He is not going to laugh. He is not going to laugh. He is not going to laugh. He is not... He's already laughing, dry and bitter and tired. "For now," he says, and he really needs to learn how to stop talking.

Jupiter whirls around at the sound of laughter, fists raised defensively. "I need you to take this seriously!" she snaps. Her heart pounds with adrenaline even as she wills herself to stay calm. She should trust him but it's so hard with the laughter she isn't stupid how could she have known that would happen.

He breathes (even though he doesn't need air, doesn't have lungs, doesn't have vocal cords) and strangles the laughter in his throat. "I am," he says, and his fingers look like fingers instead of wisps of smoke now. 

Jupiter searches the Professor's face, looking for any trace of lingering amusement. She finds none. The corners of his mouth are turned down now, his brows knitted with concern. "Okay," she says slowly. "I believe you." She takes a deep breath, willing her pounding heart to slow.

"You did well," he says, and the fervor of that moment has mostly faded now. "You should have an easier time of things now that you aren't hindered." He tucks the memory of that moment in the same lockbox where he stores the memory of his not-death. Sometimes, excision is the only way to keep living.

Jupiter folds her arms across her chest, nodding slowly. "I should have an easier time sensing the currents now, yes. But..." She pauses, searching for the right words. "There is more I wish to understand. About this magic. About you." Her gaze meets his, eyes intent. "I would not excise this, as you seem keen to do. There is meaning in it that bears reflecting on." She worries her lip between her teeth. "If you are willing, I would like to understand you better." Her fingers curl around her biceps, grip tightening. "And I would have you speak plainly, so I do not unintentionally cause you harm again." Her eyes gleam fierce resolve as she holds his gaze.

"You did not cause me harm," he says again, and he does not have the words to describe how not harmful the experience was. "And I think you understand me perfectly well. But ask away, and I will answer, and we will see in the end if you understand my nature."

Jupiter studies the Professor's face, searching for any sign he is downplaying the experience to spare her feelings. Finding none, she nods slowly. "Very well. I will ask, and you will answer plainly." She takes a breath, ordering her thoughts. "You say I did not harm you. Yet when our magics connected, it seemed to...overwhelm you. Left you diminished, blurred at the edges. Why did it affect you so?"

He gestures to himself. "This... form is not... It is a construct imposed by my mind because the body no longer exists. By the predominant theological perspectives, I am by all rights a ghost anchored to the land. You come from a world that is hyperreal, and this world is the barest edge of reality. Is it truly surprising that the ocean could drown the morning dew?"

Jupiter frowns, processing the Professor's words. "So you're saying...my magic overwhelmed you because it is more real than your ephemeral form?" She shakes her head. "But then why did it seem to cause you...longing? Like warmth flooding back into frozen limbs?" Her brow furrows as she tries to understand. "If it was simply too much for you to contain, why revel in it so?"

He gazes at her with the eyes of someone who is so tired. "Do you not wish that you could go back home?"

"Of course I do. Every day."

"Then why are you surprised that I long for the days before I was unmade?"

"I guess... I just hoped you were happy here."

How can he possibly describe the transient nature of happiness that balances as though a house of cards over the infinite chasm that is loss? How can he possibly describe everything that he is and has been and will be? "I am," he says instead of trying to justify himself. "Sometimes."

Jupiter takes a deep, steadying breath. It seems their experiences echo in uncanny ways - both torn from the worlds they knew, left adrift in this strange half-reality. Both longing, at times, for how things were. "I believe you," she says softly. "And I am glad to hear you have found some happiness here." She worries her lip between her teeth, frowning. "I just wish this place did not cause you such turmoil as well. That my presence could be a comfort, not..." She trails off, not quite able to put words to what passed between them in that strange, overpowering moment. She hesitates, then adds, "If there is a way I could ease your burdens, I would have you tell me plainly." Her pale eyes search his. "I would not bring you more harm for anything."

He cannot tell her that he wants her to do it again. He cannot tell her that he has never felt anything so beautiful as the flow of her magic into the world. He cannot tell her. So he says only this: "You have never harmed me, and your presence is a comfort." 

Jupiter searches the Professor's face, looking for any trace of deception. She finds only open sincerity in his words. "If you say I've brought you comfort, then I'm glad," she says softly. "Though I wish there was more I could do." She hesitates, then reaches out to gently take his hand. "For now, know that you also bring me comfort in this strange place. Your guidance has meant...more than I can express." She gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for seeing me." Her eyes shine with emotion as she gazes at him, smile wavering. "Whatever burdens you carry, I would have you know you need not carry them alone. Not if I can offer any small measure of solace."

