He... remembers. He's not sure what, but he remembers. This is a room. That's a door. This... is a necklace. He wants to look at the necklace. He wants to take the necklace off to look at it.

It takes him a few seconds for it to occur to him that he can cause this to happen by using his hands, and a few seconds more for him to figure out how exactly to... do that.

There does not seem to be a clasp to the necklace, and it's a bit too tight on him to fit past his jaw.

He might notice that he's not wearing anything else.

He doesn't notice he's not wearing anything else as anything remarkable. He figures out how to work his legs to kneel down and examine the gouges on the floor more closely. It was probably he who made them, he concludes, after comparing the width of his fingers with each of them and with the half-remembered happenings of just before.

He's not sure when "before" was but he's sure he remembers something.

The stone's warm, and not in an uncomfortable way. Almost welcoming, that warmth. Right now, though, just pressing his hand against the stone isn't doing anything. He wonders if he has to do something else to go through stone like that again.

It's not immediately obvious how he can do that again, because it wasn't obvious how he was doing it when he actually did it. He remembers reaching, stretching, but not quite with his fingers.

.... Maybe pushing with the something fizzling silently under his skin?

He eventually does notice the thing, yes. It feels vaguely—wrong, like it wasn't meant to have a location like that, but given that it does... he tries it.

When he pushes, the air where he pushes warms significantly. It doesn't quite create flame, but perhaps it could if he pushed harder.

That's... right, yes. Better than the cold air. He ignores his previous idea of trying to replicate the gouges on the stone and brings his fingers closer to his eyes so he can examine them.

Then he pushes.

His fingers glow with orange-yellow light, and gentle flame licks from his fingertips. The flame feels warm and comforting against his skin, and has a taste that he can detect with his... self. It tastes sweet, like some sort of fruit, with a hint of spice. Warm and honeyed and cozy, with just enough kick to keep things interesting.

Oooooooh.

Can he make it bigger?

He can!

He could fill this whole room with flame, if he liked.

Man that sounds awesome he's gonna do it.

What delicious, delicious fire! For a brilliant and delightful few moments it's the absolute best kind of warm.

... And then it starts to get a little uncomfortable. Too warm, maybe? His skin starts to crack in an alarming and painful fashion. Yeah, that's. That's maybe too warm.

—okay no too warm is bad how about he not this thanks.

He can not this! The warmth doesn't immediately fade once he stops pushing on it, but it does stop getting worse. The walls soak up the heat rather well, for all that the floor melted under his fingers earlier. Soon enough he's at a pleasant warm that does not crack and blister his skin, and he can watch the cracks begin to sew together. With the cracks fades the pain, and he's at a pleasant level of appropriately warm again.

Though it did feel kind of good to have it be that warm. Just for a little while. Before his skin started to crack.

He wonders if he can find a good middle ground where it's the good warm rather than the bad warm.

He tries it.

Well, maybe if he turns up the warm gently he can reach that nice pleasant warm without—

—Ow, ow, no, nope, that's the blisters again, the warm feels so good and yet his skin is agony, why this.

why this!!!! He does not enjoy this at all it is super unpleasant and unfair.

He guesses he can keep it at a suboptimal amount of hot since one of the things he does remember is that dying is bad.

The suboptimal amount of hot sure isn't as nice as the really hot fire, but it's pretty good for letting his skin heal. There it goes, closing up and no longer hurting after a few seconds.

Still better than the cold air, anyway. He's cool with this.

He resumes exploring the floor with his fingers.

It starts giving way like wet clay beneath his fingers in this heat. Not easily, not unless he presses, but he sure can gouge some more claw marks into the floor if he'd like.

Ooooooh.

...okay this is less interesting than setting the room on fire. After a while of making shallow designs on the floor and one trial of burying his fist as deep as it'll go, he goes to a wall to try the same.

When he touches his fiery hand to the stone wall, it doesn't budge. Not even a little. Actually, it feels faintly chilly to his fingertips. Through the sense of warm fizzling, he can taste salt and chalk and iron.

...hmm. He dislikes this.

Hotter?

Nnnnnope. Same chilly temperature, and a stronger taste of salt-chalk-iron. Who would make a wall out of this gross stuff?

Okay this is actually pretty upsetting. Does he have any other things like the tingling that he has conveniently failed to notice until now he can use on this wall?

It doesn't really look like it. Maybe he's missing something? Or he could punch it. That might work.

Okay good idea let's try that.

He gets a good satisfying crunch against the wall with his fist—

—followed by blinding agony in the fist in question.

—ow!!!!!! Ow ow ow ow owwwww what the fuck what happened ow his hand!!!!

.......wait what was that noise. He's... sure it came from........

...........himself? With his unbroken hand he reaches up to touch his throat and notices it's vibrating a little. And there's a sound that's related to that.

(But unrelatedly: ow.)

As the pain fades he notices that the sounds he's generating stop, and he also notices some sort of proprioception-y feeling attached to that. He pokes that internally and opens his mouth, and startles himself by the new sound he makes voluntarily.

His hand's broken bones quietly begin to knit themselves back together while he tracks down the mysterious source of the noise. Soon enough, it becomes perfectly whole, and accordingly stops hurting.

Yeah he has long since stopped caring about the pain, this noise thing is fascinating and he can do all sorts of sounds if he moves his mouth and tongue just so.

This will keep him distracted for the next while.

Eventually the door opens.

"Bah?" he says, turning to look at it.

There is a thin young man on the other side of it, equipped with spectacles and a clipboard. He's dressed in bright, flowy clothing, with about a dozen little strange baubles decorating his frame. He clears his throat nervously, paying more attention to the threshold than to who's contained inside.

"This, uh, this works, right, I'm not about to be burned alive for opening the door....?" he says to no one in particular, poking the air at the threshold with his pen. The pen encounters a silvery barrier of light and goes no further. "Right. Okay. Good, good. Uh."

His safety therefore assured, he starts inspecting the room and writing notes on his clipboard.

Oh. Oh he recognises those sounds!!! They were words they meant things!!!!!!!

He... he can do that. He's sure of it. "Hhhhh?" he tries. "Aaaahhh eeeeee—" no that's wrong, umm...

The man jumps, flustered.

"Oh! Oh my goodness! Uh, uh, subject is showing vocalization capabilities early after ritual, uh, hi, do you understand speech, you probably do but I kind of gotta check for, uh, scientific posterity."

...he nods! Yes that is a thing that means a thing! He nods many times. But okay he was trying to "Hhhhhaaaaahhhh eeeeee rrrrrr hhhhhhiiiii hhhi hi?"

"Oh, good job! I think that last one was even a word!" He scribbles this down on his clipboard, then looks back up. "Okay, uh.... darn it I don't have a script for this, uh, uh. Are you okay in there? Do you want some, uh, water or something? Do you remember your name?"

Wait that was a lot of words give him a bit to process. Uh. He raises a hand? That's how you say "wait", right?

"Iiiiiii ohhhhhhh.... kay?" He frowns and starts furiously making noises with his tongue and throat and teeth and clacking and trying to produce other sounds, his hand still raised in the "wait" sign.

"Or maybe I could get you like a chair or something, we'd have to fireproof it but it's so inhumane to have you just sitting on the floor and—oh, oh, sorry, waiting, yes." The bespectacled man obligingly shuts up and waits.

He takes a few more minutes, but as he progresses he starts noticeably producing actual recognisable words, even if his vowel length and consonant strength aren't yet quite there. He clearly remembers language, though, he's going somewhere with this.

Then he stops, nods (mostly to himself), and lowers his hand. "Oh-kay. I aam oh-kay. Donnn't reemember name? Flooooor is nice. Warm."

"Oh, okay, good. I'm glad you like the floor, the other subjects seemed to find it very upsetting when the whole room was warded instead of just the walls and ceiling, so it's really good to know that the change is making you more comfortable! And, yes, it is very warm in there, uh. Are you doing that on purpose or is that just... a thing that happened...?"

He nods again. "Onn pur-pose. Warm is goood. Toooo warm is bad... thoough. Starteed hur-ting."

