Ilandi couldn't sleep, and by the looks of it, neither could Renor. Light was visible between the door to his room and the floor. Nonetheless, the young Vandrainor worked up their courage for at least half a minute before finally knocking on the door. They knew Renor, of course. But not in a way that would justify a visit to his private quarters at this hour.

"Come in", Renor called.

Ilandi opened the door and for a moment they couldn’t do anything but stare.

His quarters were a mess. Renor was no high-ranking operative within the Order, so he lived in the same accommodations Ilandi did: A rectangular room, half of it covered in soil and grass and hay and linked to the fields outside, so that his companion was free to go whenever he wanted. A ward protected the air inside from winter’s cold touch. Judging by the air’s staleness, Renor had not bothered to open that ward for a while. And Ilya wasn’t present at the moment.

The other half of the room was the rider's personal space. Most people had a desk, one or two bookcases, and a weapons rag. Maybe a shelf for other belongings.

In terms of equipment, Renor's room differed only in the fact that he had an enormous punchbag in the middle of the room. A used-looking one with cracks and patches and ripped fabric. But the more prominent difference was the sheer mess. Parchment, quills, books, even clothes lay on the floor in heaps. His bedding was torn down and lay on the companion's side of the room - it looked used - and Renor himself stood before something on the ground, his back to Ilandi.

Kirdain had never mentioned his master being such a slob and for a moment, Ilandi was very unsure what to make of it. When Renor turned around and looked at them, they saw the tiredness in his face and felt a pang of sympathy. It felt a bit like looking into a mirror that reflected how one felt, rather than how one looked. Because Renor looked nothing like Ilandi, of course.

Woodelves were very easily distinguishable from humans. Their somehow feline faces, their long, slim, pointy ears, the catlike eyes, and - of course - the tail made it impossible to confuse them for any other race.

Renor gave Ilandi a tired smile that showed his sharp teeth. "Ilandi does the Andrush Vandrainor...?" he trailed off.

Ilandi shook their head apologetically. "Still in conference", they said.

"You heard from Kirdain, then?"

"No." Ilandi blushed. This was uncomfortable. "Not since he and Atela left Gerain."

Renor swallowed his lower lip. "I see. They arrived in Agshraf a few hours ago, Atela said."

Ilandi nodded, thankfully. "No word from Kirdain?"

"No. He's ... barricaded himself."

"Hmm." Ilandi knew, why. And it made them feel guilty. It also made them feel guilty that Kirdain was not the reason why they visited Renor.

"So, what can I do for you?” Renor's voice gave away nothing but his ears lowered and Ilandi saw his jaw tensing. They shared that feeling. Everything was complicated, right now. It felt weird, wrong.

Ilandi grimaced. "Forgive me for intruding. I just saw the light and..."

Renor held out his hands. They were bandaged as if he intended to fight with them. But the bandages could not hide his very long fingers that ended in claws more than fingernails. "Nervous?", he asked.

Ilandi nodded. Though nervousness didn’t really cut it. Existential dread was probably closer to the thing they felt.

Renor sighed; then he indicated one of the chairs. "Sit.”

While he spoke, the chaos surrounding the chair vanished and sorted itself into another pile of the mess on the floor.

"I... I really don't mean to bother you”, Ilandi began but Renor shook his head.

"When Telassi took you on, the both of us had a long talk about situations like this”, he said, "they knew that there would be situations in which they couldn't be there for you as much as other instructors could. And since I trained a fellow Agshrafan, they asked me if I would be willing to step in from time to time. You are not intruding."

Relief flooded over them and Ilandi sat down on the rather comfortable chair. They felt amusement from Renor. He obviously didn’t bother to shield himself in here. "So”, he said, conjuring another chair and placing it carefully on top of a pile of clothing. "This is about the exams, yes? They keep you awake?" While he spoke, he sat down, legs crossed, on the perfectly balanced chair.

Ilandi sighed. "Yes... and no."

Renor raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I... I'm not worried about not passing. I'm competent enough and... I gave my best all these years, but…”, they paused. "I'm worried about what happens next."

Renor's ears twitched. "I see", he said.

Ilandi's feet shuffled. "My grandmother... She expects me to come back home and be the city's Vandrainor. But.. I don't want to. I … I would like to stay and continue my studies, but I am too young, and we are too few but still...Agshraf is not the place I want to be, I want to stay with Kir- ", they stopped.

Renor grinned, his tail wagged. "Kirdain is not the matter", he said. "Don't worry about him."

"It's not that!" Ilandi blurted. "I just... I want to stay close to him."

Renor nodded. His face suddenly serious. "Ilandi", he said firmly. "I know you are a great student from what your teachers and Telassi say. But regardless of your feelings for Kirdain, you have a duty. To your companion, the Order, and the world." He paused, his ears flattened, and he gritted his teeth. Then, he started anew. "No one will force you onto a city - or a city onto you for that matter. And given your... connections to command, I’m sure we’ll figure out something good. And Agshraf is too unimportant, anyway. Eventually, you will have to choose. And it won’t be easy at first being alone and all that.” He paused for a second, shook his head. “If there were more of us, the two of you wouldn’t have been that close during training. And now, it’ll be even harder. But until then, try not to worry.

