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fvaleraye · 2 years

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The Judgment of Time

Well well well... here we are, back at it again It’s been a hot minute since my last Scintillam chapter, but I’ve had this WIP sitting in my docs for months, working on it on and off, and I think it’s finally in a place where I can comfortably post it.

Today is another Caecus chapter! It’s been a minute since we last checked in on him I hope everyone enjoys reading, and shoutout to @artnerd1123 for helping proofread :]

There was almost nothing in the field, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The grass was high and healthy, the sun was high overhead, a clear blue horizon extending from end to end. The ground was soft, pleasant. There was a cool breeze… It was wonderfully peaceful. Caecus let out a sigh, standing in the middle of the field, taking it in. There was a sound. He blinked, taking a small glance around. There it was again. It was- it was a knock. There are no doors out- “Gods’ sake.”

Almost as soon as the realization crossed his wandering mind, Caecus sighed in annoyance, the peaceful pastoral scene shattering like broken glass, the shards peering into a false reality falling and turning to dust as they impacted the ground, and he was in his study again, the black marks streaking across his robed body giving a dull ache as he sat down. Illusory Arcanum was a powerful thing, but gods, was it difficult. At least, on the level that he was attempting to master it. That he had been trying to master it for almost as long as he had been alive. Controlling vision was easy, as was hearing. Producing false senses of touch was a bit trickier, but not by much. Tricking one’s nose was apparently incredibly difficult, as magic itself carried no natural smell at all, and illusions were indeed just that; pure magic. There was no element to it to give it substance. It also didn’t have a taste, obviously, so that was another hurdle he was going to have to overcome. but he knew that eventually he could trick all five senses with enough practice. Oh how he has practiced. There was the knock again.

“Gods’ sake- just come in.” He called, rubbing his throbbing forehead. The nervous figure coming through the door was a familiar sight. “Ah, Mors, of course.”

Mors nervously adjusted his posture as he stepped into the room, looking the magus over. “Am I interrupting something, magus?”

“Yes, but there are worse things in life.” Caecus lowered his hand from his head, and gave the scholar a tired glare. “What is it today? It feels like you never come talk to me anymore unless it’s to deliver bad news.”

“I- I apologize for that, magus.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“... sire?”

The magus let out a deep, tired sigh, craning his neck back to stretch it for a moment before returning his gaze to the scholar. “What.”

Mors shifted anxiously under the other’s harsh gaze, one that he wasn’t exactly used to. “... I…” He sighed. “… you haven’t been acting like yourself lately, m’lord. You’ve been…” His gaze darted away from his face as he tried to think of a good way to phrase the words rattling around in his head.

Caecus’s eyes never left the other as he desperately tried to find his words. “I’ve been?”

After a moment of silence, Mors gave a very frustrated grunt. “I- well- forgive my impertinence sire, but you’ve been acting like a right ass.”

“Oh have I now?” Caecus replied, slamming his hands on his seat’s armrests and pushing himself to his feet, prompting the young scholar to flinch. “Well maybe if you’re ever High Magus you can try to keep a polite attitude when your experiments and studies have all hit a dead-fucking-end. My apolo-fucking-gies.”

Mors shrunk into himself as his superior came down on him, something he most certainly wasn’t used to. ��I- I-I-I-”

“Just.” Caecus raised a slightly shaking hand, before lowering it back to his side. “What did you want, other than to insult me.”

Mors honestly couldn’t help but feel like the magus wasn’t helping his case with his current behavior. But he also felt like he had been too honest in this conversation already. “... y-you have a letter.” He nervously answered, shakily handing Caecus the letter in question. Mors flinched as the magus snatched it from his hands.

“Thank you.” Caecus brushed the scholar off, turning to head towards his desk. He rummaged around in his desk drawers for his reading spectacles, seemingly paying him no more mind. To say that Mors was hurt by this would be an understatement. But instead of pushing his luck, he simply walked back out the door, leaving the magus to his own devices.

Caecus pulled his old spectacles out of the drawer, carefully settling them on his face. His face twisted even further into a frustrated grimace when he saw the letter was from the archbishop. After a few moments of seething, he simply tossed the letter to the side. He would deal with it later. He didn’t have the time nor patience for political maneuvering with the church today. He placed his glasses on the desk, stood up, and started just pacing around the room. After a minute or two, he clapped his hands together, brought them to his face, took a deep inhale, and sighed.

Nothing was going his way.

Not his magic research, not his experiments, not his projects, nothing. He hadn’t had an inch of progress in months and it was overwhelmingly frustrating. Everything that seemed promising just led to more and more dead ends and he was so tired of it.

“Fuck it, I’m taking a walk.”

He stepped over to his study door, taking his umbrella from a hanger on the wall, and walked out. He brushed past all of the usual workers and scholars as he walked down the hall, his dour mood practically tangible to everyone he walked by.