"Oh good you feel pain! I mean, uh, not good, I guess, but uh, yes! Too warm is bad, I'm glad you can tell that it's bad and will kill you. Uh, you look fine, so it looks like you healed up nicely from it, does it still hurt...?"

Headshake and smile. "No-thing hurts now. I am fine."

"Good, okay! And you don't want to make it too warm again, right, just this nice stable level of warm that will definitely not kill you?"

He nods. "Dying is also bad. Worse than pain. Means I'm gone."

"Yes! Yes that is definitely what it means, good job, glad you understand that." He scribbles intensely on his clipboard. "So is there anything you, um, want? Or need? It's okay if you can't think of anything, I can come up with some kind of list of things you might want. Like clothes! Do you want, um, clothes?"

The young man looks like he would very much like for him to want clothes.

"...do you want me to have clothes?" he asks instead, picking up on the man's discomfort.

"Kind of yeah!" he agrees. "Look this is just a very upsetting personal dynamic, with you naked in a magic cage and me on the outside with a clipboard!"

"Is naked... bad?"

"Nnnnnnno not precisely bad, everybody's naked at some point in their lives, multiple times even, but it's, um. It implies vulnerability? Like there is nothing covering any of your anything and everyone sees you exactly as you are instead of how you might want to present yourself? And that can be kind of uncomfortable and exposing and there might be bits of you that you don't want to show people! Which is fine, you don't have to, except sorta now because we had no clothes that could possibly survive the fire you'd make so we just didn't bother, I'm really sorry about that."

He looks down at himself then back at the man and shrugs. "I don't feeel vul-nerable."

"Okay! Well if you don't want clothes right now then you don't want clothes right now, I would really rather get you things that actually make you more comfortable than like, hand you things that make me comfortable? Uh, uh, do you want. Interesting things to burn, maybe? Or food?"

"I... do not think I need food. Or water. Interesting things to burn would be interesting. And clothes, I do not care, I can wear them to make you comfortable."

"Okay! Interesting things to burn, and also some clothes. Which, uh, might also end up bursting into flames, I'm not sure exactly how warm it is in there but if it's a certain level of warm then, uh, basically everything but the floor, the walls, and you is going to suffer from the experience."

"Oh. How do I find out?"

"Thaaaat is a good question, um, I know there is an answer because it's the sort of thing we'd want an answer to.... oh! Oh I'm an idiot! I have a charm for this, hold on." He fumbles through his pockets, then comes out with a copper bauble with a clear crystal in it. He then flicks it a couple of times, then holds it up to point it at the inside of the room.

The bauble's crystal glows purple.

"Oh. Oh my," he says, paling a little. "Oh, oh clothes are not going to survive in there, nope, wow. Um. And you're definitely comfortable in there, no, uh, exploding? Please don't explode."

"No exploding," he agrees easily. "This is comfortable. Not the best but the best makes me explode, so."

"Okay. So clothes are probably a no go for right now, but I can probably get you some things to burn? Or I could go get a book and read to you if you get bored, it's just that you kind of need to stay in the room for right now. There's no reason it should be uncomfortable, though! Except, you know, the reasons preventing me from letting you out of the room, but that's so you don't accidentally melt the building and cause it to collapse on us all!"

"The building isn't made of the iron-chalk-salt thing?" he asks, walking over to andand knock on a wall.

"No. I mean, there are wards? A lot of the building would survive? But the wards for the entire building don't uh, quite cover 'hot' as thoroughly as the ones for this room. They cover things like lightning, or cold, or deadly mold or whatever, depending on what might likely threaten the things. So in some places it might be fine, and in other places it might not be fine, and we wouldn't know unless we went over every square inch of the building with every possible protective ward, and that's just not at all practical to do, especially since not all wards will layer over one another. So instead you're in this spot that will definitely be fine."

He nods. "Okay. How long until you are sure I am not going to explode?"

"Twenty four hours before you can leave the room! And wow we did not prepare enough to keep you not bored, I am so sorry, usually subjects are not very coherent so early in the settling process and so there's not all that much we can do to help them, so, uh. Whoops, sorry, you're unprecedented??"

"...subjects?"

"Um! Okay so you don't remember right now, you should once you've had some time, but you consented to a ssssomewhat experimental ritual for magical power. This is why you are so, uh. Fire friendly. You're not the only one that's consented to this thing, but you're doing great. Really!"

"Oh. And the others... explode? And I knew I could explode?"

"They sometimes explode! Not always! And yes you knew you could explode, there was this whole long waiver thing and everything."

"Oh. Well. Glad I didn't explode, then!"

"Yeah, me too! Good job! It's very exciting! Keep up the good work! ... Unless I guess you... need to explode? Do you know if you can make it less hot in there and that you'll be okay? Actually wait never mind don't test that right now, it might screw something up, just, uh, hang out there please and try to stay comfortable and entertained."

"I can make it colder," he says. "It just feels... wrong... but not bad or painful."

"Oh. Okay. Well, whatever you're doing is working just fine, so uh. Keep... doing what you're doing? I guess? Since you haven't exploded?"

"...I can just choose not to go hotter."

"Huh. Usually there's not this much control in effects this early, but okay. Actually is the room at a steady temperature, I should check..." He holds up the charm again and squints at the glowing crystal. It flickers subtly between shades of purple.

"... Pretty steady, though there's a regular pattern to it, sort of like..." he taps his pen to his clipboard in a steady rhythm, frowning. "... oh. A heartbeat. Oh good! That's very promising!"

"Do other people's hearts not beat?"

"No, they do, the promising thing is that the fire you make is in tune with your heartbeat, instead of fluttering randomly or at a pattern that didn't match your body. That it is doing that means everything's integrating together well! We might be able to get you out of there early."

"Oh. Oh great!" he says, turning a blindingly brilliant smile to bespectacled guy.

"Yeah! Uh, if there's nothing else right now I should probably go tell someone actually important about this, and also like. Grab books to read to you and things to burn and whatever else you might want to have? Oh, oh, I could find a game and set it up over here and move your pieces for you, that could work! My job's basically just 'please write down what happens and try to help keep this person from exploding, and call someone better at magic if something's going weird,' so it's not like you're distracting me from important tasks."

"Okay! No problem."

"Okay! Be back in a bit, then. Uh, please keep on not exploding!"

He gives a little wave, then carefully closes the door, leaving him alone in his circular room again.

Well. That was a very productive few minutes. He learned how to speak and all.

Now he's gonna try lowering the temperature again and pay more attention to what that feels like.

It's not painful? But it's certainly not as comfortable. The warmth definitely feels better.

Mrrr but the guy said he could leave earlier...

He doesn't care about being super comfortable anyway. He'll keep it low. Ish.

It's not quite as cozy in here, and the air seems too still now that it's not wavering as much from heat, but otherwise, this seems to go all right.

Yeahhhhh okay he can deal, the guy implied it's not that warm outside anyway so.

He's gonna see if he can figure out any more magic while waiting.

Well, if he likes, he can work on finesse with his heat push. Instead of pushing heat near his body, he can stretch out with the warm tingling feeling and then push, and make there be heat at a distance away from him.

Okay he can practise that!

He can make gorgeous fire shapes in mid air! After a bit of practice he can make them show in in more complicated shapes than just a general blob of fire. He might even notice that he can get subtly different colors with a bit of trial and error, depending on what the temperature the air was before he pushed, how hard he pushes, and how concentrated he tends to push. Pushing gently in a wide area or with a low difference in fire to air temperature produces red flame, whereas more drastic or concentrated changes produce orange or yellow with hints of white. The yellow-white flame tastes strangely cleaner and more concentrated, while the red or orange flame tastes more hearty and nuanced.

Fire is the coolest thing he's gonna have so much fun with it!!!!!

It's definitely very pretty and fun to play with!

Eventually the bespectacled man returns with his clipboard carefully balanced on a stack of wooden boxes. He awkwardly balances his stack of boxes before caaaaarefully opening the door with his foot.

"Hey! I have acquired things to relieve boredom! Oooo hey that's really impressive finesse!"

"Thanks!" He makes a humanoid figure out of fire and gets it to walk around invisible ground.

"Wow," he says, blinking. "Well if nothing else you could probably go like, perform fire tricks in a big city and make some kind of living. ... You're probably literally never going to need to do that, because uh, yeah you should be set for life if you don't explode regardless, but you know. Options!"

