Battle Hymn of the Republic

Safeholme
Caxton's Workshop
Two Weeks After Disturbing the Dust

Ding! “Winter has begun.”

Percival Caxton's phone chimed softly to remind him that it was 00:01. Another day had passed.

"Almost settled it before the bell," muttered the Alchemist of Safeholme, looming over his computer, a small Linux laptop that had pushed Percival through high school and college. "Yes. Yes, that's well enough."

He danced his hands on the keys before sending out the final draft of his most recent consultation. The Rocianera Consul had asked him to review a few papers they were intending to submit for a project. It was nothing purely alchemical, few of these jobs were, but Percival found his experience as a specialist in high demand. Seeing the email in his outbox, he decided to ring the point of contact for good measure.

"Pronto."

"Barbusca, buon pomeriggio, sono Caxton. Volevo solo informarti che ho duplicato alcuni dei tuoi risultati e apportato alcune modifiche alle tue dosi. Te li ho inviati alla tua email."

"Ha ha ha! Incredibile. Non ci aspettavamo questi per un'altra settimana! Deve essere tardi dove sei; hai lavorato tutta la notte? Ti ho chiamato proprio stamattina."

"Non è un problema, assicurati solo di mantenere basse le quantità di gloomwort. I livelli originali erano quasi tossici."

"Stavo per partire per la giornata, ma prima di andare li porterò al responsabile della ricerca. Vai a riposarti un po'! Ciao!"

"Ciao," Percival hung up the call and lobbed the phone into his chair. "Rest indeed."

A pair of glowing bowls caught his eye in the dim workshop. Over on the table lay his two assistants, Jakku and Zippo, asleep in beds of warm and cold linens tucked in runic bowls. The two of them were energetic through the day, but slept like rocks through the night. As he watched them, a small pang of longing for a good night’s sleep struck him. He hadn’t slept since the Maw incident, rather, it was more proper to say he could not.

An ambient rattling foretold the air conditioning coming to life, and, when the cool air started to blow, Jakku started to shiver. Percival placed another fire rune next to her bowl, warming it a bit more. Her eyes opened just enough to look at him, and she smiled, before laying her head back down to sleep.

"I should get some air," Percival determined, satisfied with his work from the previous day. His hand touched the doorknob of his workshop, but did not turn the knob. A worm of doubt wriggled in his chest, the phantom feeling of a strange sixth sense of which he had come to describe as his conduit. Few beings existed that could disturb it in a noticeable way..

Despite the bitter fear in his chest he opened the door to what should have been the hallway of the senior dormitories, and found instead a small palatial room. Sitting at the center of this bright, colorful court was a woman dressed deeply in silken robes of shifting hues and patterns, hair bound in an ancient fashion, with eyes shimmering like deep pools of changing colors. A few strides in front of her was a cushion that was painted in the light of a rising sun.

He couldn’t see her mouth behind the fan, but her eyes seemed to smile at him. She was welcoming him, but the gesture weighed on his conscience and his eyes fell to the tatami floor. Much as he had done in the last three years of his life, Percival had made an ass of himself the last time he was here.

The woman tilted her head on the barest shift, and that seemed to be his cue to take the invitation. He left his brown oxfords at the door, coming across with a hesitant stride, and rested his knees on the cushion, keeping his gaze downcast

“Godhood becomes you,” he heard her say, “You are very respectful now that we are on an even footing.”

“I am nowhere near your level."

“Humility will do you no favors with me, Caxton-san. Please, look upon me, your shame is spoiling the air.”

When he raised his head, he saw a plain woman, watching him with brown eyes and wreathed in a kimono of still prints. She almost looked human, fanning herself against the heat.

“Amaterasu?”

“Amaterasu-san.”

Percival blinked, trying not to blurt out the theories behind her appearance.

"Amaterasu-san, –"

"Amaterasu-senpai."

His fists tightened, but refused to acknowledge the coy light in her eyes over the fan.

"Amaterasu-senpai."

He paused.

"Yes, Caxton-kun?"

"May I ask what it is you want?"

The shadows in the room shortened as the sun rose into the sky. Amaterasu closed her fan and rested her hands in her lap.

"To inform you that the pantheons have taken issue with your actions, and that they have voice intentions to execute what they have described as swift, corrective measures."

"Because I died?"

"And came back. In no short time. All the while using your gifts to influence the middle realm. But… More the latter than the former."

"It was an emergency; my niece, my students, my frien– ..."

Her closed fan rose sharply, and he stopped.

"Caxton-kun, you do not need to explain yourself to me."

He complied, but unwillingly, his heart had already spun into action to defend himself. Yet, Amaterasu merely smiled, comforting him, before saying something that stoked him hotter.

"They want to pursue your sister."

The next words he had bounced up against the back of his teeth. Percy had to keep mindfulness at the fore as shouting was how he ended up in an egg last time.

"Why?" Percival asked, finally.

