Sometimes your own culture likes to shock you

Emy

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Iliril of the Chant

He couldn't do it. Iliril had expected that answer, prepared for it even. So why is it still so hard to hear? Because he had been counting the days and weeks and it was just- Nobody had any urgency about the matter. It was all the same, just a continuous chain of people redirecting him to other people and the end was always the same.

The entire thing all fell back to Ishikawa Chinatsu, who didn't know how to cast the spell in reverse. And even if she did, she couldn't cast it again because of the mana cost. Iliril didn't know that much about her family but he did glean enough to understand why demanding more of her wouldn't do anything. She had two younger brothers whom she relied on to help her when it came to the most advanced spells. With one of those brothers apparently missing, however, she was already limited in that aspect.

Very softly, he said, "Oh," and choked halfway through it. For a moment, there was just nothing Iliril could say. He wasn't going to look at either Enelen either, because he honestly felt that he could cry and if he did so right there, he might as well just curl up and die.

"B-but," he said, voice just becoming quieter and quieter. "W-what if y-you t-tried?"
 

Romi

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It was heartbreaking for Enel to watch. He knew what it meant to Iliril. He knew what it stood for. It meant the deaths of the people he'd jumped across with. Perhaps Enelen was a bit too logical at times. He kept telling himself that he wouldn't be so torn up over it, that he'd have been able to move past it, but he felt a flicker of doubt at the very idea. Was he really? Could he really have accepted their deaths faster than Iliril? Did that make him cold hearted?

No, he told himself - it just made him logical.

"Iliril..." He cut in, his older self looking increasingly awkward with each passing second after Iliril's frantic beg. He stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Iliril's shoulder, trying to be comforting and doing a very poor job of it. He simply wasn't used to comforting people. None of the children he'd essentially been raised with had any family, and the only death he'd ever experienced was an extremely old teacher who'd finally passed away. It hadn't even really been a sad thing. Everyone had known it was coming, everyone had said their goodbyes, and the funeral had been lovely. It hadn't been sad at all.

"Iliril, if he tries, it won't work. I know you want to, but you have to accept you can't be responsible for them. You can't throw yourself onto the fire to try and stop them from burning."

He winced at his poor choice of words, but he'd been trying to speak from the heart.
 

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Iliril of the Chant

"B-but, Enel," Iliril said after a few moments of silence, before falling quiet again. On some level, he knew that the other mage was right and he hated it because it would have been so easy to just give in and write it off as a true loss. Maybe that was what he should have been doing all along, in the same way he had finally given up on asking to look for his parents. But it didn't sit right with him at all and the more he thought about it, the more frantic he felt. He simply had no options. It seemed like all he could do was think and things and that was the most useless thing anybody could do.

"B-but t-that's w-what y-you're s-supp-pos-sed t-to d-do in C-Chants!" Just Enelen had, Iliril winced at his own words when he said that. It had to be said, though. "Enel, I w-wasn't b-born t-to C-Chants," he explained desperately, turning to the boy. "M-my p-par-rents w-were, are, ahhh." He struggled with the tenses in a sudden bout of frustration. It was only such a small issue. It shouldn't have bothered him so much. Iliril said finally, "T-they're W-Words m-mages. T-the C-Chant-try in S-Sard, it d-didn't h-have t-to t-take m-me in w-when t-they d-did." And maybe that's why it had made such an impression on him. Besides the part where he could have very well wandered off into the desert and simply died there, the community aspect of Chants was so different from his hazy recollection of individual independence in Words.

"T-there's d-diff-fer-renc-ces." And that was why, too, he had always felt he had to pursue the common ideologies in Chants more intensely than other mages. Because Iliril wasn't supposed to be there and he knew it. "Y-you c-can't j-just l-leave p-peop-ple b-beh-hind. T-that's n-not h-how t-things w-work." Living was in unison, casting spells was in unison. If you died, then you were either going to go out with the others if it was because of a bad spell or you were going to go out with company.
 

Romi

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If it was true - if that was really the mentality of the Chants mages - then it was silly. Even if Iliril thought that way, and thought it was right, it still wasn't right. He couldn't help, and blindly throwing himself to the dogs wasn't going to help anyone. It was wrong, and Enelen could feel it swelling up inside him. Didn't Iliril understand? It wasn't going to work. It was already too late.

—-

But Enelen had heard enough. His younger self was trying to be friendly with the other mage, but Enelen had no such need. He didn't need the friendship of a boy half his age from a bizarre cult, and he essentially cut into the conversation, his brows furrowed in annoyance, anger visible on his face.

"And I'm sure they'd certainly appreciate that you're willing to throw your life away for them. After all, isn't that how it works? It's why I've no doubt heard of the fact that entire colonies of Chants mages kill themselves if one of their own dies. You can't just leave people behind.." There was no such custom, of course - or if there was, he'd never heard of it. But he had little tolerance for that kind of fatalistic logic. "You think they'd be happy with how you're behaving? You think they'd find out that you managed to get away from a horrible fate, and then be upset that you didn't go running back to that horrible fate? You've already tried. You can't help them. Now move on with your life and stop wasting the lessons they taught you."

—-

He didn't get any further - Enelen had forced his way between Iliril and his older self, and now his face was mad.

"Have some - Have some sensitivity!" He yelled, although he couldn't quite bring himself to disagree. Even if he thought that his older self was being monstrously cruel about it, he couldn't deny that what he said was true. Both Enelen's were in agreement - anyone who really cared about Iliril wouldn't want him to waste his life trying desperately to get back to them when they were almost certainly dead.
 