Without giving so much as a word to anyone, he walked outside, opening his umbrella as he stepped out into the rain. Lovely how the weather seemed to be trying to sour his mood too. His shoes clacked against the stone pathways of the city as he wandered, muffled slightly by the downpour overhead. His robe dragged through the accumulating water on the ground, but thankfully a slight protection enchantment made sure that it wouldn’t actually get wet. His idle wanderings weren’t doing much for clearing his head, but it was probably better than sitting in his study all day. Probably.

After a solid ten minutes of just getting himself lost in the maze that was the Silver City, he let out a sigh and looked to the rainy sky. The moon’s light was visible through the clouds, shining through the torrent of droplets. He moved a hand out from under the cover of his umbrella, the water hitting his aged, wrinkled palm. He brought it back to himself, and stared at it for a long moment, before shaking the water off his hand.

I’m not as young as I used to be. He thought to himself. I… I’m running out of time. No matter how you look at it, I am running out of time. No… no, I’m running from time, and I’ve nowhere left to go. Time has found me and its sword hangs lazily over my head of gray hairs, and I do not know when it will fall. It could be years yet more from now… or it could be tomorrow. I don’t know. That I could simply… cease. Before I could accomplish everything I wanted to. The thought terrifies me. Ah… yes. Fear. The one thing so many creatures share; from the lowliest beast to the most powerful of monsters. We all know it. That fear of death… the desire to keep going. The will to forestall the judgment of time. Did you feel it, great dragons, before your time came? Were you capable of emotion? Did you have instincts? Or did you simply… be? Does Time feel, I wonder…? Is it capable of emotion? Does it have instincts? Thoughts? Or does it simply be? … I digress. If anything, this damned fever will probably do me in before old age, if I can’t better mitigate it. Just another problem on a long list of things for me to deal with.

He stepped forward back onto the streets of the city, and started to wade his way back to the Historium. A few minutes of walking was all it took. He may have let himself get a bit lost in his wanderings, but when he actually had a destination, he knew every road and alley of this city like the back of his hand. He pushed the door open, closing his umbrella with his other hand as he did. He was apparently gone for longer than he thought, as the lobby was much emptier than it was when he left. He didn’t pay it much mind, simply striding past the front desk and heading up the stairs back to his study. He did pass a few fellows on the way back, but he still didn’t care much for conversation. He hung his umbrella back on its hook, shutting the door behind him. He stepped over to his desk, and sat himself down. He heaved a great sigh, and glanced at the small mirror he kept on the face of the desk. He brushed the bangs covering the right side of his face aside, revealing his terribly scarred and blackened right eye. The eye was still there, it still worked, but it was pitch black. A result of his Mark, the thing that allowed him to do his wondrous feats of magic. He retracted his hand, letting the hair fall back over it. The Arcane arts were not to be taken lightly, and he knew that. But it was the closest thing he had to the magic that the dragons used. The closest thing someone without a Primordial Spark could come to using Creation Magic… even if it was only illusory. He needed… more. He would have to contact his colleague. A knock on his door dragged him out of his thoughts.

“Come in.”

The familiar silhouette of Mors once again stood in the doorway as the door creaked open. He let out a sigh, stepped in, and dropped another letter on the magus’s desk, then turned to leave. A tired, old voice called out as he was halfway out the door. “Mors.”

He froze, hand anxiously clenching the doorframe. After a moment, he turned around. “Yes, milord?”

“Please sit down.” Caecus gestured to the reading chair across from him. After a moment of nervous hesitation, the young apprentice obliged and sat down, crossing his arms. The two exchanged nothing but silence for a long moment. Eventually, the old man let out a tired sigh. “I’m… sorry, Mors.” One rested on the desk, the other idly tapped his desk, fingers clenched, but not balled into a fist. “You were right. I’ve been a right ass. I may be old, my research may be going nowhere, but… that doesn’t excuse the way I’ve been treating any of you. The way I’ve treated you. You’ve always been like a son to me, and I deeply regret the things I said to you earlier. You don’t have to forgive me, but I hope you can at least find it in your heart to tolerate me a while longer.”

The young apprentice let the magus’s words hang in the air for a moment. He drummed his fingers across his arm, contemplating something. After a while, he let out a small groan, and a slight nod. “I appreciate the apology, sir.” He quietly replied. “I…” His words trailed off, his eyes glancing to the outside balcony. “... I-I really do appreciate it. I won’t hold it against you. You’re better than your worst days, I know this.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Caecus let a small, tired smile crease across his lips. He let out another sigh, after a moment. “It’s… it’s been a rough few months, Mors.”

“It has. For all of us.” Mors fidgeted with his robe’s sleeve for a second, before continuing. “... how have you been holding up?”

“... like the foundation of this building.” Caecus let a small, pained chuckle escape his mouth. “Old. Tired. Creaking and groaning. But still holding up. I have to.” He rubbed his forehead, before returning his hand to the desk. “I’m sorry about Jean. I am. I never meant for it to happen.”