Pass your exams, talk to Telassi or Lexon, both of them will know what to do. And … don’t drive yourself crazy over Kirdain. Believe me, he can handle himself."

"That’s hard to believe."

Renor laughed. "It will get easier, I assure you."

Ilandi grimaced. “Will it? I'm used to having him around and..." They paused again, feeling a bit stupid, a bit silly.

Renor shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I didn’t have that kind of bond with someone. But we all made friends in training, and we all had to let them go.” He paused.

There was an unspoken third part to the sentence. Ilandi was grateful he didn’t voice it.

“I'm sure I wrote about that sort of stuff", Renor finished. He indicated his bookcases. "Eh, would you like to see for yourself?"

Ilandi was taken aback. "You would let me read your diaries?", they asked

Renor nodded. "Why not? Not the more recent ones but those from two, three hundred years ago? Why not?”

"Because it's... Personal?"

Renor laughed. "Not really. I mean, it was personal, yes. But not to me. The person who wrote these things,.. he doesn't exist anymore." His ears lowered a bit.

Ilandi swallowed. "Did you really forget that much...?” “Almost everything, except for the basics. I don't care much for baggage."

"So... your memories only start a hundred years ago? Before that, you know nothing?"

Renor’s back straightened, his ears peaked upwards, and he looked at Ilandi questioningly. "Didn't Telassi teach you about spell casting?"

"Not really", Ilandi confessed. "I know the basics but... they said I didn't have to know about it until I’m much older and I'd figure it out on my own when it's time."

Renor nodded. Dissatisfaction pouring out of his every move. He opened the bookcase and pulled a heavy tome out of it. "Here", he said and showed it to Ilandi.

The volume was bound in wood and leather, and secured with iron book clasps. The title was written on the edge.

"That's a history book", Ilandi said and tried to decipher the strange writing. "The Second Borns: A comprehensive Guide through the Ages of Humans III. 670 9AV - 830 9AV.”

"Correct, and very good. Your Alfayen is remarkable. But it is more than that."

Ilandi paused. What exactly did Renor mean? Except for the age, there was nothing noteworthy about this book. Then, they understood. They stretched their senses and considered the book. It wasn’t smooth or simple. It felt ancient, sad, happy.

It felt strange. There was some sort of magic at work, but they couldn't quite tell. It felt... layered.

“I bet it’s hard to untangle”, Renor said, laughter in his voice. "But you sense the enchantment, hm?"

"Yes."

"It's a neat one. Several neat ones, actually. And … hard to explain, but let me try: The book is connected to the ink I use for my diary, and the spell creates a new entry in this one, sorted chronologically and connected to historically important events. So, an entry I wrote two hundred years ago, in a diary I probably lost or burned or .., whatever, is still here." He showed Ilandi a page, and they saw an orderly script in blue ink next to bigger, black letters.

"Like this: 'Today, I met with Allan to study for the finals. We spent hours in the library and even got something done. But after Master Dersha left, we got serious. I opened his trousers and…’ Oh uhm, well", he cleared his throat.

Ilandi felt their face burn.

"Anyway, this episode was in my last years as a student myself, and since I don't remember enough to categorize that, this book tells me that this was two years before Wreorg was founded. In the summer. That helps me because I’m still good with history. And because I can read it all up next to my own entry."

Ilandi nodded, then they considered something.

“What is it?”, Renor asked.

Ilandi hesitated. “How much do you… do we actually know about spell casting?”

Renor’s tail wagged. “I know much for a Vandrainor, not so much for an elf, and even less for someone my age.”

Ilandi blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That I can probably answer your questions, but probably neither completely, nor to your full satisfaction.”

Ilandi was way too well-behaved to roll their eyes. “You just said nothing”, they said.

“That is correct”, Renor grinned. “But ask away.”

"Why don't we just forget stories or things we learn?" Renor smiled. "Because it doesn't work that way."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't work that way. Then again, sometimes it does."

Ilandi felt a bit like they stepped into an old story where the Elven guard threw only riddles at the hero.

Renor bit his lip. "I can't believe Telassi taught you nothing of that. I'll have a word with them."

"No!" Ilandi recoiled in their chair. "they just don't like to talk about it. Memories…”

“... are precious", Renor said and nodded. "Tea, I heard that before. Doesn’t change that they have a responsibility to you. And to knowledge.

He ruffled his raven hair and sighed. "No one knows exactly how magic works, Ilandi. We just know it has to have a price. A real one."

"Why?”' Ilandi asked.

"What?"

"Why? Why does it have to have a price?"

"Balance perhaps."

"Balance?" That didn't sound convinced. or convincing.

Renor shrugged. "It's a thesis in one of the books I read."

"You... read books about magic?"

Renor paused and eyed them. "That was a very doubting tone. But yeah."

Ilandi made an appreciative noise. They hadn't thought of Renor as someone who liked theories of any kind and Kirdain had never mentioned it. “So… balance?”

