I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re the sylph with eighteen years of experience. I have no clue what’s going on.” He huffs in laughter, softly, glancing at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m seventeen, to be fair, and I was raised by warrior monks. You seem to be at least good at pretending to know what you’re doing with very little help.” “Though, I believe…” Cashel hums, turning his gaze back to the open room. “You’ve always been good at that.” “I… guess.” I look at the open room as well. I don’t know what he’s looking at, I’m just doing it to fit in. “...Hale.” He begins, after a minute of silence. “Has anyone ever told you to lose your temper?” “Uh…” I trail off. “I don’t think… people generally want that. So no. I just do it.” “Has anyone ever told you not to?” Cashel begins to walk over to a more secluded area of the room, closer to where you were before with him. I follow him. “I mean. Not directly,” I mutter. “I have been advised for and against both. I tend to practice restraint, but sometimes it is simply–” He glances at you. “Sometimes it’s more fun to just watch something burn. You have to find your own balance.” “So… you’re… going to teach me to find… balance.” “No.” He winces faintly. “Balance can’t be taught. It can only be found. Everything around you will try to tip the scales.” “As I have come to understand it, rage has a very fine tipping point.” Cashel turns to you, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t let your aspect consume you– and it will try.” I cross my arms. “I’m only good in a fight. Why shouldn’t I if it’ll help me– us– win.” He pauses, considering his words carefully. “Rage is fear and doubt, not just anger. It can be explosive. Any aspect can be. If you let your aspect control you, you’ll end up lashing out and hurting someone you don’t mean to.” I flinch. “It’s hard,” I say quietly. I uncross my arms and wring my hands anxiously, before settling on just rubbing my wrists. “I want to go back,” I admit. “Not really, but–” I break off. “It was easier. I only needed to worry about myself.” “It’s easier to cut yourself off.” Cashel adds, softly. “But it doesn’t change anything.” He goes quiet after this. You’re not sure if he’s lost in thought or just can’t come up with anything to say. “Caring is hard,” I say, and fall silent. I look away, suddenly very uncomfortable. “You’re lucky to have a good teacher.” Cashel continues, without explanation, immediately. “Youve chosen Eyja as your deity. It’s a deity of absolutes. You either do or you don’t.” “If you destroy something, it’s gone forever. If you create something, it’ll last forever. That’s the mentality of Eyja.” "How much do you know about the deities." Yeah. Let's move on. I like that much better. You get the feeling he does too. "Quite a lot. I've done my research and had my run-ins. If you have any questions, I'm sure I could answer them." "Well I don't--" I huff, frustrated. "I don't really know what I should be asking. I don't know anything about this deity shit. Klitta made it sound cool, I guess, but. What do I even do. Do I have to pray. How does it work. Finley gave us information about the deities, but not how to use it." "It all depends on the deity." Cashel shrugs faintly. "Some deities like prayer. Eyja is not one of them. You don't have to talk to Eyja, or interact with them at all. I believe all you really have to do is profess who you are, and clearly. Shrines of Eyja should help you know your path." "Finley said Audesce was a... place. For Eyja. Do I do that there." He nods. "The island will help. Hopefully you can deny the illusions there too." I grimace. "Yeah. That would be... nice." "I've heard they're quite unpleasant." Cashel adds, raising an eyebrow. "They are," I say shortly. "I'm not looking forward to going back." "I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. You've already had your experience." He glances away. I squint at him. "Are you scared." "No." Cashel's reply is instant. He doesn't turn his head back to you. "I'm not. Are you?" "Yeah. It fucking sucked." "I've only heard bad things about Audesce." He sighs. "Well. That isn't true, but the only good things I've heard were lies." I frown. "Like what." "That visiting the island consisted only of a nice walk through the woods. You know, no illusions, no nothing." He waves a hand vaguely. "And that was clearly bullshit." "Who the fuck said that." "Flo did." Cashel frowns. "She went there alone." "She's... who is she again. That one, right." I correctly point to Flo, but am unaware of the fact. "Yes, her. She's..." He furrows his eyebrows in frustration. "She doesn't want anyone to worry about her, so she just lies." I scoff. "I think in this case it's doing more harm than good." "It is. I wish..." Cashel trails off with a huff. "Rogues. Rogues and knights. Always like this." I give him an odd look. "Like what." "They don't tell anyone else about getting hurt unless they absolutely need to because they 'don't want them to worry'." He glances at you. "They have this horrible tendency of just acting like everything is fine all of the time. Even when it's clearly not." "Has Sam spoken to you yet?" I cross my arms and look away. "Yeah. Like twice. I don't think she likes me very much." Cashel raises an eyebrow in your direction curiously. "Really? What makes you say that? I've certainly never heard her indicate that she dislikes you." "Well--I don't--" I break off. "She was on--It was a hallucination. I don't want to talk about it," I finish curtly, mood significantly soured. He opens his mouth with another question, but closes it. You don't want to talk about it. That's fine. He's dying from curiosity, but he likes you. "I would take the time to talk to anyone who isn't coming with us, while you can." Cashel responds