"Set for life? Why?"

"You were paid kind of a lot for participating in this highly risky experimental thing! Enough that you could probably go comfortably retire in the country somewhere at, uh, whatever age you're at. And if it works out you will have unique and kinda unprecedented control of pyromancy that some people might actually kill for! So, like, people throwing money at you to please do fancy fire things for them."

"Oh. That sounds nice." Beat. "I don't know how old I am. Or my name."

"You should remember them pretty soon? Ish? I'm sorry, that sounds unpleasant. Unfortunately I think I'm not supposed to tell you either so as not to, um, contaminate the scientific results, because ideally we want to get this down to a perfect science and know all the ins and outs of how to redo this exact thing except maybe better next time, somehow, for someone else. Which means knowing when you remember which things. Uh. But I can tell you mine! Hi, I'm Quael, nice to meet you?"

"Nice to meet you, too! Oh and I got the room to a lower temperature so I don't set anything on fire." Pause. "That I don't want to."

"Oh! Good job and congratulations! It's okay if you make it hotter in there if you'd be more comfortable though, please don't push yourself too hard, you've been through kind of a lot." He sets down his boxes and clipboard on the floor, the fumbles to get out the charm that tells the temperature. The crystal glows yellow, this time.

"That's a really big shift," he explains, looking thoughtful. "Which I think is probably a good thing if it's not hurting you?"

"It doesn't hurt, and is not difficult, it's just not very comfortable. Like..." He pauses, thinks, remembers. "Like the difference between a bed and a sleeping bag in a tent?"

"Huh. Okay." He writes this down on his clipboard. "Well. Want to burn some things?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay! I got a variety of things, and since it's not as hot in there I can just give you the box and explain the contents as you look at them!" He retrieves one of the boxes out of the pile, and carefully places it next to the invisible barrier that covers the door. Then he steps back, frowns at something on the doorframe, then draws some kind of symbol on it with his finger.

"All right, barrier by the door's back here-ish now," he says, patting a bit of air that encounters a silvery barrier of light a little further back than it had earlier been. "So you can just grab the box and pull it further into the room and then I can put the barrier back where it was and explain things!"

Box: grab.

It's reasonably weighty but not impossible to carry, made out of stone, and has a top that can be removed!

Quael puts the barrier back after the box has been grabbed, then sits down next to the barrier.

"Okay so, I got a variety of things to burn, because you've just been burning air and magic, and I'm not a pyromancer but I hear that air isn't actually a fuel source, so like. Your magic is doing about ninety percent of the work? Maybe ninety-five-ish? Which is great and all but maybe not just what you want to do? So. There's wood and alcohol and charcoal and a bit of some chemicals that'll burn different colors, in little pouches in there, because that seemed like it'd be fun."

...oooooooh. He's gonna play with all of those. He is also going to pay attention to what exactly is going on at each of those to see if he can replicate their effects sans fuel, especially the colours.

At first the flame from wood tastes wet, earthly and a strange sort of rich and hearty, mixed with his more familiar spiced fruit flavor. It's easier to ignite than air, and continues burning after he stops pushing, which the air certainly didn't do. After he removes his direct magical pressure and tastes the flame with magic, the fire transitions subtly from wet and earthy to something else. Soon it tastes more like smoke and wood, with barely a hint of his spiced fruit thing. It's not a bad taste, but also not as delicious as his own pure flame.

The alcohol burns stronger than the wood, and the ensuing flame tastes strangely bitter and acrid. It tingles his senses and has a pleasant sort of burn to it, mixing well with his magic's flavor to make something that reminds him faintly of a strong and exotic wine. The alcohol burns even after he lets up direct pressure, but not for very long; the fuel is swallowed up rather quickly, leaving only a faintly stinging aftertaste.

Charcoal tastes like wood, but cleaner, and less wet. It burns hotter, gives off less smoke, and yet tastes more like a very savory kind of smoke and wood. It burns slow, and like the others it continues burning after he stops pushing it. Instead of his magic's flavor disappearing, it deepens and subtly changes and becomes richer, hanging in and around the charcoal as it slowly burns.

One of the pouches of chemicals tastes a little bit like copper, and also very much not. It's strangely dry, metallic, and a little bit unnatural, and the fire it produces burns green.

The next tastes spicy and strong, and ignites easily and brightly in a brilliant crimson.

Another tastes like sea salt and bitter chemicals, with a coppery metallic flavor that is almost like the first flavor of chemicals, but distinctly not. It burns blue.

The last is subtle and quiet, easily overpowered by the taste of his magic. It's closest to tasting like salt, but greatly diluted, and mixed with an interesting and exotic unearthly taste. It burns faintly violet, but quietly.

Seriously who needs food this is so much better. He watches and tastes and feels in a daze, Quael completely forgotten as he dissects and analyses the fire, figuring out which part does what, how he can mimic various effects. The different fire intensities are also interesting, and make him also try to figure out if he can alter stuff like how hot the fire is and how much light it emits. Invisible fire and cold light would both be super awesome things to have.

This all feels like it should be within his reach. It's just a matter of figuring out how.

Hotter fire is practically trivial. Once he's seen the trick of efficiency that the alcohol burns with, it's just a matter of pushing his magic with purpose in the same sort of way. Efficient, to the point, almost utilitarian. He made it this hot when he was trying before, but he's doing it with less work and more leverage.

Invisible fire is the next easiest, a matter of picking out the taste of the color and quieting it, smothering the right sorts of flavors with efficiency of burning. It tastes like pure spring water, or perhaps like burning alcohol, or a mix of the two. Heat, and nothing else, only the faint waver of the air to give itself away.

Once he figures out fire without any light or color, adding colors becomes more obvious. He's a chef with a spice cabinet and the ability to replicate fire flavors, or perhaps a conductor for a flavor orchestra. From the pure and invisible flame, he can tease brightness out of the shy and otherworldly violet, or quiet the loud and spicy red to something a bit more subtle. From there, he can work out nuance between the colors he has, and catch the (sweet bread) flavor of the white hot flame on the edge of his own flame, and replicate them all in a gorgeous fiery rainbow.

Cold light is the trickiest of them all. Heat, heat is simple, but light without heat is trickier. It likes to tag along with heat instead of taking center stage on its own, to cower and quiet and shift to heat when put on the spot. With a bit of patience and stubbornness and finesse, he can gently, gently, tease light without heat out into the spotlight, flickering nervously and shyly. It tastes... sweet. Innocent. For some reason, it reminds him a little like a kiss.

Meanwhile, Quael reads a book.

A kiss. That's something he hadn't remembered existed before. It's half-remembered, more than anything. He feels he'd need to practise it, there's something in him that hasn't ever done it, but there's something that has. He puts his fire out and raises his gaze up to Quael again, now seeing him under a new light.

...huh.

Quael has no idea that he's being stared at, because he's happily reading his book. He is an adorable and well meaning nerd.

Yeah. Yeah he is. The memory of the kiss awakens in him the memory of things related to kisses. He remembers that gender is a thing, for one, and that some people are different undressed than he is, anatomically speaking. Quael is probably the same as him, though.

He has no objections to that fact.

His lack of objections starts becoming apparent.

Quael glances up from his book to check to make sure that his charge has definitely still not exploded, and promptly chokes.

"Oh, I am so sorry I didn't realize that, um, things to burn might, um, don't worry it happens to all of us it's perfectly normal and this is part of why clothes are such a thing, because bodies are weird and don't pay attention to, uh, not, uh, that, I'm, uh, really sorry and can-give-you-alone-time-ifyou'dlikeit?"

"—no, this wasn't the fire."

He definitely has a look. His look is directed at Quael.

Squeak.

For a few seconds Quael has no idea how to reply.

"..... I'm flattered but I really feel like you should remember more life experience and, uh, people, before, um, and also the power dynamic here is kinda," he wobbles his hand awkwardly, "since you're without clothes and trapped in a fireproof room and I'm not and I'm also currently your only, like, tie to the outside world at all and you should really have, uh, support options and recalled life experience before things and I'm pretty sure that even if I didn't lose my job over sleeping with a person I was supposed to take care of, I maybe should, and if I feel like I should then I will because guilt's the most awful emotion of them all and, and, um."

