"Kiberius!" Cypur swore. He the little finger flicker! And then Wescherlie, he thought pushing her away meant he was saving her, so he reinforced it, acting the part of the bad Sorcerer. Then, she doubted him. But he was the one that didn't believe in her. If he had noticed she doubted the words of the police, all of that could have been avoided.

I shouldn't have pushed her away. And now I'm here when we could have fought them.

He realized another thing, too. Just when Eerious was shoving him into the policeship, two Sorcerers left the scene on Eerious' order. They had nets. Why else but to capture the Rauvuren?

Cypur stood. I have to get back. Find her.

Trying to take the collar off, only shocked his fingers. Rubbing his hands, he tried to think of lock magick and realized he was empty. It was different from magick energy being low. There was nothing. And without magick, he couldn't undo even a simple lock.

"Kiberius," he cursed again. This must be what it was like to be a useless Human. No magick. Nothing.

And I'm not Human-born. He still couldn't believe it. Didn't want to. His golden magick was inherited from Charmteller? The murderer? But there was something that didn't make sense. If Charmteller had his own murderous magick from the start, why did he need Cypur?

"Just because we're related can't be—"

"He was trying to regulate your magick."

Cypur turned at the sound of that voice. Behind was the start of a forest. Parting through the branches was Precense. His hair was matted, and the green and yellow highlights were faded. With puffy eyes, he still smiled.

His cape was torn, and fresh scratches lined his arms. Without magick, he couldn't heal. "And I knew the moment I met you. Come, I have a cave."

He walked off back into the forest. Cypur pressed his lips together. Precense knew the truth. Why didn't he say anything? It would have made this journey quicker. They wouldn't have had to stay too long at Library of Eternals and Deaths. He and Wescherlie would still be friends.

Or not?

It was after meeting with Precense that Cypur and Wescherlie became closer to one another. He relied on her and she, him. If he had known about the truth of his father earlier, he wouldn't have had a friend in a Rauvuren.

Precense and Cypur trekked through the forest in silence. Branches snagged his cape running tears through the material, no longer magick-enhanced. Cypur tripped on a tree root, falling to the ground, scrapping his hands. Red blood seeped from his palm unlike the usual black. He waited, but the wound didn't heal. Licking it, he tasted the iron, the blood of a Human.

Steam rose from the ground as the temperatures dropped. Chilled air made droplets pause on their way down from leaves or branches. Soon, they would freeze. Cypur wanted to hug himself, but he needed his arms out for balance.

Deeper into the woods, a growl thundered on the left. He whipped his head to the sound, but only shadows consumed the land beyond.

"It's the taiga," Precense whispered, "but as long as you stay away, so does the taiga." As he spoke, Cypur caught a tremble in his voice. Whatever it was, it even invoked fear in a male who was a practiced fighter. Moonlight illuminated the shadows for a mere second and something large shifted, retreating further in the depths. Leaves rustled and branches snapped. A growl echoed from the deep. Then, it began to rain again.

"Come, not too far." Precense quickened his pace. Cypur hurried after to not lose sight of him. Without magick to light the way, the rapidly growing darkness threatened to swallow Precense whole. But soon they came to an open meadow where the moon made a spotlight, turning the grass silver and the droplets clinging to the blades looked like gems. Beyond, a looming shadow sat stoic.

Precense' Faud? Cypur wondered, expecting to see yellow eyes, but he quickly dismissed the silly thought catching sight of a thin collar around Precense' neck, hidden behind his long hair. The dark shape turned out to be a cave in a rockface stretching higher than the trees. When they ducked inside, it was well-lived.

Clothes hung on branches tied to stalactites with vine on one wall. Drying meat hung on another with animal hide. A spread of dried grass made a bed and a woven grass rug spread out in the middle. Stacks of wood piled near the entrance and Cypur noticed some had been chosen to be sharpened into spears.

"Towel?" Precense handed him what looked like a torn-up bathrobe with one sleeve missing. "It's not the best, but better than nothing."