"They argue her influence is what is causing you to abuse our responsibilities."

“She doesn’t even know, none of them do. Save for the Queen of Monsters, there ‘in’t a single person who even grasps what I am now.”

“It is not unfounded. She is bound with the shadow dragon, who may understand what you are better than you think. Moreover, your realm has touched borders with the realm of shadows, and your influence is welcome there now.”

“Certainly, that looks suspicious, but, if anything, she’s been helping me in this transition, unwittingly. She has no designs on my new influence, I can assure.”

“Again, you do not need to explain yourself to me. But, you are at a vulnerable point in your ascension.”

“What do you mean?”

Amaterasu’s gaze drifted off in thought, before she called out, “Kokoro-chan, tea please.”

One of the sliding doors to the room opened, and at a kneeling position was a woman with a tray of tea and cups. She had been one of the shadows in attendance last time Percival was here, but now he could see her, and her face caused his heart to thump madly in his chest. It was a face he had not seen in almost a decade and one that had shattered the life of his brother.

He couldn't be sure, because once he thought he saw her, his eyes fell to the floor again.

“Caxton-kun.”

It was a trick, it had to be. Amaterasu was trying to throw him off. There was an angle here, some sort of game. Percival’s mind began to spin out of control as the mechanisms he had built up to defend himself fired off against stressful memories.

“Caxton-kun.”

The lid of the tea kettle hit him in the face, and he immediately grabbed his nose.

“Look around you.”

Pinching his nostrils, he saw that his half of the room had faded away. Now he was sitting in a cave of carved stone, lined with glittering gems and glowing minerals resonating with veins of magical power. Amaterasu, looking slighted, poured out the tea while the other woman went back to the sliding door, closing it into a rocky wall.

“This is what your sister, and those you love, are protecting you from,” explained the goddess, blowing on her cup of tea. “What the pantheons fail to remember is that they were all close to humanity at one point, and they all shaped their identity from that attachment. You have lost that attachment, which may be more dangerous than any bad influences.”

“How does this signify anything?” Percival tilted his head to the caves.

Amaterasu sipped her tea, before pondering the lines of glowing power.

“It is somewhere deep within your realm, unformed and unmade, with no sense of identity. It is a primal, elemental aspect of stone. Your heart sought security, and so it went to the one place it has felt safe.”

“... a cave.”

“Is that where you want to be, Percival Caxton?”

His heart began to sink.

“... no…”

“Without an identity, a strong one, you will shift into something of a force of nature as time goes on, and one day you will be indistinguishable from a summer breeze.”

Despite his suspicion earlier, something in her words rang true deep within him. Every day, a small storm brewed in his stomach, fueled with fresh winds each time he cloistered himself away from people. Every time he tried to be something he wasn’t, the storm became stronger. Each moment he let go by was like a lightning strike. Percival thought of reaching for his tea-cup, but could feel himself trembling, so he contented himself on holding his nose. The fear dug him a bit more tightly into his isolation.

If he stayed in his cave, then he would pass peacefully on as a force of nature. Everyone had gotten along without him, they would be happier without the trouble.

The train of his thoughts came to a stop when sensed that the room was becoming smaller, or trying to become smaller. Amaterasu looked at the walls, her brows furrowing when she realized she no longer had control over the entire space. So, she was forced to move physically, picking up her cushion and shifting her elegant form nearer to him. The tray of tea followed as far as the border.

“You feel it, do you not? That feeling is your ascent, and it is defined by who you are at your ascension,” she explained, “if you continue to step in the way of yourself, Percival Caxton will not be strong enough to survive the final steps.”

His hand curled and his fingers weaved into his vest. Looking away didn’t help, so he tried looking at her. Still, she smiled at him, and that was a comfort.

“What do I do? How do I fix this?” asked Percival, lost for answers, “and what do I do about the pantheons?”

“Live. That is what you told Tegwyn to do, is it not? You said something similar to Eryl Maelgwyn a decade ago.”

Percival’s face scrunched up, and she laughed behind her silken sleeve, “Do not concern yourself with the celestial, you are not quite there yet. I will speak on your behalf until you are ready. For now you must concern yourself with being Percival, and being honest to yourself and others. Be the knightly mage you wanted to grow up to be, who you still want to be, who you want to encourage others to be. But, if you do it it has to be a complete commitment. Not just on the battlefield, not just in the classroom, but with everything you do."

The man narrowed his eyes at her, and she laughed again, saying, “She’s quite clever, isn’t she?”

The sunlight in the room crept up to him, and he felt warm, inside and out. A thoughtful smile spread on his face.

“She is.”

The two talked for a while longer, speaking about the incident on Oahu, the skirmish in the Forest, and the tragedy that had occurred during the Maw Incident. Once that line had reached its end they spoke of the Heavenly realm and of the Elementalia. When the tea had run dry, and the shadows had all but disappeared in the room, Percival thanked his host for her hospitality.

