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Chapter Text

Jace could hardly hear Ral’s voice over the clang of metal and thrum of electricity, but his excitement was palpable. He was half-wedged inside the massive machine they’d slowly put together over a number of weeks, only his waist and legs protruding at the moment, installing the mana stones deep inside the thing. Jace was holding the last one - a massive ruby - still, waiting for the Izzet mage to emerge once more to take it off his hands. It made him anxious, pulsating with some strange power he didn’t have a hope of wielding properly.

But still he held it dutifully, rotating it slowly in his palm and feeling over its edges and sides, trying to quell the feeling in his gut that something wasn’t quite right.

“...Should produce enough mana from just background noise to power the entire Izzet League! Isn’t that amazing?”

It took him a second to realize Ral had extracted himself from the machine and was talking to him. He nodded, smiling a little at the sight of the other man’s bright eyes and manic grin; it was, dare he think it, cute when he got this excited. It reminded him of why they had bonded to begin with, a shared passion for knowledge that drove both men together despite their differences. It was enough to make him forget his unease, for the time being.

He adjusted his collar - he felt strange without his cloak on, which was currently tossed over the bed in their tiny workspace-slash-Ral’s-apartment - and held out the ruby.

“Incredible. Want to do the honours? I think this is the last one.”

Ral scooped up the gem and turned it over a few times as if he were a jeweller appraising it for cut and quality. The ghost of a frown crossed his sharp features, but he didn’t voice whatever had caused it, instead jiggling the ruby in Jace’s direction for a moment.

“Once we wake this baby up, I’m taking you down to the Powderkeg to celebrate, alright? On me.”

“Is that a promise?” Jace replied softly, smiling.

“You know it.”

And with that, he dove back into the guts of the mana engine, deftly fitting the ruby into its slot. The last piece in a glorious puzzle.

When he climbed back out again, Jace was waiting anxiously next to the machine, hands folded together as he watched. It was time, the engine was complete. Weeks of work - all of it together, at Ral’s insistence - had finally blossomed, and now their project would bloom as well. The mind-mage quietly observed as Ral hooked up his gauntlet to the cables at the machine’s base, turning a few dials and flipping switches, carefully watching the needle of some unlabelled meter flicker.

“Just need to give it a little juice, and it’ll be done. Ready?”

“Ready…”

The Izzet mage’s muscles tensed up slightly, starting to pump mana into the engine. Slowly, it began to thrum to life, crackling with power as Ral fed it. It quickly began to produce a low rumbling noise, almost like the breathing of some great, metallic beast as parts started to move and spin, unfurling like a flower; limbs, an arching neck, broad wings, curved horns... exactly as the blueprints planned. The thing nearly took up the entire apartment as it expanded, but the carefully calculated dimensions kept the thing from crushing the two would-be artificiers

Ral’s eager smile became a grin, eyes wide as he watched the shape of a dragon unfold into its full glory. A glance at Jace revealed that he, too, was staring with wonder at the fruit of their labours, a crooked little smile on his face as well.  It's one thing to painstakingly put it together, another entirely to see it finally grow into a complete whole, beautiful and functioning just as intended. Did Jace understand the ecstasy of a successful experiment?

He increased the electrical flow, feeling his body pull other colours of mana from the aether and the dragon splitting and magnifying them like a prism. The dragon engine thrummed louder and louder as more and more power flooded through it, soon becoming loud enough to shake the walls of the apartment slightly, drowning out the sound of Jace’s voice as he expresses his worry to Ral.

But it soon reached a terrifying, deafening level, underlaid with a worrying rattling sound. The air in the one-room apartment heated, wine-coloured electricity arcing from the metal and even sparking up the cables connecting it to Ral’s gauntlet. The guildmage cursed loudly and tried to wrench the cables free, but only succeeded in scalding his hand. His gauntlet, too, overheated, searing skin and clothing both, but he couldn’t get that off either; all the storm mage could do was brace himself and try to pull some of the excess red mana imbalancing the engine away from it.

Jace’s first instinct was to flee, but he couldn’t leave Ral attached to the engine like that. The mind-mage’s hands were soon on him to try and pull him away, but the shock of electricity that didn’t harm Ral made its way into him instead, tensing up every muscle in the smaller man’s body and making him drop to his knees.

Ral’s yell for Jace to leave, planeswalk away to safety, anything , was swallowed up by the droning whine of metal buckling before the explosion hit, the dragon engine detonating with a building-rattling force, blowing out the wall of the apartment and sending most of its contents raining into the street below.

Jace’s world went black.

When Ral regained his consciousness, the first thing he was aware of was pain. The second thing was a rushing panic; where’s Jace?

He tried to scramble to his feet, ignoring the sharp ache in every one of his limbs and the throbbing of his head, and promptly tripped over whatever it was he landed on. The barest of glances revealed it to have been the cart of a fabric merchant that had been parked on the street, cushioning his fall. He righted himself one more, and surveyed the damage around him.

