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Chapter 70. Impulse
🕑 Added 2020-08-06 15:31:00 +0000 UTCThe two clinked their glasses together and spent the rest of the evening talking about anything and everything.
When Ian came to the next morning, he wasn’t in his bed; rather, he was still in the parlor, sitting awkwardly in his favored chair. He squinted his eyes at the soft, cloudy brightness of the window, judging the time to be somewhere around six in the morning.
Ian looked over to the side where he suspected the prince lay in slumber. Sure enough, the man’s white-gold locks lay strewn over an embroidered pillow, and his body stretched out like a cat over the divan. Ian thought he could see a bit of drool at the corner of his lips.
He smiled at the sight. With a yawn and a tentative stretch, he stood and padded over to shake the prince’s shoulder. However, Euryphel seemed to ignore him completely, his serene expression unperturbed.
Ian got down on his knees and watched the subtle rise and fall of the prince’s chest, debating whether or not to wake him up. He contemplated leaving through conventional means, but realized that he had no idea how to walk from the parlor to his own room.
So, if I don’t wake him, I’m trapped here until the servants come. Ian checked his glossY, noting the time: 6:10 in the morning. It would be at least half an hour until the servants came to prepare breakfast.
Half an hour isn’t too long. Ian had just about decided to wait it out when another thought came to mind: Euryphel likely couldn’t afford to get up so late. Though he didn’t know the prince’s exact schedule, it typically involved some kind of morning meeting at 8 am immediately preceding their morning practice at 7.
It’s a shame to wake him when he’s so deep in sleep, Ian thought with a sigh. He inched closer and shook the prince’s shoulder again, this time with more force.
Ian frowned. Still sleeping? He shook the prince even harder. Y’jeni, I don’t remember him being such a heavy sleeper...
Brow furrowing, Ian felt a bubble of worry rise from his stomach. He stretched out his hand to forcibly lift the prince’s eyelid. This time, the prince finally reacted, recoiling and waking up with a start.
Ian smiled. “Good, you’re awake.”
Euryphel’s lips curled, his expression level. “Did we both fall asleep here?”
“Seems like it.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after six. Shall we return to our rooms to get ready?”
Euryphel groaned and leaned his head back on the pillow. He gave Ian a lingering look, his lips twitching slightly. “I suppose it’s the responsible thing to do.”
The prince practically leapt from the couch and shuffled swiftly over to the door, opening it onto Ian’s room.
“Thanks,” Ian said, heading on in.
—
[Disclaimer: THIS BOOK IS NOT BL! This part of the chapter might change based on Patreon comments so do comment opinions please.]
Euryphel stared at the closed door, his face turning slightly red. He blinked rapidly, then opened the door again and stepped into his bedroom. He tore off his robe and walked over to his bed, collapsing on the cover with a groan.
Why am I so bothered about this? he thought to himself. It’s just what happens sometimes in the morning, nothing to pay any mind.
Or so he tried to tell himself. But he couldn’t ignore what he knew deep down: that when he opened his eyes to see Ian mere inches from his face, heat had rushed unbidden to his stomach.
He also, definitely, couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he wished to, the ridiculous scenario he’d gone into. He felt his face burn.
Just what had possessed him to…?
He felt as though the memory was hijacking his mind.
Euryphel opened his eyes, only to see Ian leaning over him, his hair messy, as though he’d just awoken. Ian’s hand was almost brushing against the prince’s face as it pulled back from opening his eye. They’d exchanged a few words, and Euryphel made a move to get up.
It was at this point that the prince had entered a scenario.
In his haste, the prince fell off the divan and onto Ian, knocking the decemancer to the floor. The decemancer groaned underneath him and gave him a questioning look.
Euryphel felt heat surging through him at the memory; he wanted to believe it was embarrassment, for being so clumsy after waking up. Of course, he knew this wasn’t quite right.
The prince’s arms, holding up his torso, were positioned on either side of Ian, and his face loomed just over the decemancer’s. His lips felt dry, and he felt his heart pound. He could swear it was loud enough to hear beating in his chest.
Ian’s lips began to move, as though he was trying to say something, but Euryphel didn’t give him the chance.