Renor scoffed. But for the first time since they started talking, he seemed energized. The lack of sleep and whatever else had troubled him before had drawn back, allowing an intense light in his eyes to shine. “This is one theory, yeah. But not a very good one, in my opinion. You see, there are several schools concerning spell casting theory. Balance is perhaps the most fanciful one among them.” He paused, and then looked at Ilandi. “I’ll tell you what I know, what I believe. Because I told Telassi I would help them teach you. But since they wouldn’t agree with you learning actual spell casting, I will not teach you how it is done. And you will keep your mouth shut about what I tell you or else I’ll lose my tail ‘n toe, understood?”

"Understood, sir." Ilandi was suddenly intrigued. Spellcasting was a lot more secretive than conjuring, and they wanted to know more and nothing of it at the same time. It was an odd sensation.

"So, you know that it costs memories, right?"

“Yes.”

“Good. So, that is the one thing we actually know about the … how. We know a lot about spells: How they can be created, written down, manipulated, stretched, all sorts of things. But when it comes to the actual magic, we only know that we trade with memories. There are three main schools with explanations on your question.” Renor rubbed his face.

“The first one, as I already told you, believes in balance. The theory is, that when the world was created, the Regent made everything with a definite opposite: Stone and air, fire and water, life and death. Trees and algae, you get the idea. So, this pattern of balance was disrupted when the first Elf discovered spell casting. Before that, magic - conjuring - had a definite cost: a bit of a lifespan. But a spell did not have that. So the Regent found a way to limit spell casting: you need to give up a memory. It is sort of reversed conjuring because you give up what you already lived through, not a bit of your lifespan.”

Ilandi nodded, not really sure if they understood. “That sounds… reasonable?”

Renor snorted. “Does it? Well, anyway. There are two other theories: The second one claims that spell casting is a skill for gods. There is some evidence that suggests that, whenever He roamed Navarhayen, the Regent was known for casting spells. And some people believe that he either taught the elves, or that the elves stole it from Him. And the memories are either taken because this technique was never meant for non-deities or as a method of limitation - they stole the magic and now the Regent only wanted to stop them from becoming too powerful, maybe even ascend.”

“Wait, and you say the balance thing is the least sensible one of these schools?”

“Well, yes. I have several books on the divinity idea and I can recommend some if you’d like. But I’m just giving you a very rough overview.”

Ilandi wagged their head, not really convinced.

“But anyway, the last school, and the one theory I believe in, claims that spell casting is just a form of magic, just as conjuring is. We get rid of all the ideas about balance, deities, and whatever. Magic needs energy. Fuel, if you want. And memories are fuel. And magic needs that fuel because the Regent made our world in a way that we can’t have a reaction without a cause.”

Ilandi looked puzzled. “So… what you are saying is, that you believe in a theory that just simplifies two other theories… and at the end, you believe in ‘it is that way because it is that way’?”

Renor thought about that. “Yes, and no.”

Ilandi blinked, then, they nodded. “I think I understand what you are saying.”

Renor grinned. “Good. So, what else?”

“What we forget… I know most spell casters write diaries… so … do you just re-remember it?”

One of Renor’s ears twitched for a second, but he smiled. "Not quite. You see, a memory is... it is multidimensional. Say, I want to learn to pick locks without lockpicks. That might cost me … I don’t know the memory of a specific summer night. And if I am a very skilled writer and managed to capture the smell, the sounds, the taste of the wind, the reflection of the stars in the sea, the feeling of freedom when I jumped into the water … if I managed that, I might be able to read through that passage so often, I'll know it by heart eventually. And it might feel like a memory one day. Because it is a rather generic memory. I remember lots of summer nights and once you’ve gotten down to it, they are all the same."

“So… it is a weak spell and therefore you only need a generic … a weak memory?”

"Yes, that's true."

"But how well you remember depends on the descriptions?"

"Yes. And on what exactly you forgot." He tapped the book. "I don't remember exactly what we studied. What we sat down to study on that day, I mean. What day it was, what that guy looked like. I don't even remember Master Dersha, I just know him as a historical figure. From this description, I could never reconstruct a false memory. And then there are bigger memories - memories that link to people you care for and stuff, that’s a whole different topic."

“What do you mean?”

Renor hesitated. His tail was on end right now. “That means that there are key events that make you care for someone. And you don’t know what these events are. And when they are gone - no matter how often you reread the passage, they do not come back.” His voice was very calm and did not allow for any other question in that direction.

Ilandi felt a shiver running down their spine and nodded towards the tome. “What did you give that memory up for?”

“Oh, you never know. I can guess but the spell chooses its fuel. Not the other way around. If you are familiar with your memories you might be able to track it but I think that’s rare.” Renor looked sober now. Joy and even enjoyment were gone. "I spent most of these memories”, he tapped the book, indicating 150 years of memories, “on a spell that allows me to heal like an Ongai, I believe.”

Ilandi froze. They knew who Renor's lover was. "Oh."

"Yes", Renor said flatly, "Oh."