instead. I nod mutely. "Didn't someone say the evacuees from Fiddler are here," I say after a long pause. "Yes, they are. I've heard they've been quite... difficult to deal with." He watches your reaction closely. "Mostly attempted arson. Some random stabbings, I believe." I scowl. "It hasn't been worse?" "Not so far. I imagine it will be. Any of them that don't want to change will likely just leave." I frown. "I want to talk to someone. I told him to die and I wish I didn't." "We could go and find him right now, if you want. As long as you know his name, we should be able to locate him." I hesitate. "I don't. Never mind. Forget it. I don't have anyone else to talk to." He sighs, covertly turning his head away and rolling his eyes to himself. "Nobody? Nobody at all." "Nope." "Not... Finley. Assuming that's too far, Sam? Anyone?" "I suppose I shouldn't judge." He mutters. I shift uncomfortably and scoff. "I asked Finley to teach me some stuff earlier. It was bad. I don't need them anyway. So no." "You may not need them." Cashel squints at you carefully. "But I think you should try again." "They're busy," I say flatly, not bothering to turn and check. "No they're not." He responds to you in the same deadpan tone. I cross my arms. "What am I even supposed to say to them. I don't have anything," I say. "We can debate Sam all you want. Finley hates me." "If I were to walk over to Finley right now and tell them to talk to you," He narrows his eyes, "What do you think they would say?" "No." His expression lights up with a very unfortunate smile. "Would you like to find out?" "...No..?" I say slowly. "I'll be back." Cashel spins on his heel, crosses his arms behind his back, and marches straight for Finley. Finley is standing off to the side, alone. They look like they're idly examining a knife. You have no idea where Navy went. I watch Cashel out of the corner of my eye. I don't like what's happening. Cashel marches straight up to them. They raise an eyebrow at him and listen for a bit, then respond with a short laugh. A few more moments pass and the knife disappears from their hands. They instead throw their arms out to their sides indignantly. Cashel points to you without turning. Finley scowls at Cashel and strides past him. Towards you. Fuck. Well, I'm no bitch. I turn and face them head-on, face set in a stony scowl. They stop in front of you and cross their arms, keeping their expression neutral. "Cashel wants me to talk to you." I copy their posture. "What a coincidence," I say dryly. "He wants me to talk to you too." "I don't hate you." Finley responds in an equally unenthused tone. "Cool." Your ancestor continues to stand there, silently. They just stare at you for a while, then glance you over, then briefly glance past you. I look over to where I saw Cashel last. What's he doing. Talking to Levett, sending the occasional glance your way. "Good talk," I eventually say, words dripping with sarcasm. I turn on my heel and start walking in a completely random direction. "Coward." Finley doesn't move, only raising their voice slightly as you walk away. I stop, but don't turn. "What." "Get back here." "Why the fuck should I. I have nothing to say to you." "The other sylph begs to differ." "Well, he was lying." I turn back around to face them. "What. Do YOU have something to say to ME? You want to act like some sort of parent now? Grow the fuck up. I already have." Finley squints at you, cocking their head to the side the tiniest degree. "That's the best you can come up with? 'Grow up'? If you think you're going to hurt my feelings by telling me I'm a shitty person, you obviously haven't gotten the memo." They give an aggravated huff and grit their teeth together. "I'm SORRY. Is that what you wanted to hear?" "I'm SORRY nobody was there for you. I'm SORRY you grew up in a shithole. And I'm SORRY that you died." Finley hisses through their teeth, scowling deeply. Their hands are clenched to fists at their sides. I stand there for a long moment, just glaring at them, completely speechless. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," I say slowly. I open my mouth to say something else, and the close it when I realize I don't know what. "Why don't you hate me," I manage. "You should. It doesn't--it doesn't make any fucking sense. Why are you fucking SORRY." I'm mostly muttering out loud to myself. "Why would I hate you!" Finley throws their arms into the air in exasperation. "You haven't done anything! I failed!" They huff again, pointing at themselves. "I couldn't do anything for you. Forget being there, I couldn't even get you a caretaker, or a pet, or a house, or ANYTHING- and I didn't do anything for Paris either!" "WHY would I hate you." They repeat, ending up dragging their hands through their hair in frustration. "I'm the one who fucked everything up." I set my jaw and look away. I don't have a response to that. I shove my hands in my pockets. "Because I'm fucking sick of me and so is everyone else," I whisper, each word chock-full of venom. "It would be easier," I say, even quieter. "That's bullshit." Finley drops their voice a few notches as well, but not quite to a whisper. "They aren't sick of you. I'm not sick of you. So shut up." "It might seem easier. It's not." I shake my head, refusing to look back their way, and keep my mouth firmly shut. I didn't want to have this conversation. I don't want to have this conversation. Why the fuck can't we just acknowledge that the other exists and then go our own separate ways, huh. Family's such a dumb concept. It hurts. Finley sighs. They just stand there, hands flexing uselessly at their sides, watching you. After a solid thirty seconds or so, at least, they slowly start to walk towards you. My eyes flick back to them briefly, guarded as ever. My shoulders tense, but I don't move.