The Pet Rat

My escort shoves me into the ranger's cell where the others were already waiting. From our bed, which is really just a closely pact bundle of hay wrapped in cloth, Naz hails me. "What took you so long? You look like ass."

While preparing to wash up, I answer sarcastically. "Well I went and got into trouble like I always do. Drug the templars along with me."

Like the nosy old coot he is, he continues to prod into my day, but I continue to brush him off with vague answers. Can't you see I don't want to talk about it old man? Eventually he takes the hint and just says, "Sounds like you had it rough."
How surprisingly sympathetic.

Without Naz or I to keep a conversation going, the cell falls awkwardly silent with Maheed sitting at our small table and Wal doing push-ups. Maheed attempts to remedy the silence with, "I had a good patrol. Humans kept petting me like a dog though and the templars were rude. Actually I didn't... Sorry, never mind."

Leaving my current pair of pants to wash for later and putting on the other pair, I sit and relax in the seat next to Maheed. Now's a good chance to start on this. I ask, "You didn't what?"

Even through his mane, I can see the shock from my engagement. He clearly wants to talk, but he doesn't know how to interact with people. Showing genuine interest in what he's saying can build a lot of unfitting trust. Though I can't show genuine interest, I doubt he knows the difference.
He hesitantly prattles on about the various people who treated him like a dog and I throw in similar grievances letting him take the main speaking role. Gradually he become more confident with his story but still second-guesses himself, meandering between each little event with almost no consistency.

In the middle of his retelling, the door to the dungeon opens causing all of us to stop and watch. Andre appears with a large book in hand. As soon as he's able to see us, he begins to lecture. "This is the book of Sol. Treat it like you would treat your own mother because if this book is mishandled there will be severe consequences. Temple scribes worked hard to create a copy for heretics who probably don't deserve it."
Andre glances down at Naz. "Naz, you will be responsible for reading it to the others and teaching them certain passages. Here's the list Stoler left for you."

Naz gently takes the book. "Thank you Andre. We'll be sure to take care of it."

Andre sighs. "Good. The temple is already on my ass for letting you lot out early, so teach 'em quick."

Naz nods his understand so Andre leaves grumbling something about nuisances. When the dungeon door locks shut, Naz groans and hops into a seat. "Right then. Gather 'round kids and let's get this over with."

I hold my hand out to take the book and Naz hands it to me skeptically. "Thought you couldn't read?"

I shrug. "Of course I can read. But Stoler doesn't need to know that."
Naz sighs his disappointment as I open the page. What the fuck? I show the page to Naz. "This is gibberish. There's letters but no actual words here."

He takes it back and studies the paper for a bit before realizing. "It's not gibberish. It's Swaylish, one of the common languages in the North-East."

What? I scoot closer so we can both see the pages at once. "Then what's this first sentence?"

He speaks slowly as he translates. "We inherited Kalth from the dragons."

I stare at each of the words as he reads and sure enough, none of them match up. "Then what about this next sentence."

Wal taps the table to get our attention. "You can learn Swaylish later. We have a job to complete first."

Naz agrees. "Aye, that we do. Where's that list at?"

Without missing a beat, Wal conjures the list from nowhere, allowing Naz to find the pages we need. When did he even have a chance to grab that? The book of Sol apparently comes with specific prayers we're supposed to chant after we do almost anything. Stoler demanded we learn all of them, but the most pressing are for when we apprehend criminals, take a life, and speak to the public.
It's easy to memorize those few prayers, so Naz quickly moves on to the blatant manipulation the temple calls 'lessons.' The book essentially demands readers to follow a very strict set of morals that happen to allow the temple to retain as much power as possible. It's sickening. At least I've never acted like I'm some paragon of virtue meant to be revered.

"...And Sol said, 'To obey my temple is to obey me. Follow my teachings and your soul may light your kin's future.' " Naz lays the book down and rubs his temples in frustration. 

Wal growls, "You're certain that's the translation? I've never known the temple to be as domineering."

Naz groans. "I'm certain. It ain't a direct translation, but that's what it says."

I chime in sarcastically, "It's almost like they show their best face to outsiders and keep the indoctrinated trapped with fear."

Wal bores into me with an icy sidelong glare. "Is that sarcasm? I won't be lectured by a child with not so much as a glimpse into the outside world."

"And you refuse to accept what you've seen because you've never been affected by their manipulation."

The growl in his voice intensifies. "You believe my life has been so easy I'm blind to the signs of deception? Your hubris is astounding."

In the moment of silence before my response, Naz suggests, "Leave it segugek. He's right on this one."

"You don't understand. This bullshit is the exact same-"
Naz and Wal stare at me, not listening to a word. They're just waiting for me to finish so they can put me down. I'm not in the mood for this. I throw up my hands in mock surrender. "Whatever. Maybe you'll see it one day."

Naz sighs. "Let's get back to it then."
He begrudgingly continues the lesson with Maheed and Wal listening intently. I suppose I'll just stay quiet for now and hear just how deep the corruption runs. This could be useful ammo against Stoler for later.
Naz keeps reading for a long while until dungeon door swings open again followed by frantic foot falls down the stairs. Aroura appears fumbling with the keys to our cell. She reaches the door and stares at me with a ferocity I've seen sparsly over the week. "Kar'Desh! Come quick, I've done it!"

She looks like she hasn't slept in days with bloodshot eyes and a haggard appearance. I put up my hands defensibly. "Slow down, what did you do?"

"I've stabilized your mana!"

"That's... Good?" I have no idea what that means.

