following him before he finally took off the mask and looked for an inn to stay the night.

He checked out the first thing after dawn and then, instead of looking for a new group to travel with, loitered around the major streets; scouting them out. The first thing he expected Old Owl's merchant friend to do was to contact every damn peddler with a wagon and ask them to make particularity sure to get him a good picture of any young man with his hair approaching them for a ride.

He has already gone through so much trouble to keep his face disassociated from the Young Mockingbird, as he could nowadays rightfully call himself, it would be a damn shame to give it up at the last moment. And if anyone were to try and retrace his steps, they would not expect him to be so patient, accounting for the blatant paranoia.

So, he instead waited for early noon and checked in at another inn, planning to stay for exactly one more night. That allowed him to leave the conspicuous bag behind and move around the city. The next few hours Irwyn spent enjoying the city sights, local cuisine and purses. He had gotten a good enough look earlier to confidently go for some of the easier targets even on mostly unfamiliar turf; clearly inattentive people who wore their coin as if the idea of theft had never once crossed their minds. Irwyn has, after all, been in big part a professional pickpocket since he could remember. And it was an efficient way to replenish his funds; or immediately spend what he got on a new bag, an unworn cloak, and a freshly baked snack. Maybe he was being overly paranoid… On the other hand, Irwyn could easily dismiss any argument made against being more careful by simply remembering that damn house Blackburg would be out for his hide; they probably were already. Any day now he expected wanted posters or at least verbal descriptions to begin circulating.

For that, he had a few things in mind. First, he would be letting his beard grow out. Well, a beard was a very generous word. So far he could only feel the slightest start of something that might one day resemble a beard. The issue was that as Irwyn was only 16 he never exactly had the time to figure out the whole facial hair thing properly. He was taught how to shave without cutting himself by Maxim and that was about it, only ever using that a scant few times.

At least his hair was better off. With the Tears, he would always cut it short before his hairline started interfering with his line of sight. On the run, he decided it would be appropriate to let his mane grow as far as it would go. With a bit of luck, it could deceive someone looking for him in a crowd.

Next, he got 2 pairs of fake spectacles, putting one of them on. It would make him harder to recognise.

The last change was a bit more attention-grabbing: He bought a bit of hair paint that he then applied to a single braid, making it burning red. And not just any natural shade of ginger but a distinct burning crimson that Irwyn imagined people in the Dutchy of Red would have approved of. It would be eye-catching when Irwyn didn’t have his hood down; and bring all the unwanted attention away from his other features. The wanted posters or whatnot wouldn’t have such an eye-catching mark after all.

People could gawk for all he cared, just as long as they would not see the peacock for its feathers.

Satisfied with his do-over, Irwyn returned to the tavern a decent few hours before dark. To avoid any confusion about his changed appearance he slipped in stealthily, not too difficult considering the time of day and few guests, and dropped off his purchases.

Next came disposing of his old bag. He could keep the cloak and wear it as Mockingbird, that was fine, but the bag would have to go. It was too distinct a feature, better not risk it. Could I burn it? Irwyn eyed it. He was not sure what the fabric was actually made out of. He could tell it wasn’t silk or anything expensive but could not quite tell the difference between cotton or hemp or linen. Did those even burn differently? Burning stuff smelled, obviously, but perhaps he could control how hard as to not be noticed.

Irwyn moved his things to the new backpack he had bought and then prepared to take the old one apart. He solidified two plates of light into makeshift scissors, then experimentally tried to cut the fabric. At first they weren’t sharp enough but by the third attempt the fabric parted and by the fifth it barely resisted. Though Irwyn could see this actually being a decent enough exercise at manipulating the thickness of his solid light into sharp constructs. And cutting edge light offered other obvious applications if he could master it.

When he had gathered several strips, he attempted to burn them one by one. Just a few small pieces. The first burned away almost instantly, clearly quite flammable. The smell was that of burning paper and it was reasonably faint. The following few tries produced the same result. Nodding, Irwyn cut the backpack into much larger chunks, opened the window, made sure no one was looking, and got to work. The method was fairly simple: Take a cut, burn it over a bowl of solid light, toss the soft gray ash out of the window. By the time he was done some of it was left on the floor but that was hardly noticeable while he was actively looking for it. It only took him less than 20 minutes to be done with the evidence, though the stench had grown noticeably worse after he started also burning some dirt that had stuck to the fabric. He looked at his work, satisfied and took a deep breath.

With that done, he was completely free until the next morning. For the first time in a while he let go of the constant worry at the back of his head and the urge to move forward or do something meaningless. Because it was finally time to test the limits his magic.

But maybe he could first grab an early dinner in the common room. Irwyn had a feeling that he might miss it otherwise.

With the shutters closed and the late noon sun still obscuring him, Irwyn finally got to casting. If he wanted to check his limits he would start with the same routine he had developed years ago. And so he began, sitting on his bed, as a ball of light arose from his palms and then smoothly split. Into 2 then 4 then 8, 16, 32, 64 and 128. And that gave Irwyn a pause. A few months ago, he could have barely held on to that number. His control would have been slipping from the strain, his mind would have stuttered from the sheer multitude and he had never been able to keep that number moving for more than 20 minutes.

Now, 128 felt as light as 2 to his mind. Each he felt individually yet that great feat of multitasking had not even felt straining. Does that apply to just magic? Irwyn immediately wondered if this translated to a much greater capacity for splitting his focus for more mundane activities.

