"All of Caelus' notes are on these shelves," Sulaer said, waving to a bookcase brimming with old books and older scrolls. Some laid sideways, still open, while others had free pages poking out of them. "I tried to organize them, but they just never seem to stay put. You can blame Ristau for that."

Syra pulled one with roughened edges from a shelf and leafed through it. Her jaw tensed, overwhelmed by the mass of messy script and sketches smirking up at her.

"I know it looks daunting," Sulaer said. "Believe me, I've spent decades pouring over these things and I'm still puzzled by some of his spelling."

"And you expect me to find something you haven't?"

Sulaer grinned and took the book from her hands, sliding it back in its place, "I expect Valen's apprentice to give it her best shot."

"You know him?" Syra knew her mentor had a reputation, but was surprised by its reach.

"All the Kesh Raza know him. But he was also a study partner of mine back in Heartwood."

"You went there, too?" Syra broke into a whine. "I am so jealous."

Sulaer laughed and patted her on the shoulder, "Well, there's plenty to learn here."

"If I can even understand any of it."

To say there were many tomes would be an insult. Sulaer's lab was essentially a library with the occasional bench and cabinet. One with writings Syra had never seen, on subjects she had never seen, and most all of them were written in Talian.

"Don't you worry. I took notes on Caelus' notes, and they're much more organized."

Syra buried her unease and took a long look about the room, steeling herself, "So, where do we start?"

Sulaer guided her through the makings of the spell first. Its foundations and procedure, and why this was added with that. Over the next couple days she gave demonstrations, showing how the different ingredients interacted under different conditions, and translating along the way. Syra was relieved that her room was adjacent to the lab as they rarely left, even for sleep. After days of introduction and mental drilling, Syra had a rudimentary hold on the language and was able to read and deduce for herself with the use of Sulaer's notes.

"Now, the experiments start," Sulaer said, gathering her notes.

"Experiments?"

Sulaer grinned, "Today, I take you to the shard."

Further into the academy, where wooden walls became carved from stone, the shard slept in an iron case within a room stained, charred, and fractured by the years of failed trials. The cabinets were stocked, but the shelf-lined walls were bare.

"Our past trials have been a bit...volatile," Sulaer said, "So, we had to move most everything to a safer location."

"That explains the lab," said Syra, stopping abruptly as the acrid air stung her nose hairs.

"You'll get used to it," Sulaer said, seeing her crinkled nose, "but do make sure to take a break now and again. The lingering fumes can give you quite a headache after while."

Sulaer motioned Syra over to the central table where the shard's box sat leering at them, "Come, it's stable in this condition."

Peering into the box, Syra could feel the pressure pulsing from the shard. Such a puny thing, she thought, seeing how it took up little space in the box.

"Take it," said Sulaer, "It won't burn you. Surprisingly."

The marbled green-and-purple shard fit neatly in Syra's palm and was warm. Very warm. Like a fire before you got too close. Syra could feel her body gulping down the mana it radiated, to the point of becoming dizzy.

"Be careful not to drink too much," Sulaer said, placing the crystal back into its box and latching it, "You'll overload yourself and end up bedridden with horrible bodyaches."

"You speak from experience?"

"Risk of the trade, unfortunately. I'm sure Valen has lectured you plenty on proper mana management?"

Syra nodded and stepped back from the box, its heat fading from her skin, "What should I do now?"

A wide grin cracked across Sulaer's face and she handed Syra a notebook, freshly bound, "Play with it."

"Play with it?" Syra repeated, "Isn't that what caused this whole mess in the first place?"

"Yes, and it's the only way to get us out of it. Like you said, work backwards. You have the notes, supplies, and now the power source. I expect an update every day, and do try not to blow anything up—this is the last room left. I'll keep my study door open if you have any questions, and I'll update you if I find anything new."

And like that, Syra was left to wilds of alchemical discovery, with a hurried vocabulary list and century-old ramblings of a Talian hermit. If there was ever a magical exam to be passed, it was this one.

***

A week passed with Syra mired nose-deep in parchment and potions, but book after book, trial after trial, she still hadn't made any leeway outside of singing her eyebrows. And other than at mealtimes, she hadn't seen nor spoken to Aidan or the twins. Any attempts were met with, "How's the cure coming?", "Find anything?", or the more common, "Just focus on getting the shard so we can go."

