A few hours later, Cypur's escape plan was finalized. The cargo policeships would come in minutes before sunrise. The plan was to steal away with one. Didn't matter what race they were from. Policeship could be hacked and programmed to fly wherever.

"Even to Earth," Marchis said with a teasing grin. Brenda rolled her eyes.

As for the collar that was now making Cypur's skin underneath sweat and itch, a skinny man with blue eyes said he couldn't take it off. What he could do was program it to naturally come off once Cypur left jail atmosphere. It was the way the technology worked. Almost like magick.

At last, Brenda and the skinny man left to go to bed. Cypur's mind buzzed with all the events that happened today. Although he couldn't be sure if it was all in the same day. Time could work differently between Rings as well. He had no idea how long he'd been away from home.

Or how long it's been since my capture. He bit his lip and leaned back on his hands. The rough rock scratched his palm, but not enough to draw blood. Staring at the unhealing scratch marks he wondered if Wescherlie was still free. Who would save a Rauvuren? Making a fist, he knew wherever she was, he would get her free.

And then there was the small matter of Cypur's biological father. If Charmteller really was trying to help, he wasn't doing a good job. The golden magick being suppressed was the worst idea yet. It probably made the magick that much more explosive when it came out. So, all those murders would be Charmteller's fault.

Adopt me out if you don't want me but don't tamper with my magick. Cypur bristled and hugged his knees up to his chin, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face.

Marchis cleared his throat. "What's the legal age for drinks?"

Cypur turned his head, resting his cheek on his knees. "Fourteen. When puberty hits and we start slow-aging. I'm fifteen."

"Ya tried scotch?" Marchis held out a wooden cup. "Have a sniff."

Cypur sat up and sniffed the contents. His head jerked back. The alcohol sprung up his nostrils like a full army attack. "Oh, starlights!" He recoiled and handed the drink back. That was not going in his throat. Marchis laughed.

"He said the same thing. Well, not starlights. That's a Sorcerer thing. Said, fuu-shit. Human slang prob'ly, not all too common in your neck o' the woods, eh?" Marchis tipped the cup back and made a face. "Fuu-shit! Yeah, that's the stuff," he said.

As Marchis sat staring at the fire, he fingered that gem at the end of his chain. Cypur wanted to ask, but then he shoved the thought away. This was a Human, a kind he thought he related to, but he didn't anymore. And whatever problems this Human was going through, being in jail for life, it wasn't something Cypur should be thinking about.

It's not my business. He tried to forget, but the questions of what the gem was and if Marchis had a child and why Marchis was in for life, all sat at the tip of his tongue. It was only a matter of time before one of the questions popped out.

"Hard to believe," Marchis broke the silence, "a nice male like ya ends up here."

Silence hung in the air between them. Cypur rubbed his arms. Unease pitted in his stomach, but the want to defend himself triumphed. "I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't kill anyone," He hissed. "The police," He paused, uncertain if he should even be saying this much to a Human. But what did it matter? Marchis couldn't do anything with it.

With a sigh, he continued. "The police are corrupt. Oppressing us. Can't be who you really are. Sorcerer society is broken because of them."

"The police, eh?" Firelight danced on Marchis' face. He clicked his tongue and patted Cypur on the head. "I stopped believin' in the greats. The gods, spirits, what have ya. But maybe yer the start of something. A change in this old world. Maybe ya will find, say, a ripple made. Maybe you started something new."

Cypur was a criminal in Sorcerer society right now. Only a few believed his innocence. The rest didn't or didn't care. They wanted his magick. The only change he ever brought was bad change. He made citizens aesthetically possessive.

Like a damn seductress without even trying. He frowned. "I don't think anything will come out of this and bringing change any time soon is wishful thinking," he said. But after he said it, he regretted it. It sounded like he was giving up on his own race which he didn't want to do.

Marchis gave a dry laugh and stood up. "Ain't mean nothin'. Just the mumblin's of an old man. Young, perhaps, in Sorcerer standards, but he's already seventy-two. Well, to bed."

Cypur muttered a spell for wind and water to put out the fire, when he remembered he couldn't do a tingle of magick. Calling to his Faud brought no results either. He couldn't imagine what it was like for Precense. A slow drop into the abyss of insanity for sure. A Sorcerer without magick was a limb lost, or an identity stolen.

"I used to want to be without magick that didn't do anything for me," he said as Marchis went about to pour water on the bonfire. "Used to hate it more."