He tilts his head. "I don't remember much but I do remember sex is very enjoyable. Why would you lose your job over it? What's the power dynamic got to do with anything?"

"Aaaaaaaaa I am far too flustered to explain this I'm going to flee and write you an essay on sexual ethics and power dynamics and slide it over to you through the barrier and then maybe hyperventilate for a bit because you are way too pretty to be hitting on me okaybye!"

And then he flees.

He blinks.

Alright.

.......he still has some anatomical changes here, though. Maybe if he—oh, oh yeah okay, that's nice, he can do that for a while, that definitely feels good.

..............and then maybe he can burn the evidence so as not to leave a mess? He feels like people would not like it if there were body fluids randomly around the room.

Yep, the evidence can be so thoroughly burned. No one will know.

He doesn't much care if people know. Sexual taboos: still not remembered.

He resumes playing with fire.

Fire is so fun to play with! He can make multicolored pictures out of it!

It's not unlikely that by the time someone comes to check on him again he'll have a forest made of fire around himself, concentrating hard to keep the colours and shapes mostly right to picture a remembered meadow from Before.

"Oh, wow," breathes Quael, when he finally (shyly) returns, essay and bundle of clothes in hand. "Also, um, hi, sorry for running off I couldn't deal. Um. I brought clothes. And the essay. And finished hyperventilating. Sorry if I left you alone for too long, I hope you weren't, um, bored?"

The forest disappears when he loses concentration and blinks at Quael again. His (ahem) twitches a little bit at the sight of the cute nerd and the memory he invokes, but that's all that happens. "It was fine, don't worry about it. I am sorry I made you uncomfortable."

"It's fine, I'm sorry if I made you, um, feel awkward about yourself? You're kinda in a vulnerable position right now and I don't want that to um, bite you in a bad way, I want you to be okay." Pause. "Also do you want the clothes and essay, because I couldn't find anything else nicely flammable, I could find lots of flammable things but nothing that was, like, really obviously different than what I already got? Probably because I was flustered and not looking properly, but, um, sorry."

"It's fine, unless there is some other dimension to fire I can alter than position, heat, efficiency, light intensity, and colour I can probably deal. The essay and the clothing would be useful, yeah."

"Okay, one moment." He awkwardly shuffles over to get the aforementioned items inside the barrier. Meanwhile, he also babbles. "Uh, I can probably get you food and water and, like, a pallet to sleep on too? I don't know if you need to do any of those things, but you might turn out to need to or might not be able to tell that you do. Like, uh, do you feel dizzy or lightheaded or anything?"

"I don't. I have not felt hungry or thirsty yet..." He frowns. "Huh. But I just realised I am somewhat tired. Not in a physical way. It's not something I remember from before."

"Hm. Tired in a magical sort of way? Like doing more magic sounds exhausting, but jogging for a bit sounds totally doable?"

"...yeah. It doesn't sound exhausting. Just sounds a little bit..." He shrugs helplessly. "This is fair, though, I have been doing magic for the past several hours."

"Yep! And that is also a good thing! If you didn't start to feel tired then that would mean that the fire magic wouldn't be, um, attached to you? You'd still be tiring it out, you just wouldn't know, and then it'd cut out randomly and maybe just disappear entirely, for, uh, ever. Which would be bad. It being tired through you implies that it can be recovered through you, too."

He nods along the explanation while he goes for the clothes and starts putting them on. He puts his shirt on first, for some reason, then the trousers, then he realises the underwear goes under so off come the trousers and then underwear and then trousers.

Quael does not comment on this because he is very carefully not looking at him! Because aaaa, pretty person.

"It's actually bad for sorcerers to keep pushing themselves past their limits. It sounds like you're not there yet if you're not at the exhausted level, but if your, er, aura is going, 'No, I want to rest and do nothing else,' you should probably listen to it? There are cautionary stories about sorcerers doing magic they can't handle and breaking their own ability to use magic. Sometimes it can heal, but, um, it's like breaking a bone, it depends on how broken it is and how it's set after..." He pauses. "Well. How a broken bone works for other people, I think your thing would just heal that without much problem? But for ordinary humans, it can heal wrong and leave them with a limp for the rest of their lives, or something."

He nods and then reaches for the essay on sexual ethics. There better be a good reason he can't proposition the cute nerd.

Sexual ethics! The essay is a bit rambly and has trouble getting to the point, but it's clearly sincerely written.

The general idea is that people in positions of power can take advantage of their charges, even without meaning to. Sex is a complicated and messy subject and involves a lot of mutual responsibility and trust and self-understanding. While he might feel like he has enough of all three, Quael himself is not so self assured in this somewhat tenuous and debatable position, and this is really the sort of thing that he'd not get wrong. He would much rather it just be unambiguously not immoral or incorrect in any way, thank you.

Huh. Weird. But okay.

"So uh," asks Quael, when it looks like he's finished reading his essay, "do you remember your name yet?"

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. "I remember two of them," he says slowly.

Slooooow blink from Quael.

"Uh. Oookay. That. Sounds confusing? And concerning? I am concerned."

He nods, slowly again. "One of them is Zheras," he says. "The other is..." He tilts his head and extends his palm then furrows his eyebrows. Making fire isn't completely trivial and instinctual to him, but this flame is: a light blue with flecks of violet appearing in it every now and then. The flame flutters as if blown by a soft breeze, despite the absence of one, and its light intensifies and softens like it's breathing.

"... Pretty. Uh, both of them. Um. I feel like I now desperately need to go look up the specifics of your ritual, because um. I dooooon't think this is in my manual?"

He nods again, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Especially because um. Fire sprites don't. Have names? That they themselves know, I mean, I guess someone could name one but I don't think they're smart enough to recognize their own names. Or much else besides 'cold bad' and 'warm good' and 'I desperately want to burn everything down.'" He frowns. "Thiiiiiis also explains why you are, um, way better at fire than you should be?"

He tilts his head once more and says, "Djinn, not sprite."

"oh."

"So I am—was—two people."

"Yeah! Yeah you were! I am alarmed! I am very alarmed! Um! Um! Are you, both, okay in there?? Is it just you? Are you like a fusion combo here? Did, did the djinn consent, I did not have a consent form for the djinn, um, um. I have no idea what is going on this was not part of my job briefing. I'm just supposed to, like, try to talk people that shoved magic sprites into themselves into not exploding themselves and trying to keep them comfortable and cleaning up the messes if it doesn't work out and! I was not prepared! For the needs! Of two people!"

"I think this makes some sense of what I am experiencing. I do not... expect... I am currently two people. A fusion, then, probably. I cannot tell whether my djinn self consented. Not yet, anyway."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" wails Quael, before he abruptly clamps his hand over his mouth to shut himself up. Then, for good measure, he bites his index finger and whines.

"Ohhhhh boy someone was trying to be sneaky and thought that because I was getting paid like, barely enough to scrape by with if I budget carefully and don't eat sometimes, for a real shitty and emotionally draining job that I would, not, pay, attention! Because usually! People are not at all coherent at this point because they're dealing with a fusion between a person and a wanton pyromaniac impulse and, and, obviously the person usually wins but if both sides were people then they would meld a lot faster and! And! Oh that's why I was scheduled to check on you so soon because I wasn't supposed to see anything interesting and then find a smear on the ground in, like, a couple hours af...ter..." He blinks. "And then you'd just disappear and no one would know."

"What's the point of doing this experiment if the subject ends up dead anyway?" he asks, much more calmly than Quael is.

"No I mean. I'd find a smear, and you'd be, like, squirreled away elsewhere for nefarious purposes or something, so I'd think you were dead, and society would think you were dead, but actually you would be alive! I feel like I'm freaking out and coming up with crazy conspiracy theories but aaaaaaa you're part djinn that's not normal!!!"

"Oh. That makes some sense. Uh, I do not think you need to freak out, for what that's worth? I'm fine."

"Yeah you are now but only because I noticed you were coherent earlier than usual and cared enough to, like, help you? And oh no I told my boss you were acting weird. Oh no."