As Cypur dried, he wondered how long Precense had been here. There were no records of Fifth Ring time warps. A few days in the Fourth Ring could be weeks here for all he knew. At least the male knew a thing or two about survival. He was getting a fire together with flint, making the fire take to the dry grasses in no time. Soon, a pile of logs lit in the cave, making their shadows dance on the walls.

For a while, they sat in silence. The fire crackled. It licked its flaming tongues around the wood, enjoying the meal. Precense was smiling, but his eyes seemed tired and distant staring into the flames. What was he holding inside and why wouldn't he say anything before?

I'm Charmteller's son.

It still didn't hit. It was a bad dream or a sick joke. He pinched his arm, digging his nails into his skin, gritting his teeth at the pain, because he couldn't believe it. The Sorcerer that Daero warned him about. The one searching for him.

Because I'm his son or his successful experiment?

A short intake of breath broke the silence and Precense began to talk. "I'm involved in something big. Charmteller came to me for it. It's not something," He paused and Cypur turned to find Precense standing. He began to pace the cave. "I couldn't tell you and you shouldn't concern yourself with it," he said with hands on his hips.

Charmteller visited Precense? Cypur recalled the scratch marks on the door at Precense' house in Boridianverie. But Wescherlie said those looked like claw marks. Probably nothing to do with that.

"I thought he was exil—"

"He has returned. Two years ago."

"The Great Sigh," Cypur said and Precense nodded, rocking on his heels. "Because of that?"

"Did the scepter free him? No one knows." He began to pace again. "He told me to watch over you."

Cypur blinked, trying to comprehend. He could barely form the words. But it couldn't mean what he thought. Almost afraid to ask, his voice came as a whisper. "The old Kathula tower, the Shame Garden, those weren't chance meetings?"

The response was a shake of the head. "And the Rauvuren. Not Wescherlie. You were in an illusion memory. A time passed, triggered by the one who must see it. I made sure to activate it at the right time."

The realization shocked him. So, it was like the Rauvuren fountain in Poppintum! He and Wescherlie practically invisible from everyone else because they had walked into an illusion memory for Wescherlie was to hear and see what happened to her family. But if the Rauvuren that gave him the pendant was also an illusion memory, why was it him and not Wescherlie?

"That Rauvuren has been dead for two years," Precense stood at the mouth of the cave, "Shortly after Wescherlie ran away."

Cypur could hardly believe his ears. "I needed to find her, but why does she need me? Because I'm a Charmteller? So, she could have her revenge on some Charmteller? Golden murderous magick."

Precense arched his brow. "Cypur, you don't know what causes your magick to kill?"

He shook his head. "I didn't have that dialogue with my Faud," He pursed his lips, "not that it would do any—"

"Oh, starlights, you. Think. When did your magick come out?"

The first time was across the rope that Rachelle was holding, but not to kill. The second was killing the Leovra boy. Third, killing the many Sorcerers that were after him with the policewoman. Fourth, killing the ones coming upstairs at the library.

But he couldn't find any other common thread than the murderous one. He glanced at Precense who groaned.

"You're seeing the bad in your magick. Your magick is pure and good. Think about it!" He shouted and stomped out into the rain. Cypur gaped at him. Why did he have to suddenly lose his patience? But maybe it was as plain as day?

For so long, Cypur thought of his magick as trouble, a nuisance, especially while he still didn't have a Faud. He had thought all that would change, but it didn't. His Faud made his life hard, getting up into mischief. How was that pure and good?

He didn't want to remember that first day when his magick came out, but Precense had gone and was probably not going to tell him anymore until Cypur figured it out for himself. Scowling, he reached into his memory, easily finding that horrendous day Rachelle killed Gallen and blamed it on him.

Rauvuren Trude ruins. Wescherlie in the net. Rachelle facing her with a manic smile on her lips. Gallen's death fresh on the ground. Cypur searched for a way to save Wescherlie when he spotted a whip.

Enough is enough, he had thought, lashing the whip out, winding it around Rachelle. Golden magick zipped across the rope, tightening it around her waist, trying to choke the breath out of her.