There was something that he wanted to try.
He bent his neck down and nuzzled it into the crook of the decemancer’s neck, then inhaled deeply.
The decemancer froze beneath him. “Euryphel, what–”
And that’s when Euryphel had cut out of the scenario.
Euryphel recognized that he’d grown into the habit of indulging all kinds of wanton impulses while inside his Regret scenarios. Usually, those involved pissing people off with insults, or physically attacking individuals he disliked. When his job demanded of him composure and discipline, his scenarios gave him opportunities to let loose.
But this...this was clearly different.
Euryphel stuffed a pillow over his face, then let out a muffled scream of frustration. He removed the pillow, then glared down at his lower body as though regarding a traitor. He moved his hand toward his legs, the motion hesitant, stilted. But as his hand hovered over his abdomen, Euryphel jumped out of bed and shook his head, as though trying to shake off a bad dream.
What’s the point? The decemancer’s reaction was self-evident, the way his body stiffened in discomfort. It might’ve just been surprise, but other subtle body cues pointed to a different conclusion.
Forget it.
As Euryphel stood before the mirror draped in nothing but a towel, his expression grew pensive, severe. A kernel of disgust at the center of his being reared its ugly head, whispering his mother’s haunting words into his mind:
Prince of Ascending Arrow,
Princess of Ceaseless Circle:
A willow warps alone,
And the fallow falls barren.
Euryphel subconsciously drew the towel in tighter before leaving to take a shower.
—
Ian, Euryphel and Guardian Urstes sat around a thick wood table. The room was windowless and covered in privacy inscriptions, a projection screen taking up the entirety of the furthest wall from the entrance.
“So, you’re going to show me a recording of energy distorting around me?” Ian asked.
Euryphel nodded. “Guardian Urstes, can you start the projection?”
The earth elementalist positioned his glossY on the circular conference room table. As he took his seat to Euryphel’s right, the glossY began to project a video onto the white wall.
Ian watched the projection with rapt attention, morbidly curious about what he looked like to observers when he practiced his decemancy.
“What do you call that nebula of Death energy you kept around you?” Urstes asked, glancing over.
“It doesn’t really have a name,” Ian replied offhandedly. “I thought of it as a cocoon.”
“...A cocoon? I suppose it’s fitting,” Urstes replied.
“And what do you call that move where you try to swallow me whole?” Ian asked a minute later.
Urstes chuckled. “Cavern Crush. I’m rather partial to alliteration.”
No kidding; your courtesy name is Steppesinker.
Euryphel rolled his eyes. “Ian, focus on this part, when you’re incapacitated. Do you see how Urstes’ earth is almost melting around you like hot candle wax?”
Ian narrowed his eyes. “Maybe?” It was difficult to see very much since the recording only captured what was happening on the surface.
“It’s more obvious when you come back above ground,” Urstes added.
Sure enough, when Ian’s serpentine Death cocoon emerged, it became increasingly clear that something odd was going on. The attacks of the guardsmen were mostly swatted away and dispersed by the clawed pseudo-spirits prowling the cocoon’s periphery. That was normal. But the few attacks that managed to get through seemed to unravel the deeper they went into the cocoon until, by the time they reached Ian’s circling bone shield, they dissipated like smoke.
It was hard to see, considering that his cocoon was a mostly-opaque black haze, but Urstes helpfully slowed down and paused the recording at key points.
“Hmph. I see what you’re both referring to. You’re right that their attacks shouldn’t be falling apart like that...” Ian gave Euryphel and Urstes a look. “I’m not sure what to do about it, though.” Whatever it was he was doing, it wasn’t conscious.
“You’re going to work with Urstes on developing a certain kind of strategy,” Euryphel said. “It’s going to take advantage of the fact that the dueling arena at the Fassari Summit is only one-hundred and fifty meters in length and one-hundred meters in width.”
Urstes cleared his throat. “Skai’aren, your range for directly disabling someone is around fifty meters, correct?”
“I haven’t measured, but that sounds right.”
“Your strategy is going to be reaching the opponent as quickly as possible, then disabling them. Nothing flashy.”
Ian frowned and chewed his lip. “Weren’t we going to try and figure out how to prevent me from accidentally unraveling other sources of energy?”