"Was I? Acting weird?"

"For what I thought was a fire sprite ritual! Yes! Yes you were! I don't know if you're acting weird for a djinn ritual because those are probably super immoral and I don't know how you're even alive!"

"Well, if they got the human part's consent maybe they got the djinn's, too."

"Okay, maybe, but why wouldn't they, uh, have someone more qualified for watching you than an academy dropout working at a shitty job? Literally anyone more qualified. For an extremely dangerous, near suicidal ritual that the consent form probably didn't bring up! .... Yeah no I found your consent form because I wanted to show you to help ground and reassure you once you remembered your name and it wouldn't screw up policy or whatever!! It's over in that box over there!!"

He flings himself at one of the long abandoned boxes and rifles through it for the consent form.

"See! Here! Signed! Zheras! No! Mention! Of a djinn!! Anywhere here! Nowhere at all!"

He displays the sheet of paper through the barrier. There is indeed no mention of a djinn in this consent form that is signed with the name 'Zheras.'

"...huh," he says after reading it.

"... So I guess since your consent form is null and void, on account of having been drafted and signed under false pretenses," says Quael, slowly, "then the only morally upstanding thing to do for you is to let you out."

He frowns again. "Let me out?"

"You've got control of your fire, right? And no urge to burn down everything around you?"

"Right..."

"Sooo.... this room is not actually helping you settle in any way. It's just a safety feature so you don't burn down everything within reach. If you are not a danger to your surroundings, then you do not need to be here. All it's doing is just keeping you in one spot that is recorded in the logbook and readily available to whoever has the pull to make your ritual with a djinn instead of a fire sprite."

"Logbook?"

"There's, um, a record? Of who you are, where you are, and what sort of thing you volunteered to have metaphysically shoved into you. Because that's just responsible?"

He nods. "I suppose it is."

"Right. So. If there is in fact a crazy conspiracy going on and I have not snapped and gone crazy conspiracy theorist, then your location is known. And I would like it to please be unknown, because whoever shoved you and a djinn together should maybe not know where you are, because I uh. Can't imagine someone would do that and then just leave you be? Since you can in fact successfully not set everything around you on fire, I'm just going to let you out before I talk myself out of it, okay let's see how this goes this is the most terrifying thing I've ever done!"

After a few seconds of fumbling with drawing things on the doorframe, he brings a charm up to it to verify that yes, this barrier needs to come down. This completed, he waves a hand through the empty air of the threshold. No barrier stops him.

"Okay, done, please don't set me on fire by accident that would really suck!"

"I will do my best," he says dubiously, and walks over to the threshold then through.

The air is a bit uncomfortably cold, but it feels fresher. Less weighty and stale. Magically, there's more subtle flavors drifting on the air. Bark and some kind of fruit and and a hint of garlic float down the corridor. Quael smells a little bit like parchment and ink and rosemary. The taste of salt and chalk drifts on the air from the room behind him. In comparison, the room was quite dull and boring.

"Also how about I show you the exit and then pretend I never saw you and quit my job, like, yesterday. How about that."

Ooh so life is less bad than he'd expected yay!

"Okay, that sounds good." Pause. "If you quit your job, does that mean you're allowed to have sex with me?"

"Um. Um? Um," he splutters. "No that's not how that works it's not a stamp of sex approval from the board of sexual ethics overseeing my sexual conduct before sex may ensue, it's a my comfort level thing, and also um, now is really not the time because, you, um." He pauses. "That is not the standard amulet for this ritual, what is going on."

"Huh?"

"Your necklace thing. It's all, uh. Ultra expensive? Like could buy an estate in an upper class neighborhood expensive. Maybe I should rethink quitting my job and just skip to fleeing the country."

"Oh. It makes sense though right? Since I am half djinn rather than fire sprite."

"Yeah but there is no way it's just helping you not explode it's got too much stuff on it! I am not at all qualified to say what it does instead but, but, that looks like the sort of thing a really good sorcerer would wear if they, like, personally were besties with the emperor and the best pyromancer in the empire and why are we still standing here I feel very much like we should book it literally right now!!"

"Lead the way."

"Yep! Yep yep yep most terrifying thing I've ever done!"

He turns and starts walking very quickly down that hallway over there.

He follows Quael at a steady and quick but leisurely pace.

In contrast, Quael scurries down the hallways at a pace that is only vaguely trying to resemble walking.

"Right so, uh, we probably won't see anyone because people don't really come here if they can help it, the hallways are claustrophobic and people going through a dangerous-ish transformation thing are really not great company, but if we run into a janitor or something, uh. Hide your necklace and pretend you're the new guy that I'm showing around??"

He obligingly adjusts his necklace inside his shirt.

"Good, thank you, keep up the good work, and maybe pick a name to tell people you have, and like, make up some kind of reasonable backstory of magic related academic and economic failure that justifies ever wanting to work here just in case anyone asks. Aaaaand this way, we're going this way..." He ducks down into a somehow even more claustrophobic and sketchy looking hallway. "Nobody uses this thing because it's like, definitely the sort of place that people would theoretically get murdered in, even though it would make zero sense for a rampant murderer to make it past the billions of wards. Though I guess someone could snap and have one of those moments where they want to kill everyone and then go and try to do it in a blaze of I'm not going to keep talking about that right now because this is quite enough terror thank you! Anyway point is my crippling social anxiety persuaded me to find non-people side entrances that my entry charm worked at and this is coming in handy now so yay for that!"

Help, he's adorable. "I trust you," he says simply.

"That makes one of us, man, I have about a third of a degree I'm not even good at and truly terrifying amounts of debt! I don't trust me and for good reason!"

He stifles a giggle and just shrugs. "I think I will just use my human name when talking to humans," he says, changing the subject.

"Right, okay, good plan most people wouldn't have the logbook memorized probably because most people don't even work in this section," he agrees in a rush. "Okay door here exits to the side entrance and from there—"

He reaches the door, holds up one of his many charms to the door's frame, and...

... Nothing happens.

"Um? Um."

He wiggles the charm a bit more forcefully.

Nothing happens. Again.

Zheras blinks.

"Pleaaaaase open?" Unsuccessful charm wiggle. "Do I have the wrong charm...?"

He looks through the charms on his person. "Nnnnno this should be it, I remember because it's the one with the annoying catch that snags my clothes and it, nevermind, not important, why isn't it working?"

Wiggle, wiggle. Nope, still not working.

Well, Zheras is pretty sure he can do magic other than pyromancy (don't ask him how he's sure) so uh... Can he try something? Is something tryable?

It's not.... immediately obvious what he would do. Pushing fire at it would be perfectly doable, but there's a taste of salt-chalk-iron spinkled among the dizzying number of other strange flavors in the door and wall around it.

"Uhhhhhh would it be better to stay here in the murder hallway or try to break out through the wards and become, uh, probably fugitives of the empire? I don't super want to become a fugitive of the empire, maybe just. We go try another door...? Or maybe I got the charm wrong, I don't think I got the charm wrong but I should just check because I'm panicking and I can't trust my head when everything is terrifying so I'm just gonna..."

He begins systematically wiggling each charm on his person in front of the doorframe. Nothing happens.

What other flavours, though?

Bitter blackthorn berries and the subtle taste of bay leaves, dry ash mixed with something that tickles strangely, several different types of rock that all taste a little bit different, sharp quartz and clear silver and deep obsidian, and other more subtle flavors mixed in a slightly sickening magical mush. It's definitely not particularly palatable. Or friendly.

Quael, meanwhile, runs out of charms to try. The door remains unopened.

"Well. Well. Um. Um. New door?"

Yeaugh, these are not good flavours. And this feels like biting down on tinfoil, eek.

"Lead the way," he says, looking slightly disgusted.

"Yeah. Um. Front door would be bad, I guess we can go out the... other side door on the other side of everything? But then that would cross us through the everything and, um, hm. I don't know how to avoid people while crossing through the everything..."

Someone in the hallway clears his throat. Behind them is a man of perhaps fifty with silver hair and subtle wrinkles. He doesn't outwardly look particularly noteworthy, though his hair and clothing is exceptionally neat. Magically, however.... his strong and powerful magical aura smells of elderberries and cinnamon and cloves, and is the second most obvious thing about him.

