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Igeyorhm walks the hallways of Akadaemia Andyer with nothing less than steady purpose, clearing the way ahead of faculty members and students alike. At her elbow a far more familiar companion within these academic halls wrings her hands, mouth twitching.
"I hardly wish to presume," she says, voice hushed, the pair sweeping down the corridor, "n-naturally none among us assume to understand the demands pressed upon Speaker Lahabrea since the onset of the incident."
Such a clinical term - the incident - from one who took guidance from the very man who stood most affected by it. In the immediate aftermath Pandaemonium had shut its doors, becoming unanchored from Elpis and unavailable to wider communications. Unremarkable, at first. The research subjects the facility harbored sometimes required total communications blackout, lest one of the creations more adept at illusionary glamours slithered their way out.
A sun's passing without word, on the other hand, raised greater concerns. Lahabrea stepping through Pandaemonium's neus therefore should've heralded relief of a situation well resolved. Cut short by his own brief reporting of the grim events that led to disengagement. Athena, Chief Keyward of Pandaemonium, dead. Internal investigations ruled the death an accident. Workplace hazards working with dangerous creations. Unfortunate, but not wholly unexpected.
Igeyorhm pauses outside the Speaker's closed office door, letting the smile her mask obscures warm through her voice.
"Your concern for Lahabrea speaks well of you. I will see it passed on, in the hope such a fortified front encourages the Speaker to reconsider returning to work so early."
Her companion bows low to Igeyorhm, quietly excusing herself. Privately, staring at Lahabrea's well appointed office door, Igeyorhm fosters her own doubts. Bare suns since his declaration as new Chief Keyward, Lahabrea ignored Emmeroloth's recommended sabbatical. Returned not to Pandaemonium to pick up where Athena left off, but instead to the hallowed halls of Phantomology. His abrupt return to normal operations hardly even announced to his own assistants, who anticipated adopting a broader responsibility within the classroom in response to recent events.
The fact Lahabrea kept to his office when not in class, suspected of overnight frequency, spoke of a curious reluctance to man the mantle of duty altogether at odds with the man Igeyorhm once knew.
She offers Lahabrea the courtesy of sound with a physical knock as well as the usual aetheric signature signaling her intent to be received. Her magic manifests a thin netting of condensation drawing icicle thin patterns across wood. The glyph of her seat in full reflecting briefly red before fading away as if nothing had been drawn there in the first place.
Lahabrea’s door swings slowly open, giving Igeyorhm a clear view of the folded pillow and rumpled blanket strewn across the crimson chaise lounge. As expected. And though he accepted her entrance Lahabrea hardly pays her mind otherwise, barely raising his head from the manner of enterprise upon his desk that currently consumes his attention.
"Igeyorhm. By my recollection, we are not due to formally reconvene with the others for several bells."
Short and to the point. Entirely professional.
Once Igeyorhm's presence might have drawn a warmer greeting. The absent hand gesturing her closer, sometimes quickly in particular enthusiasm, should his scholarly delves surface any pertinent research of note.
Once Igeyorhm and Lahabrea took the greatest pleasure of all weaving the language of debate on the public stage. Wielding wit and knowledge both in every elegantly designed riposte across a wide range of topics and areas of interest.
Once they might have crossed paths in one of the Hall of Rhetoric libraries, nose deep in the spine of a thick tome. Passing each other a quick smile before losing themselves in their chosen studies. Or more often still collaborated late into the evenings, until their voices grew taxed from overuse but their minds still whirled with possibility.
Once. All of which abruptly ceased whereupon Athena took interest in Lahabrea.
Lahabrea withdrew from everyone but no one so more than his former debate partner, leaving the Halls of Rhetoric entirely except for visits where Athena herself brandished their relationship in Igeyorhm's face. Ostensibly research oriented outings, and far be Igeyorhm to place herself betwixt a friend and the woman he so clearly adored. Even for every insincere, bladed smile. Every tested boundary, Athena trying the edge of propriety leaning a touch too close toward Lahabrea whenever Igeyorhm passed their chosen library nook.
If Athena was jealous of their prior closeness, then that was her right. No matter how uneasy the weight of too many eyes prickling the hairs on the back of Igeyorhm's neck once she'd turned away made her feel.
And now in Athena's absence, Igeyorhm's responsibility to see Lahabrea weather this period of grieving. Persuading the man out of his office seemed off the table. No doubt Lahabrea's assistants, if not Emmeroloth herself, attempted that argument with clearly limited success.
For all Igeyorhm's way with words, Emmeroloth was more fond of applying muscle to any problem magic or her numerous medicinal tinctures didn't solve. Namely, employing Pashtarot's assistance with her more stubborn patients. Igeyorhm harbored few doubts that a colleague several centuries his senior, impressive magical prowess or no, would keep Pashtarot from hefting Lahabrea over his shoulder and marching him from his office if asked. Their Knight-Star himself cultivated his own formidable presence often discovered by the unsuspecting or ill-prepared.