Normally, she wouldn't have minded being left to her devices in solitude. But, normally she'd have someone to turn to for help, be it a teacher or classmate. Even Aidan had clever solutions sometimes. But despite her original promise, Sulaer busied herself in her own readings and research, many times disappearing for hours all together. It was that sort of day when Syra went to her balcony for a quick rest.

The balcony off her hallway faced over the terrace towards the city's center. She could see the Playhouse with its patrons, and beyond that a training field, and a flower garden with a small pond. She watched from this spot as Cassius and Petra trained one-on-one in combat—Wyn had insisted that if they were to stay until a cure was found, they might as well learn to be useful. They were getting better, and Syra found it a relaxing distraction from the dim cave and strong smells and words that blurred together. But there was something off about that scene that day. An uneasiness that drew her attention from the twins to the small bench by the pond. A bench where Aidan sat, too comfortably, next to Sulaer in her satin dress with her big books.

Syra's stomach dropped. They were laughing. She waved the thought away as quickly as it came, but the cold knot in her gut told her to keep watching. Sulaer pointed to the book Aidan was reading—Syra's book—and he smiled. He smiled that smile where his forehead creased and his eyes glinted from behind that mask of smart sensibility he always wore—a smile she had not seen since the festival. But this time it wasn't for her.

There were more laughs, more smiles, more flicks of the hair. There was always more, and Syra had to break away from the balcony before she broke herself. She returned to the lab, in its quiet, dim solitude, but her mind was now a blur and she felt the prodding of nausea. Just ignore it, she thought. We've all been stressed and he deserves a nice break. And even if something does come of it, it's not like we're together anymore.

She forced herself to continue working, throwing herself into the scripts and charts and diagrams of old, looking for any missing piece or glint of hidden meanings. But nothing helped. Her mind kept returning to the image of Aidan smiling with Sulaer, and she continued to return to the balcony where any sight of him numbed the grief left to fester.

More days went by like this. And the more she looked for evidence of their relations, the more she found: more hours in the garden, more exchanged gazes at meetings, more whispered giggles at the dinner table. Many times she started to tell Cassius of her troubles, hoping that perhaps by purging them she could lessen the ache that gnawed away at her and made her world dim and gray. But she never could.

She'd watch from her balcony as he and Petra found confidence in their two-legged fighting skills: their weapons becoming lighter and swifter, until a swing and twirl were second nature. No, he had his own problems to deal with. Certainly, he had dealt with hers far too much at this point. This was something she had to bare on her own. And that just made the ache deeper.

She was returning from her time on the balcony—which had become a bit of a habit—when a low rattle came from one of the rooms a few doors down from the lab. The door stood slightly ajar and through the crack she could see Ristau slumbering wide-mouthed at his desk. She went to walk onwards down that hall, but the mortar and pestle atop his desk called her back.

Ristau had those at the Playhouse, she thought, recalling their first meeting. She had been curious about this "Down" they spoke of, but never found the chance to ask.

Please don't squeak, she begged the door as she pushed it open with a fingertip. She took a step into the room and paused, watching Ristau for any movement, but he snored on with his head rested back against his chair. Padding over to the desk, she examined the dusty bowl and the small bag sitting open next to it. Again, she glanced over at Ristau, but he continued to dream with a slight grin on his ruddy face. He looked so calm and happy. Did Down affect dragons the same way it did Tal?

Then she reached for it, plucking it by the drawstrings. It was the swift, heavy hand that made her jump.

"Careful, milady," Ristau said, fully awake and gripping both her hand and the bag in one large hand, "That's a slippery slope you're treading on."

Syra looked down at the bag, but didn't move, "Does it help?" she asked in a small voice, "Will it make the pain go away?"

"No," he said, empathy softening the edges of his face, "but it will dull it."

He lifted his hand and she took the bag, clutching it to her chest, before turning to leave.

She stopped in the doorway, "Why are you—"

"The only thing that clouds the mind better than rage," he said with a solemn face, "is grief. And I need your mind to save my people."

She nodded, shut the door, and returned to her quarters where she drowned herself in pages, and the ache slid into its box and waited.

***

It was Cassius who found her.

"Syra!" he exclaimed in a whisper when he entered later that night to find her dazed and lopsided in her chair. "What the hell happened?" He asked, sitting her up straight.

She mumbled something about a potion and needing to get back to work, and that's when he saw the dust specks under her nose.

"You're kidding me." He looked to her desk to find the bag open with dusting around its brim.