The first is a burning ruby, ornately set on a gold band on his finger. It feels... different than the other magical trinkets on his person. The ruby feels alive, warmly thrumming at the steady pace of a heartbeat. Zheras's. It smells like sun-kissed peaches and spice, and doesn't feel like it particularly belongs with its wearer.

"I believe that won't be necessary."

Quael jumps and then promptly begins stammering something about the new guy being very lost. It goes rather too quickly to pick out any particular details, except that perhaps Quael is not a particularly gifted liar.

"Hello," Zheras greets him.

"Hello," he replies, inclining his head politely.

He eyes the still babbling Quael, and sighs.

"Do please stop trying to lie to me."

... Quael promptly shuts his mouth with a little squeak.

"Thank you. I apologize for putting you in this position, I realize it was probably very confusing and alarming. If you both will please follow me to my office where we can discuss this over tea? I expect you have quite a lot of questions."

Zheras looks at Quael then back at the man. "That does not seem like a very good idea."

"We can discuss things somewhere else, if you'd like, but unfortunately it will mean that I can't guarantee the presence of tea and comfortable chairs. Which seems rather a terrible loss for complicated explanations such as these."

"The part that does not seem like a very good idea is the part where we follow you calmly to wherever you might be leading us," Zheras explains—not as if the guy's five, but as if this can be a pretty reasonable thing for someone to miss and he's pointing it out for their benefit.

"Reasonable enough precautions," shrugs the sorcerer. He promptly sits on the ground and looks at the two of them expectantly. "Would you like to begin with questions, or I an explanation?"

"Why is he part djinn!!!"

"Because I managed to talk a very bored djinn into a risky experimental ritual for the novelty of the experience. The ring is a remote monitoring device tied to his," he points a thumb at Zheras, "necklace. For monitoring how he settles after the aforementioned risky experimental ritual, and also for tracking in case someone were to, oh. Attempt to escape with him out the side door at the drop of a hat." He raises his eyebrows. "Other questions?"

"He found the contract my human self signed, and it did not mention a djinn," Zheras points out, taking a seat, too.

"Yes, because your existence is a state secret. Your human half was informed of the full situation beforehand, but the paper signed did not disclose the full details of it, because we would rather not have it getting out to the general riff-raff of the populace."

Quael succumbs to peer pressure and grumpily also sits.

"Why didn't the djinn have a consent form, though!"

"Djinn," explains the man as if he's talking to a five year old, "do not know how to read. Or write. Or sign consent forms."

"Huh. Do we—they—not?"

"No. They traditionally communicate to one another through flavors and shapes of fire, with variants in dialect, and sometimes they will go through the trouble of learning human vocabulary if they have the time and patience. Most do not, however, seeing humans as not really worth all the trouble of learning such a distasteful language."

"How did you communicate with my djinn self, then?"

"A great deal of patience and creative use of chemistry. I was a curiosity, we worked out a rudimentary system of communication, the rest came after."

"Sounds difficult to ensure I had understood everything that had happened."

"I am an exceptionally patient man. But you're the one who is one half of the being I spoke to, do you feel particularly put out at your situation?"

"...well, no, not as such. Clothes are weird, I guess, and it is not as warm as I would prefer."

"I apologize for both inconveniences. If you'd like, I don't particularly mind if you remove your clothes, though heating up the room is rather a bit complicated by having two humans in it, I'm afraid."

Quael splutters.

"Quael would prefer I stay clothed, and it is not that much of an inconvenience," he says, shrugging.

"As you like, then. Any further questions I can help clear up?"

He looks at Quael.

"Am I, uh. Super fired."

"For releasing a dangerous magical amnesiac out of the warded and safe container, and then attempting to smuggle him outside of the building? Yes, I'm afraid so. That's rather the sort of thing that results in unemployment here. But I understand your position, and apologize for the miscommunication and mis-scheduling that led to it, and you will not be faced with any criminal charges. Though, I can't guarantee that anyone associated with magic will want to hire you after this debacle."

Wince. "Right."

"I... would prefer he stay around, if possible? It seems unfair to him, he thought he was doing the right thing and as far as he could see I was not dangerous."

"Your preferences are so noted. But I warn you that good intentions do not always result in good consequences, and if I'm not mistaken, he is unfamiliar with the kinds of safety diagnostic spells that would be needed to properly verify whether someone is dangerous. Am I mistaken?"

"I, uh, um. I. Checked it with a charm?"

"Oh, a charm. And surely that eclipses everything a diagnostic from a trained and specialized professional with years of experience could possibly bring to the table. Was the fabled charm of your own making, or one of the ones we hand out to our staff?"

"Um. Um. One 'f the ones given t' your staff."

"Ah, I see. So the temperature range charm, that changes colors based off the estimated temperature in a space. With a range of several hundred degrees for each color, and the unfortunate habit of averaging out temperatures in a space instead of telling anything more specific. Like perhaps if the area directly around his person were significantly hotter than the surrounding area, or if there were any alarming fluctuations present."

Wince.

"Yes, I thought so."

...okay Zheras will wrap his arms around Quael. He is slightly warmer than a normal human but not too uncomfortably so.

Quael scrunches into Zheras and attempts to make himself as small as possible in the hug.

Zheras is not a small man so this is not difficult to accomplish.

"It is a mercy not afforded to many other aspiring young sorcerers for their well meaning reckless mistakes to not result in casualties. Consider yourself lucky. I certainly do."

Not much he can do here other than hug.

Quael is so on board with being very hugged right now. The most on board.

The sorcerer patiently waits for one of them to say something, looking quite unmoved by this display of physical affection.

And eventually: "So... what comes next?"

"That depends rather on what you want to do. Do you feel safe following me elsewhere? Would you like to wait here until the return of the rest of your memories so you can make an informed decision? Return to your warded chamber so as not to cause any accidents?"

"I do not think I'll cause any accidents. I have not been recovering my memories very quickly either, though, so I would prefer not to wait."

"Very well. Is there any information you'd like to help inform your decision? Anywhere in particular you'd like to go, anything you'd like to do?"

He shrugs. "I could follow you, if you agree that I do not need to return to the warded chamber."

"I would have to see your control in action to say for sure, and here is hardly the best testing ground. Especially considering the one in your embrace. Do you have more finesse than turning off the fire?"

Zheras releases his left arm and makes two stick figures made of fire appear above his upturned palm, one violet and one blood-red, then they bow to each other and start dancing. They emit no heat.

"Enough understanding for color, enough finesse for light without heat, enough coordination to arrange them into a dance. Quite impressive, I congratulate you."

"See? He's really good at fire," mumbles Quael into Zheras's hug.

"An astute and nuanced opinion from an expert," says the sorcerer, looking at Quael coldly.

The fire extinguishes itself and the arm returns to the hug.

Quael whines a little and snuggles further into Zheras's arms.

"I would prefer to conduct more thorough testing somewhere besides this hallway, if you'd be so kind as to follow me? We should not need to return to the warded chamber, my office should do well enough."

He nods and slowly lets go.

Quael doesn't protest and awkwardly stands, making a confused 'What do I do,' gesture with his hands.

"I trust you understand the importance of keeping state secrets, correct? In that you will kindly keep your mouth shut?"

"I, um, yessir, I'm sorry sir, won't say a word of it sir, I got my own stupid self fired, sir."

"Very good." He makes a shooing motion with his hand. "You may go."

...

"He was doing what he thought was right," Zheras repeats, quietly.

"So were some of the most atrocious monsters in history. Few men think they are evil, and nonetheless it is committed. It is the burden of the wise man to think to the consequences instead of simplistic and comforting moral constructs more suited to storybooks and children's fables."

Zheras is... still not super comfortable about this. He doesn't know how to argue, though, so he just looks down at his feet, chews on his lower lip, then looks up at the man again. "Well. Where to?"

"Yes, right this way, if you'll please follow me..."

Quael, meanwhile, looks like he would desperately like to sink into the floor, or perhaps be erased from existence entirely. Without thinking, he tries the door he'd failed to get through before so he can quietly leave without causing a fuss.

The door, of course, doesn't open.