Urstes gave Euryphel a look.
“Ian,” the prince said, interlacing his fingers on the table. “It’s likely that there’s nothing you can actually do to prevent that from happening. Which is why we decided that the best way to prevent people from noticing anything peculiar about your energy...is to force you to avoid any outward manifestations. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to win, even under this restriction.”
Ian nodded his head slowly. The prince wasn’t wrong: There was certainly no need for a Death cocoon if he was just up against one person in a medium-sized dueling arena.
“The only thing you should need is a set of bones, to be worn about your person. You can have some soul gems to serve as an energy reservoir. Does this sound acceptable?”
“Sure,” Ian said. “It won’t be a problem that I’m going to be wearing a bunch of bones around?” It was certainly a fashion statement.
“We’re promoting you as an osteomancer, so it would be more suspicious if you didn’t have any bones around you. Moreover, bones are intimidating,” Urstes replied.
“Besides,” Euryphel said, grinning. “Even when the attacks in the recording come into contact with your bones, it looks different than when they move through your Death cocoon. It’s not at all obvious that the attacks aren’t simply breaking like waves on a strong barrier.”
“If you have bones covering your clothes, there should be no cause for suspicion even if you receive and disperse a direct attack,” Urstes continued. “Though I hope that after practicing with us, you won’t need to rely on your bones for protection.”
—
“Nephew,” Aunt Julia murmured, reaching for his hand. The two of them were seated on a bluff overlooking the Bay of Ramsay, their feet extending over the water. The distance reduced the white froth of the waves into a pale, thin border. “I’ll be keeping in touch.”
Ian nodded. “You’ll still be traveling?” Aunt Julia’s primary profession as a consultant took her on frequent business trips.
“Still traveling, though I think I’ll try to avoid any business in Selejo and its allies if possible,” she replied. “Leaving the SPU and going back to work is a calculated risk I’m willing to take.”
“And what if you end up in trouble?”
She squeezed his hand. “Ultimately, this situation is my fault,” she said softly, her voice nearly lost beneath the crashing of waves against rock. “I won’t let myself hold you back.”
Ian sighed. “Do you really think I’d just let someone do something to you?”
She didn’t immediately reply, her eyes fixed on the water. “You’ve been keeping us in the dark, but ever since your recording was withheld there has been a subtle shift across the palace: the practice fields are teeming with practitioners, the council is meeting behind closed doors…Something’s coming nephew, and we all need to prepare to make sacrifices.”
With a quiet exhalation, she turned her head toward Ian, her gaze steely. “Let’s just say...your Mother and I refuse to let ourselves become your weakness.”
Ian froze, the severity of her words fully registering.
“There’s no need to go so far,” Ian insisted, imagining Mother and Aunt Julia evading capture by ingesting poison, or enduring torture without hope for escape.
“It’s always good to be prepared,” Aunt Julia retorted. “What we do with our lives is our business, Ian. Just because you have power and influence doesn’t make you responsible for our wellbeing.”
“But...”
Aunt Julia cut him off. “Ever since leaving the Infinity Loop, you’ve been worrying.”
“About what?” Ian asked. He’d certainly been worrying about the impending war with Selejo, but had a feeling that wasn’t what Aunt Julia was referring to.
“Everything. You’re scared of making the wrong decision, of putting us in danger, of making political enemies, of misplacing your trust.”
“Shouldn’t I be worrying?” As a peak practitioner, making mistakes could negatively impact the lives of thousands, if not millions.
“You can only do your best and hope it’ll be enough. It’s something I’ve learned to accept as a Beginning practitioner: It’s easy to get caught up in mapping out all possible options, weighing likelihoods and outcomes in your mind. Oftentimes the most important decisions are also the most difficult, and it’s only in hindsight that we can determine which choice was right.”
He knew where she was going with this. “But it’s important to decide, even if it’s difficult, even if I’m worried I’ll make a mistake. Even if I have no do-overs.”
“Not exactly. While it is important to decide...it’s equally important to forgive yourself if things don’t work out. Mistakes are inevitable. I hope that you’ll be able to forgive yourself for them.”