"It helps," Syra said, pulling out of her stupor and smiling up at him. "Well, at least until this groggy part. I think I might finally be on to something. I think I can—"

"Oh no," Cassius interrupted, putting a finger to her lips, "You're not telling me anything until you've sobered up." He picked her up from her chair and set her on the bed.

"But I'm fine, really!"

"Bashta!" he cursed, taking Syra aback by his sudden harsh tone, "You're pale, wobbly, and slurring your words."

"I'll be fine so enough," she shooed his hand away from her forehead, "just...let me enjoy not feeling like shit for a moment."

Cassius stared down at her, his own face reddening, "How do you think Aidan would feel if he saw you like this?"

The mention of his name woke the monster inside the box, and Syra grimaced at the pin prick in her chest, "He has someone else to worry about now."

Genuine surprise flashed across Cassius' face, "Who?!"

"Don't play dumb. It's sickeningly obvious." She rested her head back against the headboard, tired of faking her cheeriness.

Cassius' eyes searched his memories of the past few days before scoffing, "Well, it's not Petra, I can tell you that right n—"

"No, you blind lizard. Sulaer!" She wriggled farther down into the bed and clutched at a pillow, "With her silky hair and library and big...womanly-ness."

"You're being silly."

"I can't compete with that, Cas," Syra said, the sparkle gone from her eyes.

He sighed and looked away, unable to put his thoughts into words she would care to understand.

In the quiet, her grip on the pillow loosened and a wry smile bubbled to the surface as her mask slipped off.

"Though, I can't really blame him. I'd squat for her if I were in his shoes."

She chuckled and looked over at her brother who appeared a tad embarrassed by the subject.

"We're all messed up, you know?" she said, gaining a raised eyebrow from him, "all three of us. Petra keeps pining after Tarys, who wouldn't know she existed if she weren't Vayguard. I'm going bat-shit over a human boy. And you..."

She looked Cassius over with a slow, critical eye, and sneered when they landed at his neck. With a sly finger, she flicked the strands of hair away and slid it down across the light bruising just under his ear. "You go sneaking off to have a little fun with fairy boy when nobody's looking."

Cassius grabbed her hand away and snarled, baring his teeth. But that didn't stop him from flushing, or Syra from snickering.

"Hold your fire, I meant no harm. Hell, I might as well join you next time. First round's free, right?"

Cassius breathed out his anger but kept a firm grip on her hand.

“Let go,” he said, hushed but firm.

Syra scoffed, “You’re the one holding me.” She pulled away but his grip was steady.

“Syra,” Cassius locked eyes with her, neither blinking.

Syra stopped struggling as silent words passed between them.

Let go.

How long had it been since she heard him say that? A lifetime it seemed, yet for a second she was back in their den balling to her little brother about some trivial matter.

“Let go,” he said again, softer this time and he let her hand fall to her side.

Her breath came in deep, wavering huffs. Her chest tightened, and then her throat, and then her jaw and she fought back.

“There it is,” Cassius snatched up a pillow like a washbowl to a drunkard.

Even with the plush mute, the small room sung with lost wails. She cried for the hand that wasn’t there. For the voice that hummed and snickered and groaned. For the comfort of knowing glances and finished sentences. She cried for the grown, but scared child now beyond her reach. Though clearly visible, no number of 'I love you's could penetrate the glass sanctum she was now expelled from. Her words meant nothing now. No matter their strength, the throws that consumed her and made her lungs sting would be but smoke against stone walls.

“It hurts…” she creaked, clawing at her sternum. Her nails dug into the fabric of her robe as another wail passed.

“Make it stop,” she whimpered, doubled over with her face in the pillow. “Please Cas, make it go away.”

Cassius could only shake his head in regret, “This isn’t something I can fix.”

Syra’s breath shook as she sat herself back up, still clutching at her chest.

Cassius shuddered. Her eyes were dull. Puffy, red tissue swarmed two pools of pale green; the pale green of leaves waiting to die.

Her finger scratched at the skin beneath her robe, “I want it out.” Her voice was flat.

“What?”

She tapped her sternum between her breasts, “It burns; I want it out. I just want to…”

She stopped tapping and went silent.

“What?” Cassius searched her face but her eyes were glazed over.

She brushed her robe off her shoulders, exposing her bare chest splattered with red lines.

“Syra, what are you—”

Syra brought her finger to her lips, hushing him, and murmured into the shadows something quiet and something very old. Something beyond Cassius’ comprehension, but made the stone of the very walls hum.