He winces.

"Front door, thank you," sighs the man who still has yet to introduce himself at all. "That way, if you're concerned you might get lost."

He points.

".... right...." says Quael, who then begins to slink down the hallway past them, avoiding all pairs of eyes.

...yeah alright. He'll. Check on Quael later. For now he follows nameless guy.

Nameless guy leads him back down the hallway he came from, then down a different one. His companion sees no reason to have a conversation during the journey, content to walk in silence. As they pass the threshold into another hallway, there is a faint sense of passing through... something. Like walking through a chilly spiderweb that tastes faintly of cloves and eucalyptus and chalk, and sends little shivers down Zheras's spine. Soon enough, they reach a set of circling stairs that go through another ward that slides easily over his proverbial magic's tongue like oil, light and nearly tasteless, but smelling of rosemary and myrrh.

At the top is a door that opens into a small room shaped like a semicircle. Two sets of comfortable looking chairs flank the entrance. One set has a small bookshelf nestled between the two chairs, and the other has a low table, complete with a tea set. On the curved wall opposing the door are two others, both quite heavy and sturdy. Between them, in the middle of the room, sits a desk and a woman. She looks to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, carefully sorting through a set of papers and writing notes on the margins in pen. When Zheras and his unnamed companion enter, she looks up.

  "Welcome back, sir!" she chirps, smiling brightly at them both. "So I'm guessing that there's no call for panic?"

The sorcerer's lip quirks. "Not just yet, no." He motions to the woman at the desk, for Zheras. "This is Aldestine, my assistant. Aldestine, our misplaced subject, who as far as I'm aware has yet to decide upon a name."

Eugh. Why do wards taste awful.

"Zheras, when talking to humans, since it was my human name." He bows—he remembers that! "It is a pleasure."

  Aldestine ducks her head politely, smiling again. "Mine as well."

"As you like. Please don't hold onto it on our account if it no longer fits, though. You're in rather a unique position, after all." The sorcerer mirrors Zheras's bow, then says, "I am Phaleritan, pleasure to meet you a third time, though a pity that it was so..." he pauses, looking for the right words. "Awkwardly choreographed."

Zheras shrugs lightly. "What happens happens. We are here now."

"Indeed. Oh, before I forget—thank you, Aldestine, you were correct about the door. Please be sure that one 'Quael' receives his severance pay and causes no awkward questions."

  "Yes, sir," she agrees, writing a note to herself on a little notepad. "From what I can tell he came in through the side entrance a bit before his shift officially started and similarly before the wards were updated. The security was lax on the side entrances. I've sent in a complaint."

"Good, thank you." He looks back to Zheras. "Is there anything you'd like? Water, tea, food, somewhere to nap, something to burn?"

"...something to burn might be interesting, yes."

"Certainly. Follow me, please." He heads through the door on the left. "Would you mind terribly if it happened in my warded room, for safety, and if I could observe the effects, for curiosity?"

"Not at all."

"Excellent."

Through the left door is a lab of some kind, with dizzying chemistry sets and strange smells, both mundane and magical, and the subtle fizzling of potential power. Phaleritan navigates the maze of apparati with practiced ease, picking up materials along the way. Soon the flammable objects are collected, and Zheras is led into another room, with a circular dais in the center. Around the dais is another disgusting-tasting ward (chalk, ash, obsidian), but once Zheras is inside, the taste isn't particularly notable.

The same cannot be said for the flammable objects. There's more variety available this time; a flammable powder that crackles delightfully, a rich oil with a magnificent aftertaste, a metal that burns a brilliant and blinding white and whose mild bitterness is nicely offset by the strength of the flavor itself - the list goes on. He does not want for choice, this time.

Ooh.

Zheras doesn't learn much, this time. He's got the whole "fire" thing down, by now. He still enjoys it immensely, though.

Phaleritan observes, asks questions about Zheras's experiences, and occasionally requests demonstrations. He pens notes in a notebook and makes a lot of thoughtful sounds and occasionally asks Zheras to please wait while retrieves reagents or charms so he can properly analyze what's going on.

Eventually, once Zheras has run out of things to burn:

"I would say that your control of fire is unprecedented, but strictly speaking, that would be incorrect. There has been a minor loss in finesse and power as compared to the average djinn. However," he continues, holding up a finger, "you are significantly less overt while exerting that power. When djinni cast flame, it is indisputable that it is a djini's work, even after the flame has long since died out. In fact, when a djinn is nearby, it is similarly unmistakable that one is present, to sorcerers and wards and observant mundanes and even some animals that aren't particularly noted for magical acuity. With you, there is no such obvious and unmistakable signature. Of your magic or your presence. Of course, for long-burn fuels like coal, a signature can still potentially remain, and I imagine you could leave one if you were particularly careless and indiscreet. Regardless, though, you are more subtle than a djinn, and more powerful than a human with even the most exquisite sprite binding."

He grins. He is not sure why he would want to be subtle but he is not sure why he wouldn't either and presumably he can be unsubtle if he wants.

"There are some other things I'd like to test in this sphere, but they should perhaps wait until after we've seen your power in regards to things outside your specialization. Unless you'd like to continue focusing exclusively on pyromancy?"

"I think we can move on."

He nods evenly.

"Then we'll start with fundamental warding. We'll need materials to work, please wait here while I retrieve them."

When he returns, he has a long length of twine with two sticks tied onto the ends, and several large jars.

"We'll start with a salt ward, since even mundane humans can make a rudimentary one. Strictly speaking, we do not have to be in this warded room because this is unlikely to go poorly even if you mess up very badly. However, practically speaking, it's a flat space that's built for easy cleanup, and it's worthwhile to begin with good habits so as not to fall into bad ones later." He sets all jars but one on the floor, then hands the remaining one to Zheras, along with one end of the length of twine. This accomplished, he brings the stick tied to the other end of the twine to stand on the middle of the floor.

"This," he says, motioning to the stick and twine, "is a sorcerer's compass. It is for beginners. Please take the other end and begin pouring salt from the jar in a circle, taking care to make the width of the line the same throughout."

Zheras attempts to do as instructed!

It’s pretty straightforward to pour salt in a circle! Slightly more tricky to get the line the same width, but not particularly so.

“Do you have any guesses as to why a circle in particular?”

He frowns at it. "What is it meant to do? The compass, that is."

“Make it easier to pour the salt in a perfect circle. If you look, the compass isn’t magical at all. Just a tool to get an end result, given an admittedly slightly pompous name.”

He smiles, then hums thoughtfully for a couple of seconds before trying an answer: "Circles—and spheres—are very stable. They are the same from every direction and any forces trying to break into them will sooner disperse along their surface than actually break in."

“Correct,” he says, sounding mildly pleased. “Pouring the salt in a circle is not required, but it is a simple way to easily prevent in-built flaws in the ward itself. Congratulations. You have made a basic, stable ward without using any magic at all. Shades and spirits and the like will have trouble crossing the line of salt, and most won’t even bother putting forth the effort, when they can go somewhere else that isn’t quite so unfriendly.

“Now, what are the ways it can be theoretically improved?”

"Adding any magic at all to it?"

“Yes, but magic is not a bludgeon with which to solve our problems. It is a fulcrum by which we leverage solutions. Concrete ways it could be improved without a hand wave of ‘add magic to it,’ if you please.”

He keeps grinning but asks, "Is this meant to be a ward for shades and spirits only, or for more things than that?"

“Spirits and shades only, in this case. Warding in other ways will come later.”

"So... what exactly are spirits and shades and why does salt repel them?"

“Spirits and shades are catch all terms for weaker types of ephemeral magical beings that share our world with us. Colloquially, spirits refer to beings friendly or neutral to humans, while shades are decidedly unfriendly. Some are wandering lost souls of unburied humans, some of animals, some are conglomerated bits of proverbial magical dust that have stuck together well enough to form something that could dubiously be called alive. Some are a mix of all and more.

“Salt is notable because it is opposed to much of what weak and wayward spirits feed on. Or to be more precise, it is opposed to much of what most were made from. A high salt content prevents meat from spoiling and plant life from taking root. Imbibing salt water leaves one thirstier than when they’d started. For beings that form primarily from bits and pieces of things left to decay, it is decidedly unpalatable. It does not taste like something that could give the spirit more power, and it reminds them of something they avoided in life. And so now avoid in death and beyond.