"Enough is enough," he whispered out loud. Enough of what? Of hurting Wescherlie? He bit his lip, shaking his head in disbelief. It hadn't been Wescherlie's pie called slack or her words of wisdom that change his image of himself and the way he acted toward others. That day, that moment did.

His golden magick was good, wasn't it? Always tried to protect Wescherlie or him. That's why it killed. To protect, it would even kill Sorcerers.

And who wrote those records? Who has access? Not Archs? Cypur wanted to kick himself for believing those records to be true. Besides, how could he have been so extremely foolish? There was no such thing as murderous magick. Was he that gullible as to believe everything Sorcerers of authority said? Did he not have a mind of his own? Even he knew by now this entire set-up to put him in jail for good was a ploy to extract his golden magick out of aesthetic possession.

It was such the extreme. As Sorcerers would have it, of course. Marlevianne couldn't be trusted either. That half-dead bastard had a hoard of dead Rauvuren as her trophies. Maybe her husband half-killed her because she wanted to touch his hoard, but he also still kind of loved her. Twisted Sorcerer society, through and through.

And then I believe them all and forgot all I know to be true. Damn. He clicked his tongue. He and Wescherlie had been successfully played. But what was the truth of Charmteller then? He was exiled for killing a Sorcerer, but did he kill Rauvuren at all?

There was a crunch of footsteps. "Long enough," Precense said, "well?"

"There's no such thing as evil magick. Only evil Sorcerers." Cypur reported his thoughts. "But I still don't know the truth of Charmteller."

Precense sat next to him again, a smile playing on his lips. "I could offer, perhaps."

He began feeding new firewood into the flames. "Did he kill Rauvuren? I don't know what happened during that. I wasn't there. Did he kill a Sorcerer? That is fact, but for what reason? Did the Sorcerers feel aesthetic possession towards him for his magick? Perhaps. Did he try to hold you back until he could return to help?" He laughed a little then and rested a hand on Cypur's shoulder. "I can't speak for him. You'll have to ask what he protected with his magick."

Hold me back until he could return? Cypur let that thought hang in his mind. He stared into the flames that wavered in a breeze so gentle he couldn't feel it. Evil Sorcerers' presence was another thing he couldn't feel. Hard to discern, even, apparently, for a magical ancient relic. He had thought twisted, evil Sorcerers would have died after the Great Sigh. Maybe they weren't so evil then?

"He's gone to Yorkwren," Precense said, a smile playing on his tired face. "As far as I know, he will be there, waiting. If you are determined and ready, if you believe in the good of magick, if you," He paused and took Cypur's hands, "if you'll trust me, I know Humans who can help you escape. I trust their skills. I never would have trusted Humans. But they're almost allies."

Precense' voice faltered at the end from fear or nerves, it was unclear. His hands were trembling. How long had he been without magick? Magick loss was like losing a limb. Suddenly incapable of doing the things you could do before. Rendered helpless. Having to ask for help from Humans was a dent in Sorcerer ego. Being vulnerable scared them. It wasn't the way of the Sorcerer.

Precense had, nevertheless, managed without companionship of magick. He had not sat around waiting to perish or waiting his trial. It wasn't about cutting pie called slack. It was about standing firm in the ground, asserting presence and the will to live.

Without thinking, Cypur hugged him. He could feel Precense struggle to get away, but soon arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He breathed deeply the stale dampness and the hints of iron here and there.

"Some days, I feel weaker than strong," Precense whispered.

"You're stronger than you think." Cypur pulled away and crooked his lips into a smile. "Thank you for helping me see the truth." The appreciation came easily now. He was no longer a part of Sorcerer society.

Precense coughed and covered his mouth. "Well, I can see why he does," he said, "And why I'll never amount to that." He went to work putting out the fire, chuckling to himself about something. Outside, the rain had stopped, and Cypur filled his lungs with fresh after-rain air. Now, at last, he was ready for whatever came his way. Nothing could make him falter now.