Emy

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Iliril of the Chant

The High Mage wasn't the only one who was getting angry. Iliril, partially out of the fact that he was sick of feeling like his insides were being scrapped out on a day by day basis by the inaction and worry, was starting to wonder why exactly he bothered. Of course the man wouldn't understand. There weren't any similarities between them at all. He was just a normal Chants mage with a disability and that man over there had rank and power and also didn't even care much for him.

A part of him deeply appreciated that Enelen had stepped in. It really did. It meant something even though Iliril could still recognize that Enelen wasn't refuting his older self at all. That hurt. Everything kind of hurt, though, so he wasn't even going to bother with that. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. (Okay, maybe not really but nobody told Iliril that he had to always be right in what he thought.)

He really hated everything.

Looking out from behind Enelen, Iliril looked right at the High Mage. Was he supposed to cry now? He didn't want to anymore. He just wanted badly to punch something and not care about stupid people who would get hurt as he did it. But I also don't want to accidentally murder anybody, he thought viciously. If he could pick that man up so easily, he would probably accidentally kill him if he did something as basic as slap him. He was darkly amused by that for all of five seconds before it just. Faded into apathy because if not that, then it would have been straight into plain guilt. Violence just wasn't a part of him. And if it was, it would have been self-focused.

"N-Nine, eight-teen, t-twent-ty-t-two, t-twent-ty-t-three," he said through gritted teeth. "T-that's h-how old t-the ones w-who are l-left are. I d-don't c-care if y-you und-ders-stand or n-not. M-maybe I'm j-just n-not g-good at exp-plain-ning. B-because I'm s-still a s-stud-dent, y-you s-see. Exc-cuse m-me f-for b-being s-stup-pid and w-want-ting t-to h-help m-my f-friends."

"B-but here's t-the t-thing. T-they're s-stud-dents, t-too." At that moment, he truly hated the man. "Y-you t-think ev-ver-ryb-bod-dy t-thinks t-the w-way y-you d-do? Ev-ven t-the k-kids? At n-nine y-years-old, w-were y-you r-reall-ly t-that s-self-less?" That last one was the worst, it really was. There were so many types of wrong associated with that and if he thought about it more, he'd really actually slap the High Mage for it. "It's s-so eas-sy b-being c-calm and r-rat-tion-nal w-when it's a b-bunch of p-peop-ple y-you d-don't ev-ven l-like."
 

Romi

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"Why won't you listen? It's not about who, you like, it's about -" The older mage was essentially cut off by his younger self pushing into him, knocking him back. If the two of them got into a fight it would be the most pathetic thing imaginable, but thankfully it didn't really come to blows. Enelen huffed, straightening his robe and turning on his heel - vanishing without a sound, gone as if he'd never been there.

Enelen turned back to Iliril, happy his older self had at least got the message to clear out. That said, he was less happy that it had happened at all. He didn't feel like there was anything he could have even done to prevent it, which was... frustrating.

"Let's... let's just go inside. Na Lan isn't in right now, so we can just sit, and I'll get you some tea." Na Lan's tea, but he really didn't think the spirit would mind. It was for a good cause after all.
 

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Iliril of the Chant

He stared at the spot where the High Mage had been standing just a moment ago. Just what does he know, anyways? Iliril thought dully. The man hadn't been there. He didn't understand how Chants worked, let alone the specific branch in Sard. Iliril would have wondered, too, why he had even bothered to try but of course the answer to that was obvious.

He felt awful. It wasn't a sick feeling, it wasn't even like he was being hollowed out. He felt like there was something just dragging him down to the center of the Earth.

"Y-yeah," Iliril said eventually, dazed. "If t-that's ok-kay, I g-guess." It was scary how much he just didn't care at that moment.
 

Romi

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Enelen guided Iliril into the room, lightly pushing him in before closing the door. Could his older self still teleport in? Was he that good? Or did it have to be a place he'd already been?

Hm, that was probably the sort of thing he should have asked. Ah well, later.

"Sit down." He said, gently pushing Iliril down until he was sitting in the chair properly, and then scooting off to the kitchen. He helped himself to Na Lan's tea, squinting at the stove for several minutes before trying the dials until he managed to get the fire going. He could just create a fire, but it wasn't like there was any wood, and even a more complex everlasting fire spell wasn't going to do very good when the kitchen had no real place for it. Back at home there had been a specific place in the kitchen for that sort of thing.

He messed with the stove a bit more before putting on a kettle on and sliding back over to take a seat across from Iliril.

"I'm sure -" He paused, deciding that saying his older self didn't mean it was probably wrong. He probably did mean it. Enelen hadn't even said it himself and he'd meant most of it.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you like that. He doesn't know everything about what happened." He finally said, deciding that part was mostly truthful.
 

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Iliril of the Chant

"T-they n-nev-ver d-do m-mean it," Iliril muttered, echoing what he had said during their very first meeting. "T-that's j-just t-the w-worst p-part, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he sighed and looked away.

The inside of Enelen's dorm was strange looked about the same as his own, only there were random containers filled with water scattered about the place. Iliril distantly noted it as being strange, before remembering what kind of person the mage had as a roommate. That was strange. That was so strange to him. Because if this was back at home, that was pretty much what everyday life looked like anyways.

Maybe everything would seem so much clearer if reality could only stop bleeding over into itself.

"D-do y-you t-think I'm b-being d-dumb?" He asked Enelen. "I g-guess it r-reall-ly d-doesn't m-matt-ter b-but." His were fixed over at the window but his face kept doing funny spasms. "It's j-just n-no g-good t-this w-way."