"Never mind."

They're back at his room.

He goes in and puts the lamp back on the table and sits on his bed and flips to the next blank page and then sits there, quietly, with his hand on the book and a distant, thoughtful expression on his face.

"Ah, but I wanted to see if you would guess correctly," says Kastimund. "I have had entire cycles where the creator was unable to guess it. I must handle it the best of us all."

"Emotion," he says absently, "if you want my guess."

"Am I so transparent? My ability to act must have deteriorated over the years. I might be going senile..."

He doesn't answer.

There's a face taking shape on the page, very slowly at first, but gradually gathering speed. A calm, serious face, staring up at the ceiling with an unnerving depth of attention. Ageless, austere - but with hints of warmth, at the corners of his eyes and mouth, faint traces of a capacity to smile. The body follows the face, swiftly now, drawing itself down the page in bold strokes - folded hands atop a barely-sketched table, long legs, feet set firmly on the floor.

Everything Riale has added to the book so far has been a true copy, rich in detail, shimmering with rightness. This one is no different. More so, if anything.

A tear lands on the page, just missing the Emperor's shoulder. Riale wipes it away quickly and shuts the book before the next one can fall.

"I would say 'I'm sorry' if I could mean it at all," says Kastim. "I could offer a hug if you want one, I suppose. There's nothing impeding the truth of that."

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"I - do you know - is there a way to tell how accurate it is, just from the picture...?"

"If you make one that isn't perfect, I believe you'll notice the contrast immediately."

"Okay." (Sniffle.) "Good. Thanks."

"Ah, spare me your thanks, I'm inherently incredibly selfish. I demand that everything around me at least attempt to not cry at the sight of my splendor in my presence. I'm just trying to restore order. Please, return to basking. It's much more becoming."

He cracks a smile.

But then giggles dissolve into sobs and he curls up around the book and cries into his pillow.

Kastimund looks at him, impassively, and doesn't feel much of anything. There's only so far decent acting can take you.

"Do you have paper and a pen?" he asks, instead. Because there is something he knows how to handle.

He retains enough presence of mind to point at the small desk across the room, which has a few drawers that might contain such items. If Kastimund rummages, he will find paper and pens and ink in short order.

He rummages.

He finds all such items, and he sits down and starts writing something inscrutable in a long-dead language.

He leaves Riale to mourn.

Riale spends about fifteen minutes crying, quietly and intensely.

Then he sits up again.

"I'm going to get dressed, in case you care about that," he says, putting the book down beside the lamp and getting up to put together an outfit. Optimized for practicality, but he doesn't own any actually ugly clothes, at worst they're a little boring. And after that he can pack for an indefinite trip - well, a year, but a year traipsing around currently-unknown parts of the continent. He should find a map and come up with his best guesses about where all the spirits are going to be, plot a route in advance, figure out what landmarks he can hit along the way... and sink a few minutes into figuring out whether it's better to set out for Dawnbrook now or tour the capital analyzing everything in sight first... after he plots the route, in case the capital will be on the way from one elemental to another...

"Not particularly," says Kastim, not looking up from his writing. "I'm sure the view's impressive, but I really don't care anymore." 'About anything' goes unsaid.

"Before you go on the proper analyzation spree, I recommend aiming at me. It'll help."

So he gets dressed. And -

"Oh?"

"Did you think me merely a pretty face chained to a book? I am Kastimund, spirit of fire. The ultimate being of chaos and soul, the heart of creation, the beginning. The crucible by which things ignite. If you think it wise to create a world without me, well. It will be a very short-lived world indeed."

"I wouldn't dream of trying to leave you out."

"I don't believe you could even if you tried," he muses. "Such is the nature of the chain. I am bound eternal, to help create that which will be destroyed."

"This is a really annoying system," says Riale.

"You have no idea."

"I'm definitely beginning to get the picture. So - on what level am I supposed to analyze you for the book? I don't know you well enough to put your personality in like I did with Kanero... is there some kind of special magic thing where analyzing spirits is different?"

"There is a 'special magic thing' going on, yes. Even superficially analyzing spirits is beneficial."