He opened the door to his workshop, it was still dark, and his faeries were just waking up in their bowls. Jakku and Zippo stretched and began putting away their bedding. He looked up at the dark, sunless ceiling, and felt the presence of his cave again.

Ding! “Spring has sprung.”

His phone, still on the chair, signaled that it was now 6:00AM and the first quarter of the day was now done.

Osaka
Kono Park
Two Weeks and Seven Hours After Disturbing the Dust

A loose, airy shirt buffeted against Percival's body like a flying flag in the waxing summer day. Because of his unique circumstance, if he did not pinch tight to the hem, it was very possible his shirt would easily blow right over his head. He was a thin man, having been prone to sickness for several years. Even with his recovering health and constitution, he still gave the appearance of someone fresh from the wilderness, having fed off what little edible things were available.

Lilibloom once asked if he chose to skip meals, and the best answer he could provide her was, a dismissive “No.”

The reality was that this body that Percival used was plagued with ravenous hunger. While he did not sleep, he needed to eat large meals or eat around the clock to ensure that his mind would continue to operate through the night. Otherwise his brain would enter into a type of fugue state that made it impossible to do anything but the most basic things. For the first couple days after the Maw incident, he erroneously assumed this was what sleep was for him. After gorging himself at a karaoke party one night, he realized this was not the case.

For his breakfast, second breakfast, and elevenses, he preferred a small family restaurant near Kono park. It had outdoor seating and no one seemed to pay this strange, one-armed regular much mind as he inhaled a hearty breakfast every Saturday morning.

He had been cutting across the park to shorten his trip when a football came rolling over to him. Instinctively, he stopped the ball with his foot, and saw that a few of the students from Safeholme had been playing a game with some of the local Osakans.

“Uh oh.”

It was the nervous voice of the gifted students who knew who the teacher was. Percival had established a distance between himself and the student body, as well as instilling in himself detachment from their daily lives. For most, that meant he was difficult to approach.

Except for Dorothy Adderbin.

“Mr. Caxton.” she quietly called, running up to him at a full height that already superseded the much older instructor. The girl had a bad habit of hunching her shoulders and moping about in a way that made her seem small. After a moment of silence, she made an awkward motion, indicating the ball.

Percival thought about it, looking up at her and then down at his feet. He hadn’t played football since college, having found an affinity for it ever since Miyuki had pressured him into a sports club at Nishi-ku. He surveyed the group before him, and put his foot on the ball as a familiar temptation seeded in his heart, something old and sweet.

“Mr. Caxton?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, the ball.”

“No, I mean… I just wanted to say…–”

Before she could finish, one of the mundane kids got impatient and stepped up to steal the ball back, and so, Percival backpedaled, maneuvered and shot the ball between their legs. The Alchemist jogged after it, and began dribbling it along. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the once pensive Dorothy trying to attempt the same now. She hooked one of her feet up to dislodge the ball and found it reversed away from her, and saw the teacher continue on.

“Now, now, I’m just taking my time here,” smiled Percival. The locals sensed a game, and, laughing along, began sprinting up to take their shots at dislodging the ball. “Oh!”

Faster than he had moved in years, Percival bounced, spun, and juked his way around less experienced players. Once the shock had worn off, the Safeholme students joined in as well, thoroughly outnumbering him. Seeing his odds, the man pressed down the field towards the goal. He had never been a forward, but he had the stamina to press all the way downfield. It was then he realized that the more experienced players had reserved themselves in defense.

A sizable young man, who Percival recognized as Arno Waltz, backed up a few steps as he approached before surging forward and throwing himself into the path of the ball. The two collided in classical fashion, and Percy found his feet shoot up from under him.

Cheers erupted from the locals, but the Safeholme students went dead quiet, knowing just how fragile their teacher was.

“Mr. Caxton!”

From Percival's view, the sky was very blue this morning.

“Mr. Caxton, are you alright?”

A few dread-filled faces entered his periphery, one of them was Arno.

“Good hit there, lad,” congratulated Percival, winded, but fine. With a little assistance he was brought to his feet. “You’d make a fine centre-back.”

“Thank you, sir,” Arno nodded his head, a bit embarrassed he had cracked the teacher like he did, “I used to play with a club back home.”

“It shows! You’ve got good sense. Oh? Ms. Adderbin? Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine. Look now. I’ve had my fun, you’ve got your ball, so I’m going to get on to breakfast before I waste away, hear? You all have fun.”

Refreshed and triumphant after his bout of silliness, Percival exchanged farewells and carried on the path to the restaurant. Just as he stepped on the path, Dorothy caught him again.

“Mr. Caxton!”

“Yes, Ms. Adderbin?”

Percival tried not to be impatient, he was getting hungry, but saw the girl was plagued by an anxious air. After a few heavy seconds, she managed to get out what she wanted to say.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a male witch!”