The fire hissed turning to smoke and steam as the water doused it. Over the hissing, Marchis could be heard chuckling until he began to wheeze.

A hint of warmth touched Cypur's cheeks. Was this Human mocking him? He lifted his head and stomped to Marchis, following him to a little cave filled with buckets, shovels, and other supplies.

"I'm serious, Human!" He spat as anger climbed up his throat. "You don't even know what I've been through with this damn thing! I'm held back because it won't work, I'm accused of murder when it finally does, and then a bunch of crazed bastards are after me for its beauty."

Everything went wrong in his life because of his magick. And did anyone care what was happening to him? Not many. Certainly not the school. They were even threatening exile! He glared at the Human wishing he had his magick now to show him exactly the wrath of a Sorcerer. Even a little wind spell could scare these flimsy quick-dying creatures. But would it even work? Would his Faud even listen?

Marchis stood by the cave, arms crossed with a grin on his face.

Cypur scoffed. "And it would be beautiful if it damned did what I told it to! I hate this thing. And," He groaned, "and why am I even yelling at a Human? I should be yelling at my father for this stupidity I had to go through."

"Calm down, boy," Marchis raised his palms up in defeat, "I'm laughin' because I never thought I'd hear a Sorcerer say he doesn't like his magick. They're always, well," He shrugged and looked away, "ya know, showin' it off because they know they have somethin' we don't got, right?"

Cypur turned away, fists clenched hard. He didn't know what came over him. Marchis' reaction had bothered him. But why?

Of course. Of course! He nodded as he realized he was merely angry with Charmteller. Now that the reality had sunk in about his biological father, Cypur own predicament today was all because of Charmteller's decision then. The matter with the Rauvuren Korva, too. Was that true or fake? A ploy of the police to frame golden magick Sorcerers as evil in order to get their magick, or did Cypur really come from a murderous criminal?

Footsteps behind and he turned. Marchis stood before him. A crooked-toothed smile basked in moonlight as the clouds broke apart.

"Whatever he did has nothin' to do with ya. Ya live your own life. Make your own path. And I can tell you've got love for your race no matter what you've been through with 'em. Might of brave of you to be loyal despite."

He never thought a Human was smart, but this one sure had some good words to say. Cypur stared at Marchis as he took the chain from his neck and held the gem dangling between them. The orange stone shimmered in the moonlight. A spark of gold reflected in there and began to form a shape.

"Starlights!" Cypur whispered and stared at the shape of his Faud in golden light. And himself walking along beside it. And there was a girl with wings—Wescherlie, along with a man holding a sword, a Kathula, two Sorcerers behind with a tall one with long hair. Arius, Daero, and Cypur's family.

The image churned and merged into one golden circle. As the circle began to fade, a tingle of magick touched his heart, warm and comforting.

"To whatever end," he whispered, remembering what he promised with Wescherlie.

"...you have me as your ally, Cypur Cromlight," Daero had said.

"If there's anything I can do to help clear your name, by starlights, I will do it for you Cromlight," Arius had said.

When Cypur lifted his head, Marchis gave his shoulder a firm grip. "Cypur, don't ya forget who's loyal to ya or who you're loyal to. It's your life, your path. And I'm fuu-shit honored to be a part of that." He laughed.

Cypur poked his cheek with his tongue, something new he found strangely comforting when a blush threatened his cheeks. How shameful to burst out in front of this close-to-stranger citizen and then get some advice from him? How shameful as a Sorcerer!

"But I'm not like any typical Sorcerer," he muttered under his breath feeling a giddy smile creep across his lips, "My path," He mused and said goodnight to Marchis, "My damned path," he whispered, settling down into a thin sheet and trying to get comfortable on the flattened mattress offered. He hadn't thought too much about what to do after saving Wescherlie, questioning Charmteller, and clearing his name. It seemed quite a fog, but he had to think about the future.

There were a few solid facts he could claim. He was a Cromlight and a Charmteller, two big names. No matter what history they carried, if he could make them his own, no one could say anything against him. But could he really actually change Sorcerer society? Maybe even make it safe for both Rauvuren and Kathula? Make an accepting race instead of a discriminating one?

Choruses of snores engulfed him as the Humans slept. He gazed up at the stone ceiling of the sleeping cavern, imagining those golden silhouettes. Whatever that stone was, it reminded him that he was not facing this damned Universe alone.

And neither are you, Wes. I'll find you soon. I promise. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.