256, 512 and still it felt like barely a strain. At that point, Irwyn was almost intimidated by that sheer difference because he felt the limit was nowhere in sight. 1024, 2048 and it was not his mind that reached the limit. It was the room. From floor to ceiling, everything was covered by his dimmed orbs of light. To the point that Irwyn, realising this, began to worry about someone noticing the magic from afar.

Pondering, he withdrew the magic letting it all disperse. He immediately went to sate the previous bout of curiosity and reached for his Book of the Name, opening it at random. Then he tried to read both the open pages at the same time. Results were mixed, leaning negative, as he did have no real benchmark at all about how good he used to be at this sort of thing. However, considering that he could barely kind of read two pages at once and struggled to retain most of the content even from a text he had read before, the extreme improvement to multitasking seemed clearly exclusive to magic.

It was not unexpected when he found out he could solidify flame into saturated balls faster than he could measure, he had somewhat already done that before after all.

Then he tried his Starfire and was not surprised here either that it was even more responsive than the Flame or Light, as minuscule as that difference in perception was. Realistically, if he could not figure out where his limits were for the other two elements in his current environment, he could hardly figure out that one. Experimentally, he manifested a few spheres of Starfire and condensed them much like his flames in an instant. When that was done he made them into strings, strangely much like he was drawing from a spool. Despite having all that power of his flames, the Starfire was as flexible as Light. Realistically it would be much better to create these strings from the beginning rather than bothering with the spheres, which he tested out worked out just fine. This was supposed to be benchmarking so for the moment he would leave out testing intentions.

Also because Irwyn had tested that mostly to mentally prepare for the next exercise. One of the things that his Starfire could not do: It was time he figured out how well he could feel things through Light.

Irwyn had once held dreams of practically seeing through walls by perceiving through the light beyond them. Of course, this had eluded him for years. The furthest he had gotten had been a thin-ish concentrated beam in otherwise complete darkness used to read book titles. Any attempts made during the day would always just knock him out and leave behind a bad time of headaches. Which was why Irwyn lied on the bed and took several deep breaths before delving into the perception.

There were countless particles of dust. Bed bugs hid beneath the mattress… In the room a floor down… 2 buildings over. The wood had an incomprehensible number of uneven surfaces and myriad shades of colour. There were 27 masses of clouds covering the skies. The bee was visibly overburdened. The falling crates would probably either main or kill the poor young woman. That part of the road was granite, though dirty. The underside of the eggplant seemed rotten, the….

Irwyn snapped out with sweat pouring down his forehead, the first signs of a headache already accumulating at the back of his head. It was too much. Far too much. How far did he see? And how far could he? The sheer quantity of information was overwhelming. His mind could only retain snippets, almost still images associated with impressions, that might or might not have been his. All of that what might have been less than a seconds as far as he could tell.

No wonder even attempting this used to always knock him out.

This way he at least learned where the issue lay and could work towards a solution. Maybe he could change the scope and only perceive larger things; or he could figure out how to perceive only a specific part of the omnipresent daylight; or he could figure out if enough magic would allow his brain to process that impossible amount of information; or some other solution he wasn’t immediately seeing.

His imagination of the incredible possibilities that seemed more possible than ever before were only interrupted by the coming of a brutal headache. Oh and how he hated those. Not even the pain itself, just the associated debilitation and mental sluggishness. He despised feeling his thoughts grind to a halt, occupied by the sensation of suffering and further hobbled by whatever ailment was causing the actual migraine. And from experience, it would likely be a long one.

But he would suffer it and a thousand more if that was the price to pay for improvement. Though Irwyn would just need to learn to be more strategic and only undergo such things if they were genuinely necessary.

Not being able to continue his exercise, Irwyn went to sleep, already lying in the bed. He had to rest for the next day.

Irwyn set out well before dawn. Thankfully his headache had receded throughout the night, another improvement compared to the past. The streets were dark and no one seemed to pay him any attention as he headed for the Northern gate. There stood a large mostly empty area dedicated to the loading of merchant caravans planning to leave the city. There he would find someone willing to take him 1 town further North-East, a bit closer to Abonisle.

And that all went well except for one small incident.

He had already agreed with a merchant to take him, leaving in an hour, and was just loitering when he bumped into a stranger while turning around.

Not usually something note worthy, just one of those embarrassing clumsy moments on a crowded street.

The issue was that when their shoulders made contact, Irwyn felt the magic within the person react to his own. And from the mirrored flabbergasted stare, so had the other person. They were covering most of their face with a cloak and a shawl, revealing only a few strands of blue hair and blue eyes that seemed ever so slightly uncanny at first glance.

“Would I be right to assume that you are someone who value privacy?” the figure asked first after several seconds of mute silence.

“I would consider myself such,” Irwyn replied carefully, his heart pumping. Being noticed in the first few days despite all the care he had taken was very low on the list of things he wanted.

“Then perhaps it is for the best we never saw each other, yes?”

“On Ignis’ name, we will keep it a secret.”

“On Ignis’ name,” the stranger nodded and basically ran off into the crowd.

Irwyn looked after him for a few more seconds and then returned to loitering. Though the oath failed him last time, he had felt it form again. Weaker than what it had been with Alira but good enough. He had seen that the stranger had been just as nervous as him. At the very least the man seemed to have enough problems that they wouldn’t try to figure out where Irwyn was headed.

And Irwyn already had enough of his own. He would take extra care to cover his tracks again in the next town and that would be the end of that.