“I assure you, I am quite qualified,” Irwyn said confidently, holding the token in the palm of his hand. But not revealing it, not quite yet. Instead, he surrounded it in Flames in two layers. Insite, right around the three silver talons, he made a layer as cold as it would go, isolating, so that the silver would absolutely not even begin to melt. Meanwhile, he made the outer layer hot while also making both subtle. He meant to impress these mages after all, and hiding a spell right under their noses was bound to have that effect.

He tried to gauge the atmosphere in the room and there was no one being given clear deference, therefore he judged that the Old Ibis was not present at the moment. Which put Irwyn into a strange situation. He was not quite sure what the pecking order was supposed to be between himself and these people. Back in Ebon respite, there had been 3 Fowls before the nasty purge, though none were mages and they rarely interacted. Supposedly, they were leaders at the Guild and were meant to be shown proper respect, however, back home they barely attempted to gather influence and instead worked as independent specialists. Or just stayed out of things completely like the Old Crow. And the Guild was not exactly the most rule-oriented organization in all honesty. Moreover, in Abonisle those customs clearly worked differently just based on what Desir had told him.

Either way, Irwyn had already decided to show himself as confident and competent. From there he could get a better grasp on Guild internal politics. Reputation was going to be important either way and if he overdid things, well… It was better to be feared than not when dealing with strangers and the even less trustworthy. The mockingbird mask would also give him some time to deal with any bad fallout if things went truly awry.

“We would like to see more than just one recommendation,” another man from the group stepped up. “Although Desir’s word is valued, the box is quite intricate. We would like to see a demonstration at the very least before you are allowed to attempt opening it.”

“Ah, but the demonstration is already ongoing, I believe,” a new voice sounded from behind Irwyn and everyone turned towards it. There stood a frankly ugly old man, hunched back and wrinkled face, hair white as snow and a weirdly long crooked nose. But that was when one could not feel what hid beneath the visage. Beneath the shriveled skin he man was like threads upon threads, just binding things. Thousands upon thousands of intangible connections, spread beyond where the eye could see. And each attached to this man; long, thick, short, or thin.

“Old Ibis,” Irwyn spoke, for it could be no one else, and inclined his head. In respect but not quite deference. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“So am I, so am I,” the man spoke with a perfect smile but about any old Fowl could fake one convincingly. Especially one clearly so social. “Though I am unsure as to what to call you.”

“I go by Young Mockingbird,” Irwyn opened up his palm, revealing the token, clung to by a thin layer of Flames, along with a surge of heat tangibly releasing. Enough to be felt in the room. Irwyn’s palm did not hurt as he did not burn, though he had to go out of his way to guide the magic away from the suit’s sleeves. He was not risking needless damage.

“Yes, yes,” the Old Fowl nodded, glancing at the Fowl foot. Everyone else in the room seemed disinclined to interrupt, including Desir. “I am quite glad you will likely be able to open the damn lockbox. Though I am sure that ability does not come cheap.”

“Do you know what might actually be inside?” Irwyn nodded. He did need to negotiate for his price after all “I have heard that everyone who attempted had no confidence in opening it.”

“No confidence is a bit of an understatement…” Old Ibis shook his head lightly, glancing at the mages who had originally been in the room. “But perhaps it is best for Albrook to explain.”

“Thank you,” the same man who had pressed Irwyn just before nodded with appreciation. “It is more than just a troublesome lock. Rather, the whole boxed is rigged to explode into an inferno if tampered with, most likely including the lock. It requires what appears to be a precise and ever-shifting magical key of at least a hundred inputs from what I could see. As a resident expert on Flame magics I deemed it too dangerous for anyone to attempt. Undoubtedly, whatever is inside must be incredibly valuable, however, there are very few people who might actually buy it off of us.”

“House Blackburg would be the only such practical contact,” Old Ibis nodded. “And they would gouge us harshly at the potential price.”

“I will have to get a closer look but it does not sound unopenable,” Irwyn nodded, feeling confident. Another thing he had found out in the past few days: Apparently most mages could control far fewer spells than him. The only person around his age that could even approach him in that capacity was Elizabeth who, according to Dervish was ‘another exceptional prodigy’. Even if each of the ‘locks’ that Albrook had identified required intentions to unlock it would be within his ability. “So, let’s talk payment.”

“We can offer you a considerable sum if you manage to open the box,” one of the other mages in the room spoke. Irwyn guessed that they were the ones to acquire it and therefore had the biggest stake in the contents.

“No one here knows how valuable the contents could be,” Irwyn shook his head. “I could lose out on a lot. I have a counteroffer: A third of the value and the opportunity to buy the item first,” he said. He did not actually have anywhere near a large amount of money at the moment but he was reasonably confident he could talk Elizabeth into lending him enough on credit; she did not appear to have much first-hand experience with a scarcity of funds. In all honesty, there was a good chance she would consider the yearly earnings of an industrial complex a ‘small loan’.