It had been sudden and loud enough to embarrass both of them, but Percival less so, as he possessed less shame and more pride overall. The best he could tell was that she was serious about her sentiment, as she was looking readily for his response. He pressed his fingers to his chin.

“Male witch?”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

“Y-...Yes.”

Percival just smiled, clenching his shirt as another gust blew by.

“Thank you, Ms. Adderbin. That’s very kind of you to say.”

Her gloomy stare just barely lit up at the affirmation. She opened her mouth to say something else, before wordlessly spinning around and returning to the game. Percival scratched his head as he watched her run off, but was glad to finally get to his breakfast, nonetheless.

Osaka
Dashie Hashie
Two Weeks and Eight Hours After Disturbing the Dust

Coffee only made the stomach realize how empty it was. A little bit of cream went a long way in silencing the creeping hunger, but Percival Caxton was struggling to stay civil and aware. As he sipped on his second coffee and cream, he stared intently at the passing clouds. If he kept his focus on the slowly moving white mountains, he'd manage to survive this gruesome wait with his dignity intact.

Percival sat in a streetside seat at the Dashie Hashie, a family breakfast place, and waited for a robust meal. When he had ordered, he had just barely felt the edge of his hunger, now it felt like a knife lodged square into his gut. He could feel his mind slowing down, and his stomach growling with an angry temperament.

Running in the park had sapped the last of what he had, and he was on fumes.

"Here you go, some rice to start with your meal," the waitress set a couple of bowls down in front of him and he politely nodded her away in silent thanks. With as much self-control as he could, he began to down the rice swiftly. Each pinch of fresh grains brought the lights back on his head. Then, the first bowl, once empty and soundly defeated, was set to the edge of the table. He then went out about eating through the second bowl just as swiftly, not thinking too much on why he got a second bowl.

"Wow. You're a machine," he heard a small voice utter. His head pivoted sharply to the source of the noise only to recoil at the golden pixie floating in his face. Then, he nearly leapt from his seat with more force as he found someone had also sat at the table with him. Percival clenched his shirt as if he were arresting his heart, and looked back at the woman who had joined him for breakfast.

She wore the amused look on her face well, highlighted with a piercing set of golden eyes.

"You inhaled that rice," chirped the sprite, still hovering too close for comfort, "with one hand, that was awesome."

The woman lifted a ringed finger, and a small, shimmering length of twine appeared from the band. The small fey, apparently a spark sprite, was whipped back to the edge of the table from a similar band around her neck.

"Investigator-Major," greeted the Alchemist, with cordial restraint.

"Please, Alchemist Primi Gradus," the raven-haired lady grinned a fangy smile over a coffee cup, "call me Tabitha."

"I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised."

"To know you're a Primi Gradus? Quite elementary, my dear Watson. The West Virginia Brewers Society keeps the register public. You're the only Alchemist in this time period to be certified top-grade in all four global credentialing agencies; under 30. Primi Gradus. Class-A. Daraja Alif. Ten-Star. You've got them all, even though you try to hide it."

"I do not hide it, Ms. Grimley. I just don't see the need in flaunting my certifications. They're merely a means to practice professionally."

Tabitha smiled a little wider as she tugged out a little notebook. The Alchemist stiffened as he realized he was hemmed in; if he bolted up and off, he would defeat the whole point of the trip here.

"Is it because," Grimley started through her smile, "your friends don't understand your work? They can't really keep up, so they either brush it off, or don't respect it."

"Ms. Grimley."

"Tabitha– That aside, it has to be hard working with people who don't really get the amount of work it takes to make boiling water magical. Heck, isn't that why you and your buddy Flynn broke up for a couple of months?"

The look in the man's eyes, a mix of shock, anger and fear, filled her face with delight. This is what Tabitha Grimley did, she poked and prodded and pinched until she got what she wanted. She was infamous for being malicious in her information gathering, making people uncomfortable, nervous, or on edge by reputation or experience.

"What makes you think that–…"

"... –that you and Ruarc Flynn had to put your relationship on ice? The fey-folk talk. Not his girlfriend, mind you, she didn't seem too proud of what delicious carnage she made of your friendship. I’m meaning sprites. Pixies. Like Sokka here."

The spark sprite crossed her arms, and steered her bright golden eyes elsewhere, trying not to let the shame show. Her movements were sudden, fast and twitchy, with her wild mane of white-hot hair whipping back and forth in arcs. Each time she glanced guiltily at Percival, she zipped back to looking away.

Grimley went on, "She traded a lot of little stories for a swing at freedom to see the wide open world. She was there when Flynn snapped on you. She was even there when you two tried to make up. Hah,honestly. Sokka’s a nosey little Nelly."

The witch flicked one of the sprite’s jagged, webbed wings, causing the fey to yelp and tumble over. After righting herself, Sokka crawled to the edge of the table, away from both of them, sitting glumly with her legs over the side. Tabitha set her chin on her fist and stared at the despondent fey, “She’s my favorite little snitch.”