The debris from his ruined apartment littered the street, the great hole in the building overhead, three stories up, still smoked, and water gushed from ruined plumbing, which did have the tiny upside to dampening the small fires that smouldered in the wake of the detonation. His body protested each shaking step he took - he definitely had at least a few broken ribs to go with the burns and scrapes, and his ears were ringing, blotting out the sounds of panic he was sure surrounded him.

The scent of charred skin and clothing - his own skin and clothing - shook him out of his shock quickly. A surge of adrenaline shot through him when his mind focused again on the distinct lack of Jace. He called out the other man’s name but his voice was distant in his own ears, and a sinking sense of dread twisted his gut into knots.

Someone must have notified the closest Boros patrol, as a flash of white and red caught Ral’s eye, drawing his attention to a small crowd clustered in the street. Trying his hardest not to stumble, he half-ran-half-limped over, shoving past bystanders to get to the heart of the gathering.

His ears stopped ringing enough to finally make out the frightened mutterings of the crowd, but the scene before him muffled their words just as well. An armour-clad Boros soldier was crouched next to the poor little mind-mage's crumpled body, his head in her hands while her partner pressed a long cloth to his neck. On first glance, the long bit of linen appeared to have the Boros colours on it, but no, the massive burst of red was clearly blood, staining the soldier's shaking hands as well as the pavement.

He heard a faint “no” before he realized it was him saying it, stomach dropping as he stared, wide-eyed, at what lay before him. There was no other way to explain this. He was dead. He couldn't have survived that. He was tempted to retreat into denial; the fall rattled his brain, he wasn’t seeing the Guildpact's crushed body on the street. But he couldn't manage it, and he stood there in a stunned, dazed, painfully helpless silence.

He killed the Guildpact. He killed Ravnica. He killed Jace.

Chapter Text

The next thing Ral knew, a large, rough hand was clamped down on shoulder, making him wince with both surprise and a jolt of pain; one of the other Boros patrollers must have noticed him. He turned his head slightly and found himself face to face with a large man wearing an expression somewhere between worry and anger, and he felt his heart sink even further.

“Izzet mage, huh? Was that yours?” The man’s voice was much less firm than his grip, and he indicated the ruins of the apartment building behind them.

“It… was an accident…” was all he could croak out. For the first time in his life he wasn’t proud of his guild, knowing everyone could see the reds and blues of his tunic and were no doubt thinking ‘of course it was the reckless Izzet, of course it was them who doomed us.’ But there wasn’t much space for shame when horror and loss were taking up most of the room in his chest.

He didn’t struggle when the soldier tugged his hands behind his back, only wincing and having to suppress the urge to let out a flash of electricity in response to the sharp pain when his burnt arms were handled. He didn’t even protest the heavy shackles that soon wound around his wrists, weighing him down almost as much as his guilt.

"You're coming into custody, doesn't matter if it was an accident. Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Izzet. The Azorius will be here soon, and if you try anything it'll be a detention sphere for you."

"...Yes, sir," the storm mage’s reply was weak, broken. What was left, what reason to even fight? He wanted so badly to get angry, and some part of him responded, the air becoming charged and his hair starting to crackle... But he wasn’t sure what emotion was being released in a physical form. It seemed more than anything to be a terrible, impotent despair.

Before he had too much time to reflect, though, he was wrenched away from the scene, the last image he'd likely ever see of the Guildpact - of Jace - that of him looking so small and pale, prone in a puddle of his own blood.

The cell they took him to was small, tucked in the back of some small patrolhouse in the district, not really meant for long-term housing of prisoners. But he had been left there all the same, seated heavily on the tiny bench that served as a place to rest, only himself for company. He had a brief thought about trying to escape, but what was the point? Ravnica was doomed, he was doomed. Jace was gone.

He ran his hand over the mizzium surface of his gauntlet, wincing as even the tiny motion sent shreds of pain through him. The heat must have been intense enough to adhere the metal to his skin. He wasn’t looking forward to having to remove it later. His whole body still throbbed; they hadn’t even bothered to patch him up beyond wrapping anything obviously bleeding, and his ribs ached with every movement and breath.

He let his head fall into his hands and wondered how his life had got to this point. How the mighty had fallen.

He deserved this, was his first instinct; he deserved to suffer and be locked away for robbing the world of Jace, Guildpact or not. He barked out a weak laugh at that thought, another part of him remembering their previous animosity, the absolute rage and violence he had released on the unsuspecting mind-mage back in the Implicit Maze.

Isn’t this what you wanted, Zarek? Some deep part of his mind whispered, hissing like a serpent in his ear. To rid Ravnica of Beleren’s meddling, stomp out his spark and take the title of Guildpact for your own?

