diatu | Midway in isolation

Midway in isolation

Who: Eleven and Professor Mala
What: A Thing Happened, Please Advise
Where: Professor Mala's office?
When: Some time after The Thing
Warnings: None so far!

After circling through his options for weeks, Eleven finally found himself standing in front of the door to Professor Mala's office door. As the Intimation instructor, she was more like than most to have knowledge of the true history of the world- or at least he hoped as much. She might not know everything, but she should at least know whom to ask if not. He was even somewhat certain that she held some fondness for him.

Even still, his hands twisted into the ever-present baldric strapped over his robes and attempted something of a rehearsal for what he needed to say.

Another breath, and Eleven raised his hand to rap a light rhythm on the door. The feeling that he was in more trouble than he knew how to deal with pervaded. Even Hendrik's considerable strength wouldn't be able to contend with this particular problem he now found himself in.

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"Enter."

Professor Mala has a remarkably evocative voice. In one word she invokes mild irritation that she is being disturbed, respect for the disturber at least thinking to knock, and professionalism to properly address whatever problem brings someone to her doorstep.

It will be a problem, of course. It always is. Probably the Headmaster is in the fountain again. The school really needs to install a fence.

The door opened just enough to give Eleven the clearance he needed to slip inside. A nervous smile played about his lips, his fingers quick to resume their fidgeting once the door was closed again.

"Good afternoon, Professor. I.. I have a few questions, if you have the time?"

Ah. Some of the tension leaves Professor Mala's face, though it remains severe as ever as she inclines her head. The chair opposite her desk is tall and not the most comfortable, but suitable enough for business'

"Working ahead, then?" The most likely guess. Certainly he isn't struggling with some concept. Quite the opposite, as he's one of her most able students.

Eleven eyes the chair, a touch too nervous to have any real desire to sit, but also unwilling to refuse. He takes the seat and ducks his head, wishing his only concerns were for his upcoming homework or tests.

"Ah, no, unfortunately. ..I was actually hoping to ask if you know what sort of connection dragonkind has to magic?"

Professor Mala has a remarkable poker face. The only sign of her perturbing this question is comes from the swift and remarkable contraction of her pupils.

How much to tell him? The truth is dangerous, possibly more so to the Sundered, and of course the reason why he asks is obvious when a specter of humanity's greatest enemy recently appeared to cause chaos.

And yet, Eleven has proven a good and faithful student. A remarkably dedicated one at that, who has impressed her with his diligence. Which means if he has questions, he likely can find the answers, albeit in places she would rather he not go. No, best to give him what he seeks. Especially since, truthfully speaking, she likes the boy.

"They are masters of it, of course. Not the modern methods, but the ancient ones.

His nerves settle somewhat, relieved to have something of a direct answer without all the questions he'd expected. Eleven's hands still in his lap and he gives that bit of information due consideration. His head tips and bent fingers come up to press lightly against his mouth as he compares it to the words that still echo through his mind on sleepless nights.

"So because of that, they think modern methods of magic have.." There's no better word for it that he can think of, and winces through it a bit. "..Bastardized ancient practices. He said.." A quick glance upward. "That magic is the domain of dragonkind, and that Ascelion is his. But.. I always thought that magic was a gift bestowed by the gods."

Edited 2019-06-03 20:36 (UTC)

"Allow an analogy." Professor Mala picks up a quill from her desk, then makes a brief gesture. Two pieces of paper pop up, with two inkpots side by side. "This is codified magic," she says, writing a word in ancient Osmarian in neat and quick strokes.

Then, she lifts the other inkpot up, and pours a large dollop onto the other paper. "This is ancient magic."

Eleven blinks, arm lowering as he leans forward a bit like it might help him grasp the analogy better. He understands well enough, he thinks- in a vague sense. It's simply.. different from the way he's always viewed magic.

"Then, ancient magic is.. vast," he says, staring at the inelegant, yet spreading ink. In comparison, the written word is a mere organized scratch on power. He swallows, a touch of cold creeping in. "..He bid us to deliver that message to everyone that 'butchers' magic on our lives. A warning, I guess. I don't know what to do."

"Vast, yes, but unformed. What can you read out of this, compared to the other?"

An obvious point. The blob is simply a blob. The word is a coherent, if ancient and foreign, word.

"If you pour out ink a million times, then a few times, by chance, it will form something of meaning. That was ancient magic. A horrid nightmare of wizards blindly shaping magical energy and hoping something comes out the other side that does not kill them and everyone around them."

Some of the Sundered would, if they felt justified, dabble in ancient magic as a solution to their problems, she's sure of it. Thus she'll make clear how dangerous it is. And while she's at it, strongly imply that it is no longer possible for humans.

Eleven lets out a slow breath. It's why the Sundered are here, he knows, and that makes more sense now that it's illustrated in such a way. Left unchecked, they've been told that their power would be dangerous- like ancient magic is.

"But dragonkind are masters of it," he mutters to himself, and shivers. "So they aren't fond of human wizards. ..What do they want, then?"

"Masters? No. That is not the right term. A dragon, you see, never fails to create the shape it desires when it splatters its ink. From everything humanity has recorded about them, they are quite literally incapable of failing. To put it another way, they are better at ancient magic than you and I are at breathing. And they despise humans having the use of it. That is why they enslaved us once."

Brisk and businesslike, Professor Mala pulls no punches and offers no candy-coating to her words. They are no less than truth, after all. Truth is not something to be hidden, nor to shy away from. It must be acknowledged and accepted.

Right. The dragon had mentioned that. Eleven suppressed another shiver.

"I.. What does it mean, that it commanded me to its bidding? To deliver its message."

Steepling her fingers, the Professor peers over them at the boy.