“I fail to see the relevance,” remarked Percival, seeing his food on its way on a much larger platter than expected. “I am here to eat, Ms. Grimley, and if you excuse me, my food is here.”

With a grace that comes with the profession, the waitress set out a large meal in front of the thin man, and then another plate in front Tabitha.

“You mean our food is here. I ordered when you did, don’t you remember?” smiled Tabitha, watching the Alchemist trying to recall any moment if he had seen her before then.

“No,” grumbled Percival, trying to stiffen up his responses so he could eat, “how long were you sitting there?”

“I clocked you in the park, Watson,” Tabitha’s head curled as she watched Percival dig into his meal, “the soccer game was cute, but you didn’t even hear me when I hollered for you. So I sat down. When you kept ignoring me, I figured I’d have you buy me breakfast. The waitress thinks we’re two divorcees trying to make a second go of the dating scene. She’s rooting for us from the kitchen.”

People wondered why the Alchemist of Safeholme locked himself in his workshop, and these sorts of situations were exactly that. As he fed his brain calories, his awareness expanded and he could see Tabitha’s badge on one edge of the table. Consortium badges were effective, magical tools, capable of projecting Normalization Fields that made anything magical within a certain range appear mundane. It was what made them so effective in capturing fugitives and grabbing suspects.

“You want something.”

“No,” scoffed Tabitha as she also began to eat, “I just want to talk. You and Flynn are still on sore terms, and I just want to make sure you two are okay. I’m super invested in this whole Flaxton narrative Sokka’s been telling me. Even though the two of you made up, you’re not like you were before. You don’t talk like you did, you don’t drink like you did, and you don’t mesh like you did, before the whole fight.”

“Some people change.”

“And some people get replaced by a ten-gallon redneck from overseas.”

Percival’s eyes lingered on his food as he ate, only drifting over to the sulking sprite. As he chewed, he tugged out his phone, unlocked it, and began swiping.

“They have a lot more in common.”

“And they go on the wildest adventures. Flynn’s been disappearing a lot lately, actually. Ireland, Hawaii, Japan, Europ– I mean, Manchuria. Why is it that a decade-long recluse is finally making such overt moves?”

Tap tap. The Alchemist tapped the phone on the table next to Sokka, and the spark sprite cautiously looked over her shoulder at him. He offered the device to her, and, after a moment of consideration, she took it in her hands like one held a massive painting. She turned over and set the block on the flat surface. The screen depicted a picture of a couple of older Japanese people standing on a beach.

“What do you suspect, Ms. Grimley? Why do you care?”

“He’s a druid in charge of a lot of children.”

“And?”

“Caxton, the antics of druids are, in my experience, not good for a child’s development.”

There was a steeliness in Tabitha’s expression that unnerved him, when it was juxta-posed against her usual cynical, flippant behavior. Sokka didn’t seem to notice, the sprite continued to swipe through pictures, pressing her hands against the screen when she saw a scene she particularly enjoyed.

“You think he would put them at risk?”

“What do you think Hawaii was?”

“An accident.”

“An accident Flynn walked those children into.”

SLAM!

The sound of a fist slamming on a table and rattling everything on it had stopped near-by conversations cold. Onlookers turned to see Tabitha's breakfast partner had broken the wooden chopsticks he was holding. He dumped the splintered utensils on to his plate.

“I’ll tolerate a lot from you, Ms. Grimley,” he hissed, pointing his finger at her, “but I’ll not tolerate slander against my brother. He’s a stolid, sentimental idiot, but you ask any of those kids, any of their parents, and you'd know they wouldn't trust the responsibility of the students' safety with anyone else. He has done everything in his power to shape the security of the school so that what happened at Bangor or Munich does not happen at Safeholme. For god's sake, he hired an obnoxious, board-certified psychiatrist for a guidance counselor because he knew this sort of disaster was inevitable. What more do you need? What more do you want you blasted harpy!?"

"Fiery."

Tabitha grinned in a way that Percival hated, and spoke to him sweetly, "All lit up, almost like the Percy from the old days. Back in those days when you could breathe fire, or… do that cool arm thing, and summon stuff. How come you don't do anything fun or cool anymore?"

The sneer on the Alchemist's face locked up his words, he was apoplectic. Seeing he was unable to offer a witty retort, Tabitha kept going.

"Does it have something to do with that three-year vacation?"

Percy’s brow furrowed.

"That three-year vacation no one cared about when you came back all mundane and broken?"

Tabitha tilted her head the other way, her eyes boring on him like a cat’s.

"Does it bother you that no one comes looking for you in your workshop?"

He closed his eyes as she leaned over to him, so that they were nearly face-to-face.

"Rather… Is the reason why you're locked up in that workshop all the time because you're just trying to find the next cave to hide in?"

Snap.

The ring around Sokka's neck broke. She hadn't noticed until a piece of her collar fell on the phone’s screen, being so taken by the pictures. Those little glowing eyes squinted at the remains of the ring, before they shot open wide.