“A third is a harsh tariff,” the same mage frowned deeply.

“Still a lot less of a loss than if you sell it closed,” Irwyn shrugged, pretending not to care too much.

“A quarter. It’s a gamble, even if the odds are good and I don’t like gambles. The lock box was not cheap to acquire in the first place,” the man said after a moment and a glance at the Old Ibis who just kept smiling with no further comment. Irwyn assumed that the Fowl was getting a juicy cut himself for facilitating any such meetings.

“I want to inspect the box first before I agree on anything below a third,” Irwyn said after a moment of thought. “I could be depleting my Vessel depending on how difficult it is to crack. And it could be even more difficult than it appears.”

“Fine with me,” the man nodded after a moment and pointed further in. “Go on then, have a look.”

Irwyn was followed by everyone as he passed the door. Immediately after the doorstep, he felt the ambient heat rise above what most would consider healthy, though it did not bother Irwyn personally. The room itself was a dead-end and had very little besides a rock slab-like pedestal and the box itself.

And the lockbox was damn intricate, alright.

Irwyn was not completely sure it was the most complex enchantment he had ever perceived, though he suspected it most likely was. Irwyn did not count Elizabeth’s dress or her other accessories as he could not perceive the magic in those at all. Instead, he thought back to the spacial box that Calm had held back in Ebon Respite before the whole Alira nastiness; that had been up there, however, his senses back then were simply not where they were currently. Not to mention that had not been based on Flame. This box was.

That was why he could feel hundreds upon hundreds of intentions swirling inside the enchanted structure, the whole thing constructed from Pure solid flame. The lockbox itself was quite literally softly burning and scorching to touch, an effect that Irwyn suspected was caused by a slight leak of the Flame mana from its structure. And the box had more than just plenty of mana. Irwyn was not sure how it compared to his own, but he guessed it surpassed his own Vessel in just sheer quantity with what he could feel. The effect of more intentions allowing for more overall mana was clearly also at play here.

And all that magic was at a hair trigger. The structure was so interlaced that if a part of it was disrupted, the whole thing might actually explode, in a way that Irwyn had no clue if he could stop, especially while keeping whatever was inside in one piece. So instead, he felt his way around the obvious keyhole. It was really more of a layered chamber with exactly a hundred 'switches' in it, each 10 taking a single layer. And each ‘switch’ carried the slight hint of an intention. Except those intentions were strange. Always, Irwyn had used and seen intentions with a specific purpose. Defend, for example, was obviously supposed to protect and helped the spell greatly in doing so. These intentions, however, were different. They were numbers. Zero, one, two, three… all the way to 9. The intentions represented just information rather than an actual meaning to empower a spell, something Irwyn did not remember ever encountering.

Also, they were switching around every three seconds. The numbers were haphazardly switching around these 'switches' about every three seconds. And they were each connected to the deeper structure of the spell Irwyn struggled to gleam. There was probably something that would open the lockbox if they 'matched' the key and possibly some self-destructive or otherwise defensive function that would trigger if they did not. Irwyn struggled to understand how the whole lockbox could match any key.

That was until he more closely inspected the bottom layer; the deepest10 of those hundred changing 'switches'. Because they were connected to the rest of the structure slightly differently. It took Irwyn a moment to compare them to the rest but he realised that these 10 were merely receiving information about what number they were supposed to display, not actually connected to whatever was meant to make the box unlock.

The key would likely configure based on these, Irwyn guessed. It made sense to him. The bottom row would be read by the key instead which would then switch to a preset combination matching the lock's 'switches'. The most sensible possibility was that these seemingly random patterns were actually preset, matching an identical preset pattern inside the key. It would also make each key completely unique and only working for the exact box it was made for. Irwyn assumed that inserting the key would cause the inner mechanisms of the lockbox to check if all the concepts matched at the end of each three-second cycle, for however many cycles it wanted to check. Hopefully, it would not be checking constantly instead of at the end of the 3 seconds cycle but Irwyn did not think that would be the case; it sounded like it would be too prone to malfunction.

He looked around for something that triggered the comparison and eventually found it outside the keyhole itself: It was actually on the side facing away from him, a simple array that required manual infusion of mana. Nothing difficult to use, most of the enchantment on it designed specifically to stop accidental triggering as far as Irwyn understood it.

"I will be asking for that third," Irwyn tore his senses away from the lockbox. It had been… actually just a couple of minutes even though he had done a rather thorough inspection. The cognitive enhancement taught to him by Dervish showed progressively more worth as life moved onward. "90 locks, each with a constantly changing imbuement which I will need to copy and match every three seconds who knows how many times in a row."

"I had detected a hundred," Albrook frowned.

