"Dead to life," he repeats, "[In theory, yes]. Yes, and no." There are legends, that Belenus could call someone back, even after Nebet had taken them across the border - and that Nebet could bring someone back across the border herself. If the gods can do it, in theory he could too, but it might be prohibitively difficult to make an enchanted item which can. How to get that across... Well. 

He shrugs lightly, "Gods." And then, "Can your technology?" 

"Not yet. We may be able to soon."

Edgar scrutinizes him. He won't believe that death is a fact of nature that must never be changed, because he's more enlightened that the people here. At least, that is his current read of the man. He'll need to wait for more data.

They can work on the language, in the meantime. Edgar brings over a book on art history and reads it aloud, indulging in a discussion about the book's material as they go.

He nods, thoughts turning to his own family. His father, he knows, would be horrified by both his overarching goals - by the lengths he's willing to go to change the world, and by his personal vendetta. If he were to return the from the dead it would have to wait until he couldn't interfere. His mother, though... Trahaearn learned the magic of blood and bone at Ceridwen's knee, and she had certainly had more to teach him, if she hadn't died long before her time. Having her back would be a great help to his cause, beyond the sentimental desire to simply have his mother returned to him. 

He settles in at the table to listen to Edgar read, memorizing what words he can while taking in the subject matter so they can actually converse on the topic, though art has never really been an area of focus for him. He begins substituting words he doesn't know in Albish for those he does in Anglian, pausing after so Edgar can offer possible translations and then choosing the one that rings correct before continuing. He expects he'll forget a fair amount of what he's learning over night, but this is still a quicker way to learn a language than it would be without the earring.

After a while of this, he speaks up while Edgar is turning a page, "Have I the-" he pauses and then restarts, "I have the words to detail some of what I can do." He offers. He has been constructing an explanation as they spoke, and it's almost fully-formed at this point. "And to better tell how I arrived in your attic." 

"It would please me dearly to hear your story."

He explains, substituting Anglian for any Alban words he doesn't know or has forgotten, "Mers is my home, where my family rules. Our resources are not unlimited, but they are enough to support my studies, both in alchemy and witchcraft, and the legends of the gods. I left my home for a time in order to explore a ruin in the south, a sunken, water-ruined temple where the god of travel was once worshipped - the drawing you mistook for an 'angel' was meant to be him. Lleu's temples were once famed for their doorways, which could move a person from one temple to another thousands of miles away. I was examining one of these doorways, which seemed to be ruined, with a light like the one I showed you. I believe they interacted in some way, bringing the ruined doorway to life and, somehow, bringing me here." 

"As for my power... the alchemy which I use is most powerful and simple with the aid of the items I create," he once again shows off the ring on his finger, "But I can cause the same effects without, with more time and some ingredients. This," earring tug, "Allows me to understand you. My ring aids me in controlling light. Creating the items requires time, ingredients, research, and experimentation as well, but once I have it I never need those again. I have far more research sources than most alchemists, as well, and so my power is greater and wider than most, even old alchemists, and only growing more so as I experiment more."

He pauses here, somewhat hesitant to explain the magic he'd learned from his mother. Alchemy is one thing, in the eyes of the common folk, the church of the trinity, and the nobility. Witchcraft is another. Edgar... does not seem like that kind of reactionary, however, assuming this land even has the same taboos. So, he adds, "I am also learned on the topic of the human body, and the use of it in some magics," to his list. 

Grateful that they can move past the portion of these proceedings hampered by the language barrier, Edgar settles in for the explanation. He considers Trahaearn’s description of what led him to Lleu’s temple, noting in particular the mention of his family and the description of these doorways- ancient technology, or more interventionist gods than his world’s religion presupposes? Additionally, he wonders about the man’s class and lineage. He is clearly a scholar with an important, wealthy family, which is enough to discourage idle speculation.

As the story turns to Trahaearn’s power, Edgar listens raptly. Alchemy as practiced in Mers seems quite similar in its aims, but the results seem by far more consistent. Edgar has never heard of an alchemist whose results were this repeatable. All of the work he’d seen until now had required an absolute focus on the particulars of each individuals case- if he understands correctly, Trahaearn only needs to discover something once. His alchemy seems to more closely resemble invention. Next to that, the mention of his studies of anatomy and physiology is only slightly intriguing- if Edgar decides to share what he’s discovered of his mother’s research, he might be able to apply the man’s mind and power to achieving resurrection.

“Our alchemists sometimes create objects like yours, but they are more- mysterious and elusive. They have a reputation for dabbling in esoterica that the ordinary person would have no interest in. I have heard their process described less as a matter of developing and perfecting some mystical power in physical form, and more as a matter of accurately representing the abstract in a concrete form. For example, if one of New Albion’s alchemists wanted to create an object to control light, they could place their material in the sun, or something else suitably symbolic."

He considers how to reply to this for a long moment, constructing a sentence as well as he can, attempting to side-step any words he does not know the translations of.

"Many of my fellows dabble in this way," he starts, words slow and careful. "It is in the meeting of structure," a word retained from their venture into art terminology, "And esoterica one finds my facility with Alchemy. The symbolic has its place; it is only through repeated attempts - again and again," he clarifies the Anglian word, "Different attempts, testing the boundary, the end of what is thought possible, one comes to understand."

"You're a miracle worker," he says, nearly on the verge of laughter. It's excellent news, better than he could ever have dreamt of. This is a chance at making a real impact, something that leaves an indelible mark on the world. He can't wait to get started.

He smiles, slow and smug, "No miracles," he says, "Only man."

When starting any partnership, there is only one way to seal the deal. Edgar will instruct his new colleague in the tradition of the handshake- or perhaps, find that such gestures are another commonality.

Not so common in this context, in his homelands, but he does recognize the gesture and understand its meaning quickly enough. He rises to his feet and grasps Edgar's hand firmly, "I believe the future will be bright, my friend."

So they shake on it. Edgar begins the next chapter of his life, this time with an ally that he can actually trust. The hope rises in his heart like the sun in the early hours of dawn. Bright, with the promise of more light to come. The future will be bright, and they will be the lights that make it so.