(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

When Essek was a child - before, as Caleb might say, it all went to shit, - he saw a beacon for the first time. Maybe that was part of the reason why it all went to shit.

His mother - back when she had just been his mother, when he had been young enough that he had not just been not-someone-else, that he had not yet been a prodigy, that he had not yet asked too many questions or let his mind wander in the wrong direction - had taken him to a Luxon Celebration, the first one in a while. There had been the bright sun shining directly down on him and she had explained why one of the staff had not just held a parasol.

There had been a procession, and the Bright Queen had been there, and she had been beautiful even then, in her radiant gown, and behind her, guarded and celebrated, had been the beacon, in a palanquin of sorts.

At that moment he had seen nothing else. He could see nothing but the faint pulse of power and mystery and wonder and strength. He could feel it, in the way that he had already begin to feel currents of magic around him. It hummed directly into his soul. It murmured a mystery to him that, even then, he needed to untangle.

There had been nothing else, but him and that mystery. He had been alone in his own tiny little universe, just tiny Essek before he realized just what a disaster it all was, and the beacon, a beautiful little puzzle.

A part of him, he realized, had never left that moment. Most of him became sour and desperate and sharp.

After that moment he asked a lot of questions about the beacon, most of which his mother didn’t answer. Some of which she told him not to ask again.

Had that been the first time, she had told him not to ask again? Had it all gone to shit right then?

Then she became the umavi and the mysteries of dunamancy were no mysteries to him at all, and Den Theylss asked him questions about how he could easily unravel, and the other students, who could never catch up with him at studies, began to leave.

Then it was just him, and the mystery of the beacon, and every other question he had solved.

Just him and the beacon and Den Theylss, asking him to fit himself into a very specific, uncomfortable box.

Just him and the beacon and the Dynasty, telling him he could never, ever, have those questions answered.

Just him and the beacon and Ludinus Da'leth, promising him answers. And so.

Just him and the beacon and these annoying adventures, showing up with it and not having any answers, just asking more questions, making demands of his time and power.

When had it become not him? Had it been Beauregard’s comical hospitality? Jester asking him to stay for dinner? Them sitting in the hot tub - and they did have a hot tub, because of course they did?

Him and Caleb, standing in front of his tower? Just him and Caleb, in that moment. Not just him, not even just him and the beacon. Him and Caleb, and Caleb’s blue eyes pained and thoughtful.

(When had it stopped being just Caleb, he wondered?)

Ludinus had said, in so many words – it doesn’t feel like just you anymore? How absolutely peculiar.

It’s not, he had said, trying to understand what it meant, to not just be him. Still was trying. Still didn’t understand. Didn’t understand the beacon, either, and the question still burned.

Only it wasn’t just him, now.