"I am guessing, mind you. Dragons are not human, their personalities are not to be read or understood any more than an ant can understand ours. But I am guessing that for all its ego, this dragon is not ready to challenge us yet. We, humanity that is, already killed it once. So it seeks to sow fear and disquiet, break us apart from the inside."

Eleven's pulse quickens. He doesn't want to sow fear on the dragon's bidding, but he owes so much more to his own world. Neither however, can he carelessly let another world fall to darkness because of his actions.

He grips the sides of his chair and tries to breathe.

"What.. do you think I should do?"

Professor Mala sits back in her chair, coming as close to a slump as she can. "I do not think it matters. It will do what it wishes. My expectation is that whether you do it or not, your intended fate is the same either way. But I also do not think if you ignore it, it will seek you out for specific punishment."

Spreading both her hands, she adds, "But remember, I am guessing. Do as you think best."

His intended fate. Eleven's blood chills, bumps crawling up his arms until he shivers with them. But his fate has already been determined. Surely Yggdrasil's will superseded even a dragon's.

"I don't want to endanger anyone," he says, frowning. "But I guess all I can do is pray that you're correct and offer some of my own."

"Young man, strike that thought from your head this instant," she snaps, glaring at Eleven with no true anger. "You are endangering no one. The responsibility for endangering others begins and ends at the one who threatens them, and your proximity has nothing to do with that at all. I won't hear of you blaming yourself for anything about this situation."

Eleven straightens, blinking surprise, then quiets. He spends several moments simply staring at her as the words pierce his heart and attempt to tackle something far more sinister than a dragon's threat. He can't be sure if they're succeeding or not, but certainly, something feels like it's shifting.

He ducks his head. "I- all right, I will.. keep that in mind."

"As well you should." Professor Mala makes a brusque little harrumph noise. "Blaming yourself is a dangerous path, you know. Old story among wizards, and every bit as dangerous when it comes to magic as anywhere else. Lay blame at the feet of those who do evil, not those who could not prevent evil despite their best efforts."

He closes his eyes as they began to sting, fingers curling into his pants in an effort to stay the threat of tears. It nearly seems as though she can see into his very soul.

Eleven wonders what it is about her words that reach him, despite having heard a variation of them before. Perhaps it's their frankness, or that he knows beyond a doubt that she isn't simply trying to spare his feelings- that she knows nothing of his title, duty, or utter failure and isn't trying mollify his fears simply because she needs him to.

"..Okay," he says, voice cracking, then immediately drags his sleeve across his face as his tears take that opportunity to escape. "Sorry, I'm trying not to.."

"Mmm. I hit a nerve, I see." Professor Mala sinks back into her chair, looking briefly as old in spirit as she does in body. These Sundered, good heavens, what to do with them. Her fingers brush over her temples, then around to her eyes. "Well, it wasn't my intent, but it's good advice no matter the situation. If there are troubles lingering from your own world in your heart, I can't say as to I know them, but I've seen a few things in my time to offer a general word or two if you want them."

He shakes his head, working to calm his breaths and coach himself into something resembling normalcy. She doesn't deserve the trouble he's causing, but then there's the whirl of doubts lashing back at what sounds like good advice. They pick at him with contradictions until he simply can't find the truth.

Darkspawn. Luminary.

Eleven clears his throat until it feels like his voice will steady just enough.

"Light.. illuminates, but.. does it also cast a shadow?"

A very abstract question. Hinting at things she doesn't attempt to guess. Instead she steeples her fingers in front of her mouth and holds her regard on him for a moment.

"Shadows only exist if something blocks the light."

Eleven's gaze whips up and he loses a breath to the shocking simplicity of her answer. His mind is quiet while the words spread like branches and pierce every one of those doubts with infallible logic. The dark veil hanging heavy over his heart and mind begins to crumble.

Dundrasil. Cobblestone. Yggdrasil.

A shadow in his wake each and every time.

"I could not prevent evil," he mutters, pinching his sleeve. "It followed me, but I was not the cause of it?"

"If the light did not exist, everything would be in darkness," Professor Mala says, her eyes still fixed on him above her tented fingers. "We wizards were not able to prevent you Sundered from being brought here against your will. The magic we practice is responsible. But I do not blame us for you being here. That falls squarely on who or what caused it."

He winced. A world in darkness..

Eleven sighed and leaned back. "I don't blame anyone for it.. No matter how it happened, I believe it's Yggdrasil's will that I'm here. ..You are very wise, Professor Mala."

A faint smile shows behind her hands. "I'm old. I've made lots of mistakes and learned. That's all."

Idly, he wonders what he might be able to learn from his own.

"I envy that a little." If only he were just a little wiser himself. "But I'm glad for your insight. It's really helped me."

"I am grateful for that much at least. Do try to take it just a little easy on occasion?" She peers at him over her glasses. Very tempted to look into what circumstances surround him, she must admit.

He goes to assure her that he will, but after a moment's consideration, can only smile a little wryly.

"..On the weekends," he says instead, and stands. Eleven stretches a bit, feeling marginally lighter than he had coming in.

"Thank you again, Professor. I hope that next time I visit, it'll just be about homework."

"That would be asking for a bit of luck, I think." Professor Mala rises out of courtesy, the better to see him off properly. That isn't typical, but he had the good grace to come to her and speak of his problems. Thinking like that ought to be rewarded. "The more so since you need little help on that score. Nonetheless, return when you need to, whatever the cause."

It was true. If there was a branch of magic he was truly taking to, it was Intimation. He'd never felt a greater need for guidance, and perhaps that was part of it.

Eleven's smile sobered to something more sincere as he reached the door.

"I guess it would be too much to think I might never have need of your invaluable wisdom again." He tapped the doorframe and shook his head. "I'm grateful for the invitation. I will be sure to seek you out when such an occasion rises."

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Midway in isolation

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