"I'm… I'm free?" Sokka started to tremble, pressing her hands around her neck. "I'm free."

Tabitha blinked, still smiling, albeit tinged with a mix of annoyance and suspicion. The ring on her own hand had snapped off as well, and she looked at Percival expectantly.

"Well. Care to explain, Alchemist Primi Gradus?"

The intensity in the man's features suddenly relaxed, giving way to an apparent relief.

"You said you ensnared Sokka with a deal that she give you information in exchange for seeing the world, correct?"

"Maybe."

"Well, she's spent the last few minutes flipping through pictures of Miyuki's parent's 30th anniversary, round-the-world vacation photos. She's just seen the world."

The look in the woman's eyes, a mix of shock, anger and exasperation, filled his chest with satisfication. It was enough to round out what he hadn't finished on his plate, so he stood up to leave.

"Ah ah ah– where are you going?"

"Home. Sokka, come with me."

The sprite complied, rapidly, carrying the man's phone for him.

"Hol'up! You're taking my fairy and leaving me with the bill!?"

Percival turned, briefly, as Sokka landed on his shoulder.

"Yes, Ms. Grimley. As always, incredibly unpleasant speaking with you. Good day."

Safeholme
The Forward Grounds
Two Weeks and Twelve Hours After Disturbing the Dust

Ding! "Summer has started."

"No kidding," Percival chimed in response to his phone, which had signaled it was finally noon.

The sun sat high over the grounds at Safeholme, and Percival was enjoying another meal on a small bench at the edge of the green. From where he sat, there was a sweeping, grassy field, with blades of grass that rolled like green waves. The trees at the edges and along the path had been trimmed to encourage tall, bushy growth, enough so that one could walk under but have shade close at hand. Ruarc's handiwork had created a place where one didn't need to go far to find space to escape or relax. In the case of some of the more rowdy students, this had meant a space for sparring and training.

Before the incident in Oahu, martial practice had been limited to the few mages who were already tracked to security careers. Now, interest had spread more and more to other students who were interested in self-defense. Some of the martial adepts, like Sun Liu-Wei and Eryk Kashevsky, had even taken roles as coaches to moderate the exercise and prevent injury. There were still ruts dug in the ground from where they had practiced before going home for the summer.

It was all so strange to the Welshman, who, at the age of fifteen, had nearly died several times in an array of incredible ways. As he munched on a bun, he recollected the many memories where he had unwisely thrown himself into dangerous situations. At the time, he realized, there had been no one to come alongside his friends and himself, and protect them from those dangers. Nishi-ku had been completely unlike Safeholme, but for some reason the 'regular' high-school had been a nexus of magical activity that had consumed their lives.

They had not been alone, the mages of the Menagerie represented the end of the pathologically clandestine Unseen Generation. Percival couldn't help but wonder, why had they been so secretive? Ruarc's mother and his own parents knew of their mage lifestyles, but did not know the dangers they had taken on. Riley stayed in touch with her father, but Percy couldn't imagine her communicating all the danger needlessly. Miyuki and Jane had never even told their parents they were active mages; that is, if Jane even had parents.

"Um, are you gunna eat all of those?"

He was uprooted from his reflections by Sokka, who was looming over his shoulder again. She stared hungrily at the other buns in the box.

"Probably," said the Alchemist, eying the warm, red bean buns.

He could feel her little hands bunch small folds of his shirt's fabric. The golden sprite wasn't looking at him, but he could tell from the look in her eyes that she had wanted him to say no.

"Sokka," Percival, speaking her name, managed to tear her attention away from the bun-box, "aren't you going back to the forest?"

That question seemed to surprise the fairy, and she began to search for her answer in the distant treeline. She evidently considered the eventuality she would have to go.

"Can I stay a little longer?"

That answer didn't surprise Percival, Sokka had been using it for the last four hours. Despite appearing resigned to an eventual return, he could tell from the look in her eyes that she had wanted him to say yes. Even compared to Jakku, Sokka couldn't help but wear her emotions on her sleeve.

"If you like," Percival peeled off some of his bun and handed it to her.

"Aw heck yeah!"

Sokka took the soft bread-piece and smashed her face into it. The Alchemist watched her eat until his thoughts took him again. He stared off at the clouds, the white mountains of the morning had been shorn into torn sheets.

“Mr. Caxton! Can I have one of those?”

Jakku snapped the man from his thoughts as she came fluttering over his shoulder. Sokka nearly tumbled off his shoulder, and started pounding her chest to clear her throat.

“You’re much too small for those. You can have some of mine.”

“Yay!” the fire sprite received her own little chunk of bun, and spat some flames on it to toast the edges. Her golden counterpart stared at her before whispering in Percival’s ear.

“Hey, who’s that?”

“Jakku.”

“Yes?” Jakku lifted her head from her morsel.

“No, no, that’s your name,” corrected Percival.