“It is not, to be clear, the best warding material available. Just plentiful, straightforward, and simple to use.”

"Things that are alive," Zheras suggests. "Life magic? Does that exist?"

“That depends very much on your definition of life. There is no singular branch of magic or matter that can be pointed at to be responsible for all definitions of the word. Just a web of interconnected substances that nourish and fuel what we call life.

“Things that are alive is not an incorrect premise, but they would need to be very particular living things indeed. Usually living things become dead things. If you chose plant or animal matter to oppose the animated fragments of the dead and lost, you would be opposing the predator with the unslain prey. Not the worst thing you could do, but certainly not the best.”

"Fire?" He makes a little glob of colour-changing fire float above his palm.

“A better ward against the dead than salt,” agrees Phaleritan. “Since it eats the proverbial prey before the spirits do, and seeks to consume the spirits themselves besides. Countering something is a matter of removing that which fuels it.

“But we’ve gone further into theory than necessary for improving this ward in particular. There is a very simple improvement that could be made to this defense, and you’ve actually already said it. Let me ask you a question: what makes you think all spirits and shades are constrained to the ground?”

Zheras blinks. "Nothing. A sphere?"

“Correct. Here is where we may place our fulcrum. You’ve learned how to sing pyrotechnical reactions from fuel, to create and stretch out the flavors of fire magic across a wider space. So why not do it here, with the aura of salt, to create a more complete protection?”

"...how?"

“You’ve learned how to stretch out your magical senses to taste your surroundings, and how to reach out and affect them.” It is not a question. “In this case, the change you are making is not to the makeup of the salt, but to where it exerts influence. First, reach out and feel the circle. Feel the taste and aura of the salt. Then, nourish it with your magic and watch it respond. Try to keep as much flavor of fire out of it as possible; Fire is not diametrically opposed to salt, but it could complicate things overmuch.

“Once you have the salt’s aura hooked, when it wants to follow the source of power available to it, slowly spin the line of power up,” he motions from the ground to above them, “and then down on the other side. If you are careful and slow, it will follow.”

O... kay... He will try that, why not. Seems straightforward enough.

It’s pretty straightforward! It’s more like when dealing with cold light than with dealing with proper fire, where the inferno is fed and emboldened by his magic. The flavor of salt strengthens in response to the power dangled in front of its proverbial nose, then reaches out, and carefully, carefully follows.

The salt circle remains firmly on the ground, but little by little, the flavor of salt permeates the air it’s led through. It’s clearly delicate, like a curtain of thin paper, but with fluidity, almost churning like water. It would be easy to tear, or lead astray.

He has a couple of false starts but eventually succeeds, and beams proudly at himself.

“Very good. But if I’m not mistaken, you do not yet have a sphere.” He points down at the ground, with a trace of amusement.

"...oops." He proceeds to cover that.

“Good. Now, without any additional materials, you have full protection from every direction. Finesse, strength, and speed will come with practice. But, it is a passable first ward.”

Yay! He did a non-fire magic!

“Magic will tend to settle into geometrically stable configurations, which helps with clumsiness and mistakes. Some recovery of holes is possible, if the hole is small enough.” He punctures a bit of the ward above them with a flare of magic. The ward wobbles fitfully, then rights itself, hole closing. “But a large enough hole, or large enough disturbance in the salt circle that holds it, and the entire thing can come crashing down.” He smudges the salt with a foot, and the ward wobbles again, trying to compensate for the new shape, and then failing. As promised, the whole thing comes crashing down, in a shower of salt flavored magic.

“This can be useful if one is setting a trap with a ward, if the ward is dangerous. Sometimes it is wise to introduce weaknesses to systems so as to know if they have been punctured. A ward that rights itself gives no tell that its let anything in, whereas a ward that has collapsed has made it pretty obvious.”

He nods along, not grimacing when he feels the salt but wanting to.

"Now, let's move on to something more aligned with your specialty. We needn't clean the salt up for this one, it won't interfere with the second ward I'll have you make, but please make your second circle slightly smaller than the first, so as not to actually mix the materials." He leans down and picks up one of the jars and offers it to Zheras.

It turns out to contain sand, smoother and more regular in composition than the sort of sand one might typically find on a beach. It's a dull tan, and it's not all that interesting to his magical tastes, either. Not precisely unpalatable, but it doesn't taste like it could be fuel. It most resembles bread, or perhaps unsalted crackers, but the sort of hard tack crackers that sit in one's stomach like a brick if consumed.

As he makes his second circle, Phaleritan resumes lecturing. "'Ward' is an old and open term for protection, and as such, isn't a hard category. How a sorcerer goes about creating the protection is an exercise left to the sorcerer. The more direct ways are obvious; do something to prevent the thing you don't want from getting in, do something that hurts bad things that succeed at getting in. But these are hardly the only methods of protecting something. Do you have a guess for what sort of ward I have in mind for your second?"

Zheras takes a bit to think about it. "You could hurt something that gets close enough?" he suggests.

"You certainly could," he agrees, amused. "And while I'd argue that this technically fits the definition of warding, some sorcerers might argue with you depending on how proactive your protection was, or some other minutiae of characteristic or definition. Some of us have the unfortunate habit of getting caught up in trivial details instead of dealing in matters that have any actual importance.

"Regardless, while simply hurting something that gets close enough is very effective, it won't work as well against more intelligent foes than the wander-maddened dead. That gives them the ability to think of a way around your ward, to find something to leverage against you. In my experience, the best way to win is to have won before anyone even realizes there's a contest at all. You are thinking of fire in terms of heat and burning, but if I'm not mistaken, you also deal in light."

"—oh. An illusion?"

"Correct! How better to protect something, than to keep it secret from all who might interfere with it? So, you have a circle of sand. Why do you think sand in particular, and how do you think you could use this to make an illusion?"

"Something to do with glass?" he guesses.

"Good guess. Light travels through many things, but one of them is glass. Imperfections in the glass can twist and change the light, and thus change what someone sees. There are trick mirrors in circuses that do that sort of thing - stretch someone out to look tall or thin or fat, everyone gathers 'round and guffaws at the spectacle. So! Since you can create light, why not also take the opportunity to twist it to your benefit?"

He nods along with the explanation. That makes sense to him.

"Understanding the basic premise of the theory at play, do you have any ideas for implementation?"

"I could... melt it? The sand. Make a circle of glass?"

"You could indeed. What are your reasons for thinking that would help, and what are some potential costs and downsides for such a move?"

"Well, I can't do cold so much, so I suppose the melted sand would take a while to become glass. And might set the room on fire? I have more control than that, though. It would help by being more the-kind-of-thing that bends light, as opposed to its... raw matter."

"This is true. Loose grains of sand hardly bend light at all. Also, from a practical standpoint, it would also be much more difficult to move or change the glass once cooled. You couldn't easily recollect the glass to rearrange it somewhere else, and whatever mistakes you'd make in the formation of the glass would be difficult to fix. On the other hand, it would be more stable and difficult to move, which are usually considered pluses in warding."

Zheras nods. "And I can just melt glass again if I need to move it..."

"Yes, but heating is not the same thing as moving, merely making it so that it can be changed more easily. And melted sand has a habit of fusing to things, though admittedly it'd have trouble with this particular floor. In another situation it wouldn't work quite as well. My real point is that it's best to understand the downsides to an action before it's taken, because often it's very hard to undo something once it's been changed."

He nods. "...but I can just carry melted sand in my hands."

"Probably, considering your heat resistance, though if you haven't tested it I warn you of the danger of hasty assumptions."

"I could test it."

"Be my guest. Do you have any ideas of how to test it safely?"

"I melt some sand in my hand and if it hurts I drop it and heal?"

"Reasonable start. Do you have a plan for if the glass melts thinly enough to get into the lines in your hands and sticks there?"

"—melt it on the back of my hand instead?"

"Better. Why the hand in particular, though? Are you constrained to using your hands to create fire?"

"Not really, it's just closer to my face and I can look at it. I suppose I could use something else."