But if not rest, perhaps more mentally stimulating pursuits in the shared company of reviving an old friendship might convince Lahabrea the benefits of respite.
"Nothing has changed our assigned meeting appointment," Igeyorhm says, adopting similar comportment. "However, it behooves me to inquire on your interest returning to the throes of debate as an aspiring participant. Too long have my halls found themselves bereft of your inspiring counsel, friend."
Lahabrea’s pen finally stills. And though he still wears his mask, even within the privacy of his own office, the hardened, creased line of his mouth speaks volumes.
"My students rely on my dedication to safeguarding their academic growth. My time outside of my duties to the Convocation is already overtaxed preparing lesson plans for their proper guidance." Finally, Lahabrea looks up, projecting an air of masked disapproval. "Consider investing your marked enthusiasm in more valuable pursuits, such as your own responsibilities."
Igeyorhm's arms cross instinctively. "As mistress of the Hall of Rhetoric, entrants into its hallowed boundary are very much under my purview. Do not attempt deflection over semantics, Lahabrea."
"Free dissemination of knowledge and ideas, as the basis for the very concepts that better our world and everything within it. For each according to ability, providing aid for those deprived of aether that they may too contribute. Was this not the impassioned vision of a certain flame haired professor, centuries ago? Or have you shorn that aspect of yourself Lahabrea, in favor of some unknown purpose?"
Though it's been some time since Igeyorhm was close enough to Lahabrea to gauge his responses accurately, he flinches as if struck. Mouth agape, restraining some response he struggles to reword. Even masked appearing…ashamed, before all emotion restores itself behind an all too familiar stoic wall.
Lahabrea returns to his work, barely sparing Igeyorhm another glance.
"I trust you've made your point?" He speaks stiffly, pen gliding a clipped pace across a page of parchment littering his desk.
She hasn't. But even now Igeyorhm recognizes she's brushing up against Lahabrea's last vestiges of patience. Departing for the moment, Igeyorhm checks her revolving mental agenda of the near future, marking out a chunk next evening to pay Deudalaphon a visit.
Where one avenue failed, still another might yet bear fruit.
Any citizen appointed to the Convocation took their seat with the understanding they utilize their unique talents to benefit their star in the role they were appointed. In step with the goodly physician Emmeroloth, the current Deudalaphon had expanded Amaurot's understanding of aetherology theory sevenfold over the course of her centuries of incumbency.
Aether served as the lifeblood of all creation, what concepts drew from in order to be manifested and actualized. Yet not every Amaurotine possessed the necessary aetheric reserves required to sustain magical intent. For some, even the most intimate, intrinsically personal act of transformation - revealing the true state of one's soul - remained cut off from them. Deudalaphon's research into the topic further refined already existing measures for assisting those who struggled with aetheric limitations.
Indeed, this very reason calls Igeyorhm stepping foot into the Benevolent's laboratory and office, a section of the Capitol Plaza she often rarely visits otherwise. For all of its workbenches and intricate equipment composed of multiple delicate, mechanical parts, Deudalaphon keeps her workplace well lit and inviting. Crystals litter every available tablespace. Some whole, others carved and whittled by sharp tools into fanciful shapes.
Deudalaphon sits at a workbench with her hood down, working on the finer details of what appears to be a crystalline hummingbird's wings when Igeyorhm enters her laboratory, crystal shavings gently collecting in a fine pile on the table underneath. Igeyorhm's arrival seems to disrupt her work, the Benevolent's elbow scattering shavings haphazardly to the work floor below in her efforts to secure the hummingbird within a mechanical vise. Without bothering to clean up the mess, Deudalaphon turns a beaming smile in Igeyorhm's direction.
"Igeyorhm! An unexpected, but nonetheless less benefic visitation from a dear colleague. Shall I set a pot to boil? Do you partake of shortbread?"
Igeyorhm chuckles, as ever amused by Deudalaphon's instinctive jump to hospitality.
"Nay friend, do overly trouble yourself on my accord. It is I who would ask a favor of you. This unique piece here, one of your aetheric focuses?"
Deudalaphon nods enthusiastically. "Indeed. Typically more artistic pieces such as these find most use within private dwellings, where the familiar shapes provide rooted, tactile centering. Other, more practical foci are available for daily use."
Exactly what Igeyorhm was seeking. Over the course of her visit, Igeyorhm and Deudalaphon iron out the specific details of the foci she wishes to commission. With which type of artistic flair Igeyorhm wished to shape the home foci their first stumbling block.
"Just one foci?" Deudalaphon's head tilts, almost as if she can't possibly have heard her properly. "And public use only? My client's specifications come first, of course, but might I impress upon you the benefit of patterned thought exercises using more defined physical proxies?"