“Namaradi.”

Light lined Syra’s hand and she placed a finger to her chest. From under her fingertip, light spiraled out like a bloom, flickering and rotating around her hand.

Cassius had to squint. It was brilliant. A kaleidoscope of pinks and greens painted the walls in verdant shimmers. Cassius watched on in a mesmerized stupor until a stroke of her finger down her sternum sliced the bloom clean open. He shielded his face from the burst of light and heat that radiated from the phantom blossom at Syra’s chest.

From within the bloom Syra drew out a shimmering crystal and held it in two delicate hands. Wonder and confusion battled on her face as she analyzed the multipointed prism that she had birthed.

“Syra,” Cassius fumbled after his pupils adjusted, “is that your—”

“Soulstone? Yes, it is.” She said rather flat, staring into the crystal that housed a tiny sun in its core. “Tell me Cas, how can something so beautiful hurt so terribly?”

"Put it back!" He commanded, more concerned than angry. "If that shatters you’ll—"

"I know. I just…want it to stop, that’s all. Just for a little while." Her shoulders relaxed and color seeped back into her cheeks.

Cassius stared in awe at the brilliant stone in her small hands. At the ball of pure essence caged inside. At the streams of light that bubbled and poured out like water from a spring and pooled onto the floor before disappearing into mist.

This was his sister's soulstone, and it was leaking.

"What do I even do with this?" Syra half-laughed at her overflowing hands. "If Aidan doesn't want it, then..."

"Syra," Cassius reached out to take her hands but jerked back as they were immediately singed.

"See? Even you can't handle it all."

Cassius sat back and stared weakly at his reddened palms. Just above them, a glint of light caught his attention. With a squint, he made out a thin thread strung between his chest and one point of the soulstone.

"No, I can't," he admitted, "but I can share it."

"What?"

"There are so many other points here, Syra," he said, motioning to the stone, "I'm just one of them. Aidan is just one of them. But so is Petra, and Grandmaw Vega, and Valen. I know Aidan is special, believe me I feel it, but you have more than him."

He reached over and put a hand gently on her forearm. His skin warmed and reddened as a trickle of light flowed into his own arm. He flinched at first, but it was tolerable like a hot bath.

"I will take all that I can. The rest is up to you to share."

"That...might take me a while."

"That's alright. I'm not going anywhere."

After a moment, Syra slowly drew her soulstone closer but grimaced as it touched her chest.

"But it still hurts."

He offered a knowling nod, "Would you like me to stay here tonight? Would that help?"

Syra nodded and choked a sob as she pulled the shining stone back into herself. The light faded from the room and from her eyes, and she made herself into a ball in Cassius' arms.

"There we go. Just breathe."

While his voice and warmth were comforting, it reminded her of the late nights with Aidan after nightmares of Marrak shook her from bed. But she obeyed. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest, breathing in the scent of cool stone and warm bedding.

"You smell like home."

"Do I?" he chuckled, "Petra says I smell like dirt and burnt grass."

"Close enough, I guess."

Syra's small grin calmed Cassius' nerves and he patted her lightly on the head, "Don't worry. After all this is over, we'll all get to go back home."

Go back home, Syra thought, Is that what I want? To go back to the lair? If we can destroy the shards, then Marrak will have no choice but to leave us alone, right? I can go back to the clan. I can go back and become...

Syra's eyes were drawn to the black marks on Cassius' chest that peeked out from under his' shirt.

"Actually, Cas, while you're here," she squirmed from under his hold and left the bed to snatch up a blank strip of parchment from her desk, "could you hold still for a second?"

"Why? What is it? Are you feeling better?"

"Not really, but I had an idea."

He fidgeted as she unbuttoned his shirt, ""W-what are you doing exactly?"

"I said, hold still." She balled a fist and light shimmered around him, yanking him down onto the bed.

"Easy! Damn."

"Sorry, I just really need this to be accurate."

Running down his sternum were black runes left from Valen's spelltag. She pressed the parchment overtop.

"Just relax," she cooed and traced the markings with smooth strokes of a finger until they burned onto the paper. "Perfect," she said, admiring her work.

"What's that for?" Cassius asked, scooting away and buttoning his shirt, completely dumbfounded by her sudden change in mood.

"These runes are in Talian, that's why I couldn't read them before. But now," she smiled to herself, "now I have an idea."