The cell door crashes open and she rushes in, swipes my arm, shutters, then drags me out of the dungeon. Why just me? Oh well, it's a welcome distraction. She leads me through the castle's painted halls directly to her room. As soon as the doors close behind us, she takes a deep breath and urges me up the ladder to her 'lab,' as she calls it.
Last time I saw it, it seemed disorganized, but clean. Now, some of the unmarked books and contraptions that have lined the walls were placed on the floor to make room for vials of, what I assume is, my and the other's blood. In the centre of the room stands Aroura, arms outstretched presenting a rosy sphere propped up on grey twigs. "Behold!"

As I move closer to inspect further, she jabbers on. "Ordinarily, this process is much simpler, however your mana would drain my tools of their own, rendering their natural magic properties nullified."

"So all this stuff has magical properties? What do they do?" The rosy sphere sits above a sheet of paper with what looks like a letter inscribed into it. She happily explains that 'magical properties' just means that the materials can hold and interact with mana whereas almost everything else can't.
I look at her quizzically as I absorb the knowledge. "I get that these are the only materials that can hold mana and all that. But why? Why are these the only ones?"

Her eyes light up with pure joy and she practically squeals, "Oh, how long I've waited for this very discussion!"
She pulls a chair from one of the tables and takes a moment to sit with flawless posture. Once she's situated into her seat she starts with, "I've come across many theories, but my favourite have always been Gotthard Exhil's."

Looks like I'll be here a while. While she eagerly explains exactly who Gotthard is and what his theories are, I pull up a chair and listen. Offering more questions where I can, keeps her talking and allows me to think. Based on what she said, it seems her ideal friend should discuss theories and magic with her, or at least show genuine interest. Should be easy enough since this magic stuff is fascinating.
But that also means she could be the only magic user in the royal family since she's never spoken with her brothers or father about this.
After a lengthy conversation, I finally say, "Fascinating. Based on what you said, it seems like Gotthard has the right of it. Though I would like to hear more about the others from a less biased perspective."

She chuckles at my playful jab and concedes. "A fine sentiment, though I must wish you luck finding another to debate theories."

Perfect. I ask, "I'm seriously the first person to find this interesting? What about your family? Surely they must have some interest in magical debate."

She perks up and excitedly gossips. "Unfortunately it's simply not so. You wouldn't believe how often my dear brothers actively shun my research! They insist I should devote myself to honing my gift as a weapon. Father, fortunately, enthusiastically supports my experiments, though only for the militaristic and stately applications."
She leans forward like she's revealing a hilarious secret and points at the device she showed me initially before getting distracted. "I had to convince him this could be used against mages."

I glance at it and ask, "Can it?"

"It's certainly conceivable. It drains mana after all."
She suddenly sits up like she's just remembered something. "Speaking of. If you would, please lay your hand upon it. I'm anxious to observe the results."

I rise to get closer and ask, "I won't break it, will I?"
Don't want to accidentally upset the princess carrying out her request.

She waves her hand dismissively. "I'm able to reconstruct another with relative ease should the need arise."

Fair enough. I take a step closer and extend my hand towards the rosy sphere. What is that? I stop just before my hand falls on it because I feel something. It's faint but powerful. Almost like my hand is yearning to be reunited with itself. Strange.
I push past the feeling, laying my fingers onto the sphere. Immediately, a surge of power rushes through my fingers and into my hand, ceasing a mere second later. I stare at my hand and say, "Feels like moving mana, but inwardly this time."

She places a finger on her sphere and nods. "Empty, as I hypothesized. An interesting application, nonetheless."
She sighs, which quickly turns into a yawn. She reaches for the open journal she left beside the sphere and begins to scribble down some notes.

I watch her bloodshot eyes dance across the page for a moment before asking, "When was the last time you slept?"
Showing concern is an easy way to let her think she can trust me.

Without looking away from her journal, she answered. "I've often snoozed to maintain my wits. Why?"

I can't help but scoff at that. "Like naps could replace actual sleep. My friends and I tried to stay awake as long as possible for a dare so I know how miserable no sleep is. Get some rest Aroura."

She snickers. "You speak like my mother."

Being compared to a mother annoys me a bit, but I force a smile anyway. "At least say I speak like a father or an older brother."

She shrugs and mocks. "I can lie if it would soothe your ego."

I throw up an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Would your mother punish you for backtalk?"

With a hand on her hip and another on her chin she says, "Oh! He scolds too."

Scold? "You spoiled brat. You've never been whooped, have you?"

A moment of confusion takes her by surprise before she says, "I'm not so innocent I've yet to be punished if that's what you're asking."

I can't help but laugh. "You haven't."
Another easy way to build trust just placed itself into my lap. "My mother, when she would get fed up with my antics would grab the closest object and beat me with it 'till I cried. A stick, a boot, a belt. Oh, the belt was the worst."

The scars on her face twist into an expression of utter disbelief. "That sounds horrid! Why?"

I shrug. "To get me to behave obviously. It worked most of the time."

"Yet you ended up imprisoned?"

I chuckle as I say, "Only because mother wasn't around to whoop me. If Stoler had a belt, I would've surrendered in a heartbeat."

She took my chuckling as an invitation to laugh herself. She composes herself with a yawn, then says, "I'll keep that in mind next time you misbehave."
I assume she hasn't had many interactions like this either. Perfect.

I have to ask before she actually falls asleep. I stand to signal my readiness to leave. "If I make my way back to the cell on my own, I'm not going to get cut down in the halls am I?"

She yawns again and answers, "Of course not. The guards know of your vital role in my research."

Perfect. "Good good. I'll make my way back there then so you can rest up. See ya later Aroura."

She offers her farewell and escorts me out. With her bedchamber door clamping shut, I'm left alone in the moonlit halls. Right then. Let's get to work.