“It sure is!” giggled the fire sprite.

“No, who are you?” demanded Sokka.

“I’m Jakku.”

“I know that.”

“Then why did you ask?” asked Jakku, concerned now at what was going on.

Sokka began to tense up to the point where Percival could hear the air start to buzz. Evident sparks began to trail off of her spikey hair. The fire faerie, for her part, just nibbled on in ignorance. They continued to eat along in silence, and after it seemed Sokka was willing to drop it, Percival continued contemplating the white stacks traveling eastward in the sky.

“Uhm…”

Once again, he was brought out of his reverie by another visitor, this one was a blue faerie who had followed the red one out. He seemed to have a task in mind, but was instead distracted by the red bean buns on the bench.

Percival sighed, and broke off another piece of his bready treat.

“Wait just a tick,” Sokka said, all of a sudden, “who are you!?”

“Zi-Zippo,” the blue fae became intensely sheepish, and began eying a point of egress, “I-... I didn’t mean to–... Uh…”

Sokka, having bitten down her piece small enough to keep it in her mouth, crawled forward enough to catch Percy’s periphery. Her amber eyes demanded explanation.

“I have a habit of rescuing neglected fairies,” droned Percival, trying to get another bun before his blood sugar began to dip, “Zippo was the fae in your master’s care before you, and Jakku was rescued by my fiance, Miyuki.”

“And who’s that?” Sokka demanded in a way that Percy was beginning to discover was just her way of speaking.

“She’s amazing! She’s powerful!” bounced Jakku.

“... and very pretty…” bashly admitted Zippo.

“She can turn a summer day into a winter day!”

“... and drives like a maniac…”

Percival almost let the praise roll on without him, before he caught Sokka staring, still expecting an answer from him.

“Well. Miyuki is a magical gi—... Magical woman? She is a mage,” the man found he was struggling to get something out that was coherent, “She is more a force of nature than anything. Some people call her the Ice Queen, and some people treat her like she’s a loaded gun, but to me, she is just Miyuki. She likes good meals, running, and, most importantly, she laughs at all of my jokes.”

That seemed to receive a flat reception, but Jakku was listening intently at least. “I’ve known her for years, so her herculean antics don’t surprise me all that much anymore.”

“Like what?”

“Like shaking down a court of gods in heaven!” piped Jakku.

“Slaying gods in an elemental plane,” droned Zippo.

“Tearing down an ancient barrier of primal power with her bare fists!”

Each new feat pushed Sokka’s eyes wider and wider, and she looked up at Percival again.

“Can I meet her?”

The Alchemist took a bite from a fresh bun, spreading small morsels to the three faeries.

“If you stick around.”

Elementalia Magicus
The Vault
Two Weeks and Eighteen Hours After Disturbing the Dust

Ding! “Autumn has arrived.”

A cold wind washed over Percival's face while he looked down at the valley before him. The chill took him by surprise. It had been a long time since he had felt something less than comfortable in the Elementalia Magicus.

When he first took control, the Elementalia had been an idyll, a paradise, something akin to a utopia, but only for him. Everything moved for him, everything answered him, the sun rose and fell for him. There was nothing that would surprise him, and for a time he relished the power. A world where he could make whatever he wanted, any thought, any idea, any fantasy. The only limit was his own imagination.

And… that was it.

Everything was a reflection of him, no color save that which he demanded, no difference than what he wanted. He would never be caught in the rain, never find a path he didn't know. Rules of magic and physics were meaningless in the Elementalia, unless he said so.

Nothing had meaning.

So, one day, on a whim, he ceded total control to a cycle. The sun rose and set on its own. Things moved when they wanted, or when they needed to. It wasn't his imagination made manifest, but it felt like something alive. In time, life took root in this cycle, and he found that it meant a second chance for the world that had plunged into darkness.

The valley below was dotted by houses, once occupied, now deserted. Time had come and gone in the small town, and its occupants had left to make new things in this world he had set in motion. The Land of Mist and Dreams had fallen back to slumber, but it meant its dreamers could finally shape it again. This was the land he wanted to make, to foster.

It made him feel like he answered to no one.

"Percival?"

He sighed.

"Yes, Eryl."

"There you are!" Eryl came walking up the path from the small garden at the base of the vault. "The door was open, and I just… walked in… I hope that was okay."

"The door wouldn't have been open otherwise."

"Oh, good, was I supposed to come out through the trellis?"

"Yes, it's a thought exercise."

The triclops blinked, and he asked her not to worry about it. "I'm guessing you have something important on your mind if you're coming by this late, dressed as you are. Dear me, your eyes are red."

"Do I look that bad?" Eryl cupped her cheek, looking even more distressed. "I've not been feeling well since I left Jane's ranch today, I think I've done something terrible."

"Got her arm too, did you?"

"Stop it!" she slapped his shoulder, frowning at the glee in his ribbing. "I'm serious, Percival, I might have damaged my friendship with her. I cannot calm myself down, imagining what she must think of me."