The words choked Mors’ throat for a moment. “... I know.”

Caecus glanced up at the clock and sighed. “It’s getting late. You should be headed home soon.”

“O-oh-” The initiate nearly fell over himself when he spotted the time as well, spending a good few seconds stammering, trying to get words out. “Y-you’re right, I-I should already be halfway home I-”

Caecus held up a hand. “I know, I know. Take tomorrow off. You’ve earned it. Tell your sister I’m wishing her a swift recovery, my boy.”

“I. I-I will. Thank you, sir.”

With that, Mors quickly skittered out of the office, nearly leaving the door ajar behind him.

The magus had only himself for company now.

He picked his glasses back up off his desk, still right where he left them, and looked at the newest letter. … it didn’t have a listed sender. Hm. “... I will get back to that one in a moment.” He groaned, setting that letter aside and picking up the one from the archbishop that Mors had delivered earlier. “First. Politicking.” He opened the envelope, the seal of the holy church dangling from its face, and pulled the message out. He lowered it, reaching a hand up to rub his temple. He hadn’t even started reading and he already had a migraine. He adjusted his spectacles on his face, and started looking it over. The handwriting was, of course, right proper. As usual, for her holiness.

“Dearest High Silver Magus-” He let out another groan as those three words registered. Oh, she never addressed him by his full title unless she had taken offense with something. “-I am writing this letter today to address some concerns within the Choir. The concerns of one Father Daniels-” He took a long, sharp intake of air, held it, and let it out. He seethed. Of course. Of course the bastard took it all the way to the Gilded Choir. After the Councilman Argentum had already denied the church’s multiple requests to have the Historum searched. Now they were coming to him directly. “-have reached us here, and, as you know, the inquisition have been investigating the incidents occurring in the eastern provinces-”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were taking your witch hunts abroad this year.” He mumbled sarcastically, his hand, still tapping against the desk, slowly balling more into a tightly clenched fist.

“-and some in the Choir have taken to suspecting you of having some involvement. The Councilman Argentum has already denied our requests to search your building, as his trust in you is absolute. We would like to formally request an inquisitorial search of your premises, as you, the ruling magus of the Historum, have final say in these endeavors.

Sol bless you, Archbishop Lilliana Beneficia.”

He let the request sit for a long while. He mulled it over, staring at the parchment for nearly a whole minute. He let out a groan, pulled a paper from one of his drawers, and grabbed his quill. He tapped it against his desk for a moment, then dipped it in the inkwell, and began writing.

“Your Holiness. I appreciate your forwardness in your requests. Argent knows that political maneuvering is not exactly something I enjoy. I shall deny your request. As the Councilman Argentum has no doubt told you, internal investigations have already taken place, and I have already been cleared of suspicion. Despite your worries, the investigators of the House of the Silver Serpent are all unbiased third parties. The Councilman does not trust the judgment of your inquisitors in this matter, and neither do I. None of them can be trusted to be impartial. And the council clearly agrees, given how the Argentum Ocular have been given control of the investigation into the attacks on the eastern villages. I’m sure all your witch hunters will be very upset that they’ll have to put away their pitchforks and torches. And I would not put much stock in the reports of Father Daniels either, as he is not impartial. It’s no secret that we’ve had it out for each other for years. I’m sure you’ve only come to me because the Councilman has stopped responding to your requests, and if you bother me again, I will let him know, and he will almost certainly be furious. This will slide, only this. Know that I am appalled and offended at your unfounded accusations. I’m a tired old man in ill health. I have no time for scheming.

Shove it.

High Magus of the House of the Silver Serpent, Caecus Coluber.”

He placed his reply into an envelope, stamped it with the seal of the House, and set it aside. He could mail it in the morning. He grabbed the other letter, eying its blank canvas for a moment. He opened it.

The handwriting and ink were unmistakable.

“52.

Fresh.

31st Midnight of the Wyrm’s Moon.

Leave the door unlocked.

Gone to ground.

Last shipment for the time being.

-Y”

He slowly raised his head, taking a few nervous glances around the room. “... why wasn’t this sent by carrier.” He whispered, folding the paper back up. These were supposed to be sent by carrier birds. Not standard mail. But it wasn’t a trick, it was the real thing. Gone to ground… What happened? Taking a deep breath, he stood up, and wandered towards his fireplace in the back of the room. He took a moment to start a blaze, and then threw the letter in among the firewood, as he had always done. … why the 31st Midnight of the Wyrm’s Moon? Why on the night of the Deep Midnight Festival? There would be so many people… … maybe that was the point.

He would have to sleep on this.

#Faye Writes #Scintillam #Caecus #unsure what to tag this as #it's been a hot minute since i've posted one of these #and i never know what to tag writing with anyway asdflkjn #anway #hope y'all enjoy the new chapter #and reblogs are appreciated; if u did :>

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