"The bottom ten are dummies," Irwyn shook his head. "I speculate that they make sure the key matches the preset unlocking pattern. However, I do not think remembering the patterns of realistic though, there could be hundreds of thousands of them. And I agree with you that trying to bypass the lock will most likely cause the whole thing to conflagrate."

"If they installed switching imbuement just for the lock, there is no way the insides aren't worthwhile," the mage, whom Irwyn had haggled with before, half-muttered. "Fine. I can agree to a third for you, however, I have already promised the first offer rights to the Old Ibis," the man sheepishly glanced towards the Fowl in question.

"Then I will settle for the second offer right,” Irwyn replied after just a moment. Of course that had been the case. After all, this safe house was the Fowl's. The contacts and guards and resources were provided and guaranteed by the older man. This was the Old Ibis' territory. And Irwyn would absolutely not challenge that authority. He knew now that he was at least very good at magic - if nowhere near the true monsters that lurked high above on the ladder of power - which placed him firmly on the razor-thin edge between exceptionally useful and a threat. "I am sure we can come to an amicable resolution afterward if it is something I genuinely crave," he nodded his head to the Old Fowl with a hint of deference.

Irwyn was sure that if he stayed mindful of the Old Fowl’s bottom line, he could maintain a cordial relationship as long as he stayed in Abonisle, or at least until crossing it would get him something worth pitting one of the most influential figures in the Guild against himself. On second thought, the lockbox ‘owner’ had probably intentionally held that piece of information back so that Irwyn would find it awkward to ask for anything else instead of the chance to give the first offer. He should frankly expect no less from someone who could get their hands on that lockbox without the real owner’s consent.

"I am sure it will be no trouble," Old Ibis simply chuckled, though he was probably genuinely pleased that Irwyn made no move to gnaw at their authority. "I am no Flame mage after all."

"Then I will get down to it," Irwyn nodded. "I am confident but please move back from the room. I also don't know how long this might take."

He waited for the nods and retreat from the others and then went to work.

All he had to do was split his mind 91 ways and cast 90 spells with individual matching intentions, the rotate them correctly every 3 seconds. What would have seemed like a ridiculous task just a few months ago felt completely feasible now. That being said, Irwyn did not immediately trigger the real comparison with his final piece of attention. Instead, he performed several test rounds.

It was close. For all his improvement in magic, it was far more difficult than just creating 90 spells with intention, something that no longer gave him that much trouble. He had to perceive the individual intentions and then match them in a very small area inside the lock itself for all of them in no more than 3 seconds. It was a close call. He had managed it 5 times in a row before on the 6th he finally slipped, missing a couple of them. Just barely but the mistake made him frown. He could not afford it to be this close when there was a very real risk of the box self-destructing.

So he decided to use a different trick he has developed in the past week. It had everything to do with the cognitive enhancement. On that first day he had learned that magic, Irwyn had the thought to push it beyond the normal limit for a short burst of emergency spellcasting. At first that did not quite work, however, over the several days since he had made progress.

It was still far from perfect. The extra focus he managed to draw from this was rather limited considering a lot of it was used right back to actually keeping all that mana concentrated in his brain and it came at the additional cost of forfeiting most of the control he held over his own limbs. However, that small boost was exactly what he needed to push himself into a comfortable position. Then he gently signed - testing he would not choke against just from breathing - and concentrated fully on the task at hand.

It was easier with the extra bit of focus but by no means easy. Irwyn triggered the manual mana switch at the back when he was in position and felt the whole lock tremble slightly with a gentle wave of magic going through it. But that was not all that important at the moment. 90 intents, 3 seconds. Over and over. 5 times, 10, 20, 30 and finally 40. Or at least around that. Irwyn's mental count was an afterthought and hardly accurate, though 2 minutes was a decently nice round number for an artisan to choose.

The release was gradual. No instant snapping or breaking. Rather the lockbox slowly shifted. As a construct of pure Flame it did not need to adhere to shape and so it did not. Instead the keyhole moved downwards while the entire construct transformed into something akin to a slightly misshaped blooming flower, raising the contents into something close to a platform in the middle.

What was revealed seemed simple: A burning plate of gray metal.

Not just hot or smoldering, the metal seemed to be burning like wood. Except it was not actually incinerating, rather, Irwyn noticed that the metal was clearly enchanted, even more complicated than the lockbox by a large margin to the point he could not even gleam anything besides it being magical. Then he looked at the Flame burning over it and almost frowned.

It felt mundane at a glance. Not a speck of magic in it. And yet that seemed ridiculous considering everything else. Irwyn focused harder and was able to feel at least something amiss: Deep down he perceived a trace of light. The Flame was not quite Starfire but it was perhaps a hundredth or two on the way there. Still, he could feel no magic from it. So he tried to grab control of it, hoping to gleam more, and gasped, stopping his attempt in sheer surprise. He tried again in disbelief and then one extra time just to be sure but the result was unmistakable:

For perhaps the first time in Irwyn's life, the Flames rejected his control.