"What did you do?"

"I… I think I upset her. I misunderstood her, and I acted on it. She pretended to be fine, but I could tell there was some kind of polite tenseness to everything she did afterward."

The Alchemist made his way back with Eryl to the garden, where he had tea with Ruarc a few weeks ago. One of the golems peeled itself from a stone wall and began to lumber its way up the stairs.

"She'll forgive you, Jane's not that petty, or subtle."

"But what if she doesn't? I can't bear living knowing that I've lost her as a friend. She's been so good to me."

Percival tapped his finger on the wrought iron table, staring idly at the mess of a triclops.

"Friends fight. Take it from me, a man who picks fights with people who give him a home and a job. By next week, you will both have forgotten about it, and you can go back to worrying about telling her how you really feel."

That statement caused Eryl to stiffen considerably.

"How I really feel? About Jane? What ever do you mean?"

"No? Laoise told me you fancied Jane."

"What? H-how-how did she find out?"

"She didn't, but she will be glad to know she was right."

This bit of trickery did not help Eryl’s mood, at all.

“Percival Bredon Caxton,” growled the triclops, looking on the verge of tears, “I will not be used this way. I came to you in the understanding of safety and comfort, y-you brute.”

“Oh posh,” dismissed Percival,”what do you care what I think about pulling a lass?”

“Because I love her,” uttered Eryl, wiping her face with her hand in a futile effort to keep her emotion from spilling out more, “and I respect you. I-I’ve never felt this way before. She is such a fine friend, but I am blinded by her… her everything… The way she looks at me, the way she wears those button-up–...”

“Again,” interrupted Percival, raising a hand and cutting Eryl off, “relevance to me.”

“I’m asking for your opinion of her. You know her better than I do, you have years over my months.”

“Hardly, I do not speak to Smith.”

“Impossible, how could you not.”

“I manage, somehow.”

“Stop evading the question!”

The alchemist took a deep breath, gripping his chin. Give an opinion of the Gunslinger? Expose his heart of hearts to the woman who effectively sundered him? What rot. Percival moved to stand, before settling back into his chair. Eryl had stopped weeping enough to watch and wait for him to finally speak.

“She’s fine,” he muttered.

“I am going to throttle you.”

“Alright! Damn you. You want to know my opinion of Smith?”

“Is this another trick?”

“... No.”

“If it is, I will cry, and you will be forced to put up with me!”

“What are you, my sister?”

This was proving too much for Eryl, and she became quiet, except to prove herself true to her word. Percival put his face in his hand.

“I don’t like her.”

“What?” Eryl shot up, shaken from her sorrows, “How? Why?”

“She’s insufferable,” Percival held up a finger, counting with his reasoning, “loud, brash and painfully good. She has no clue how her power works at a base level, and Rook thinks she’s the god-damned best. Everyone thinks she’s the bloody best; kisses the ground she walks on. To top it all off, she’s saved my life so I have to feel like a bloody arsehole every time I think about it.”

“Oh,” punctuated Eryl, when it seemed Percival was done. Of all the things he could have said, the triclops had not expected that. She shifted uncomfortably, staring at the table as her tea finally came along.

The wind picked up, making the trees sway, and blowing a lonely song over the garden.

“You must… think me very stupid,” said Eryl finally,”chasing after someone like that, then.”

“Eryl,” groaned Percival, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re one of the few people who can follow along in any of my dissertations. But I think you’re setting yourself up for… trouble.”

Her three, sapphire eyes opened wide and large.

“She doesn’t fancy… women?”

“I don’t think she is capable of fancy,” clarified Percival, firm now, “nothing I’ve ever seen says anything except she is driven by something above herself. Were she capable of it, don’t you think she and Rook would…”

“... they went to France together…”

“... and nothing happened. The two of them, practically two sides of the same coin. Three years they’ve been good friends, known each other for longer.”

Eryl wiggled in discomfort, feeling less well now.

“Then… I’m wasting my time? I don’t think I can just… let go of these feelings, Percy.”

“Eryl, I don’t like Jane,” snapped Percival, insensitive to the fragility of the woman’s feelings, “She walks about, practically made of magic, when I cannot even manifest my power anymore. Worse yet, I’m made to feel like she’s my replacement after I limped off to die, cold and alone in a cave.”

The words looked like they had been a slap across the face. Eryl stood, taken by a different purpose. Percival saw the look in her eyes, and came to his feet. He was too slow, and got just what he deserved.

A hug. Blinking in stunned silence, Percival found himself the victim of an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Eryl whisper in his ear.

They lingered like that for a short while. He tried to speak, but something inside him had melted with the unexpected warmth, and he was afraid his eyes would do the same. It was Eryl that broke the silence first.

“Do you think I’m foolish,” she asked, with trepidation, “for loving Jane?”

Percival wrenched his eyes shut and finally returned the embrace.

“She’d be lucky to have you.”