"Your creations are remarkable, Deudalaphon but I am curious of their durability," Igeyorhm says, "should they be dropped upon metallic flooring, for example. From the abridged height of a broken belt chain?"
"Uneven surface area reduction lends a certain brittle quality, I'll admit. The very reason we offer sturdier, day-to-day versions compliant with all routine regulations as required of Pashtarot's Words. Your request Igeyorhm. Well, they're pairs for a reason."
Igeyorhm pulls up a nearby stool to the side of Deudalaphon's work area, sweeping the remaining crystal shavings off the table. Without pen and parchment, Igeyorhm resorts to a mild incantation of frost, the tip of a finger sketching a quick, rough draft of the sigil she has a mind to suspend within the foci itself.
Deudalaphon squawks at the display, wringing her hands, muttering something about temperature fluctuations and the structural integrity of her machinery. She rises halfway from her seat, a half formed spell on her lips.
And pauses, seeing Igeyorhm complete the last sweeping fang of her design.
"Oh," says Deudalaphon, sitting back down. "Oh. Of course."
"Then you understand?"
"Yes, yes. Something simple. Practical. I believe I fashioned Hythlodaeus something similar, once upon a time. Clipped to a belt, you mentioned? Will you be in to pick up your order?"
Igeyorhm smiles. "Please. Have it delivered directly, if you would."
Igeyorhm receives word by formal messenger two suns later Lahabrea asks for her presence at his office. An actual missive Lahabrea took the time to write, summon a trusted associate, and send them after Igeyorhm. By the wording of the letter and the associate's awkward fidgeting, waiting for a possible response from the thirteenth seat, Igeyorhm deduces Deudalaphon acted true to her word. As always.
Igeyorhm finishes reading with a quiet huff, amused despite herself. Even as much as Lahabrea had changed, fragments of eld ever still shone through word choice. The weighted pen stroke darkening certain letters over others indicating where the author's patience thinned with penning said correspondence.
Igeyorhm dismisses the messenger with a quiet recognition for service rendered, beginning once more the trek to Lahabrea's office.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The first words Lahabrea speaks to Igeyorhm upon her arrival waste no time for pleasantries.
Resting on Lahabrea's desk sits a simple wooden box, marked by the trappings of the Benevolent's office. Small, but certainly large enough to comfortably house a crystalline foci.
Igeyorhm lifts an eyebrow unseen under her mask. "Surely you opened the box before calling upon me?"
But in the event he hasn't, and indeed to see the finalized product for herself, Igeyorhm crosses the room and lifts the clasp keeping the lid closed. Upon a bed of plush crimson cloth rests a typical, bluish crystal. Even without lifting it from its bed Igeyorhm can see the sigil imprinted within. Deudalaphon delivers quality craftsmanship.
"I doubt I need to explain to you the identity of this device," Igeyorhm continues. "Or why I commissioned one from Deudalaphon's laboratory. The rather…emotionally volatile dispute between you and Ericthonios that led to his employment as a warder of Pandaemonium is common knowledge"
Lahabrea’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
Igeyorhm prizes the crystal from its seat, holding it out to Lahabrea, palm open. "Your son's drive to succeed deserves commendation. Yet, as I understand the purpose of the facility, a lack of anything less than utter and precise control over aether could prove disastrous in a location such as Pandaemonium."
"I am well aware of Erichthonios's difficulties utilizing aether. Strengthening his fundamental foundations over the years provided incremental improvements in terms of control." Lahabrea still maintains that ever impressive calm, if it weren't for the stiffness with which he holds his body. "Yet this line of inquiry does not impress upon me a reason to source such a crystal."
Igeyorhm waits until she's sure Lahabrea's finished, rolling the crystal across the palm of her hand. "It seemed passing strange to me neither you nor Athena considered reaching out for Deudalaphon's assistance, considering the subject's something of a special interest of hers."
"But here," at last Igeyorhm softens, placing the crystal on the desk before Lahabrea. "I've done the scouting work for you. A simple vessel, crafted with your sigil, giving you authority to argument its specifications to more directly suit Erichthonios's situation at your leisure."
Igeyorhm ought to leave the situation there. Her first overtures of an olive branch between faded paths long diverged, extended and rejected at the turn of a hand. This perhaps steps intimately too far, where she has little right still to tread.
But even if Lahabrea has changed, his reasons all his own, in the long run Igeyorhm remembers their time together fondly. Isolation, the trials of grief Lahabrea already throws himself into work to avoid - these things she will not see him weather alone.
And so it is, hand paused mid-twist turning the door knob in preparation to leave once more, Igeyorhm's acute hearing picks up clinking crystal shifting across parchment. Over her shoulder she watches Lahabrea's fingers enclose around the crystal he picks up from his desk, gentle light suffusing his hand.
Tentative beginnings, slowly nurtured. Igeyorhm smiles, leaving him to his privacy and lets the door click shut behind her.