He breathes, senses the magic circulating in her hands, and does not seek to connect them. "You are a good person, Jupiter." And optimistic, thinking that she can carry his burdens when what he has done is—

He breathes.

Jupiter smiles softly at the Professor's kind words, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "As are you. I'm glad we found each other in this strange place."

She hesitates, seeing a shadow pass behind his eyes. There is much he has not told her about his past, the burdens he carries. But she knows this is not the time to pry. Some wounds run too deep. "It grows late," she says instead, glancing out at the darkened sky. "I should let you get some rest. Thank you again for the lesson today. I look forward to continuing my studies, now that I better grasp the currents." She walks with him to the door, pausing there. "Good night, Professor," she says softly. "Please don't hesitate to call on me if ever you need...a friendly ear. My door is always open to you." She searches his face one last time, wishing she could do more to ease his hurts, to let him know he's not alone. But for now, offering open acceptance is the best she can do.

"Good night," he says, and walks away. After he is reasonably out of eyeshot, he lets himself sink into the floor where no one will be able to find him for a while, and he thinks about his ritual. The one that killed three people, including him. The one that he might have fixed over the years but can no longer cast. The one that he still wants to try. His thoughts are not happy ones.

Jupiter closes the door softly as the Professor leaves, then leans back against it with a sigh. Their conversation has left her unsettled. She wants to trust him, wants to believe he would not deliberately harm her. And yet...there are clearly shadows in his past that haunt him still. Dark knowledge and rituals that linger at the edges of her awareness, never fully brought to light.

She moves to sit on the edge of her bed, brows knitted in concern. She cannot stand idly by while he suffers, consumed by guilt for unknown misdeeds. But pressing him for answers risks shattering the fragile connection they've built. There must be some middle ground...some way to gently draw him out, offer acceptance without judgment. She wishes she could see into his heart as perhaps Medea does, know how best to ease his burdens. Jupiter sighs, resting her chin in her hands. Perhaps patience and understanding are all she can offer for now. An open door, a listening ear, a promise that he need not weather his storms alone. She longs to do more, but it must be at his pace. With time and care, mayhap he will feel safe confiding in her. For now, she will continue studying the ways of this world - making progress in her classes, proving her dedication. And when next they speak, she will greet him with warmth and encouragement.

Her gaze drifts to the window, taking in the glittering expanse of stars. She whispers a prayer to them, as she did so often in her world...a plea for wisdom, for compassion. For the patience and strength to stand by this hurting soul until he is ready to step fully into the light. They have both lost so much, been cast adrift in this strange half-reality. But perhaps together, they can build something lasting. Find purpose in the bonds they weave. She smiles softly at the stars, the promise shimmering in their silver light. There is always hope.

Professor Roiyani stands in the courtyard, clearing the field of potentially flammable debris. They are working with heat today, and the classroom lacks the airflow appropriate for the lesson. She takes the wind and loops it in on itself, magnifying it. The leaves scatter. Sufficient. Her class watches as she distributes the candles, again calling upon the air. "A mage cannot make something out of nothing, nor nothing out of something. A mage acts upon what is already present. This is not to say that such acts are impossible, merely that they have their cost, and not all can pay it." She twists her hand, and the candles ignite. She shows the students the faint layer of frost tracing over her fingers. "Your task today is to make the flame burn brighter. Not with heat, but with air. A steady supply of oxygen will feed the flame. Sense the direction of the wind's current and bend it."

Jupiter watches intently as Professor Roiyani demonstrates, pale gaze focused on the flickering candle before her. She reaches out a hand, brow furrowing in concentration as she wills the faint currents of air to redirect toward the flame. It wavers slightly, dancing in response to her efforts. She grits her teeth, focusing harder. A stronger gust whips past, making the candle flare bright for an instant before guttering out entirely. Jupiter sighs, shaking her head ruefully. Since that strange lesson with the Professor, sensing the currents has come more easily, magic flowing swift and electric through newly opened channels. But mastery still eludes her. Things still slip. With a sigh, she reaches for another candle to try again.

Roiyani turns to face her struggling student. This one is... tricky. All the power, none of the finesse. "It's not about effort, dear," she says, igniting her first candle once again. "It's about connection. The wind exists and flows. You cannot take control of it or stifle it. You can only guide it down the path you wish it to take." She offers her hand to Jupiter. Perhaps a more practical demonstration is in order.