He felt bile rise in his throat. Even his mind was turning against him. No, it isn’t what he wanted. That wasn’t who he was anymore, he was a changed man. The Maze had been a tough time for everyone, tensions high and tempers boiling. Jace had since forgiven him for how he had acted, but it seems he had yet to forgive himself.

He sighed, ignoring how the movement made his ribs ache, and pushed aside thoughts of the past. He had something more pressing to deal with. This wasn’t fair, none of it. Why had he lived, mostly unharmed, when Jace - the more important of them, though it hurt his ego a little to admit it - had not? Why even had he decided to build that damn engine? Every time he tried to get a grip on the memory of where he’d got the blueprints and mana stones, it slipped through his fingers like sand. It was like they had just appeared one day, and he decided to build them.

Jace would be able to find it, his mind echoed dully. He sunk deeper into the bench.

His mind wandered. Away again from the predicament he found himself in, back to more pleasant times. Soft memories of bedsheets, pages of notes, and wine; of late nights that were half intense discussions and half stolen kisses. The way Jace’s eyes sparkled when he spoke about things he was passionate about, and the way his breathing hitched when Ral found that spot in the soft of his neck…

His face was wet, and it took him a long moment to realize it was because he was crying and not some manner of wound opening up anew. He didn’t bother wiping his face, arms stinging too much to really make it anything more than an exercise in pain. He couldn’t stop it anyway, tears coming as unbidden and as steadily as the memories.

More intimate memories now; Jace’s big bed, bedclothes tossed to the floor, the way the little mind-mage would sing when he worshipped his body, battered and imperfect but all the more beautiful for it. He loved imperfect things - unique, interesting things - and Jace’s body and mind had been the pinnacle of that. He had loved Jace, part of him realized. That’s what that feeling had been when they were together, not just when they were intimate, but when they spoke, when they worked together or even just spent time in each others presence. And he’d never see him again.

He went rigid when he realized he had never, not once, told the young man how much he had loved him.

More tears. More guilt.

No time to reflect on that, though, as the sound of boots on the stone floors roused him from his bittersweet reverie. A pair of armoured women were outside his cell, one Boros and one Azorius, the former unlocking the door and extracting him, the second reciting his rights from memory. He didn’t react aside from sucking in hissing breaths every time his wounds were jostled, back to the dazed submission before authority he found so unusual. He was quickly led through the tiny station until they reached an interrogation room, the only contents a table, two chairs, and a small window peering out onto the street outside.

He felt a chill go down his spine, and turned his head slightly to see the Azorius woman casting a spell; the way the mana inside him suddenly hissed like hot rain marked it as an antimagic enchantment. He was even more powerless than he felt now, electricity trapped under his skin and roiling like a raging storm. Heavy cuffs around his wrists soon came down to match, in front of him this time.

He was seated at the table, shackled once more, and left alone. His solitude wasn’t to last, though, as the door soon opened once more and admitted a tall, square-shouldered man in the silver and blue armour of the guild of law. The interrogator stepped to the other side of the table and regarded Ral with a stony expression.

“Explain.”

The word hung in the air for a moment as Ral struggled with how, exactly, to answer that question, finally settling on the simplest truth he could.

"I was attempting to build a large mana engine. The Guildpact was... accompanying me," he muttered, the soft, meek tone of his voice startling himself.

"You were building a dangerous piece of machinery in a civilian area, presumably with no permit to do so? And the Guildpact was assisting you? I find it very hard to believe that."

"I have certification, as a lead Izzet guildmage, " he continued quietly. "And the Guildpact and I are... It was a personal visit.”

"I'll send a request to Niv-Mizzet for a copy of your papers then, as I don't think anything in that apartment survived the detonation. Lucky for you there were no civilian casualties yet, just some treatable injuries. The Guildpact is…” Ral could hear the doubt in the man’s voice, and exhaled out his nose a little in response. “...if he pulls through, you might receive a lighter sentence..."

Ral just stared off into space, eyes locked on the table in front of him. Who the hell were they kidding, 'the Guildpact might pull through'. He saw him. They saw him. The Guildpact was dead.

"I guess there's that possibility," he muttered, but it sounded hollow.

“..In any case, the bulk of your interrogation will be carried out by the Deputy of the Guildpact, Arrester Lavinia. She should be here soon.”

Ral’s stomach sunk and he openly winced, face screwing when he heard the name of his interrogator. Well, at least he had the relief of knowing that he was about to die. Hopefully. He watched hollowly as the Azorius man left, locking the door behind him and leaving Ral with his thoughts once more.

He lost track of time while he waited, alternating staring at the table and out the window at the sky, watching it slowly darken. Ravnica was a big city, and who knew how long it would take Lavinia to arrive. Lavinia, one of the other Champions, and someone who was also close to Jace. He was dreading having to look her in the eye and tell her it was his fault the Guildpact was broken, Jace gone.

He had zoned out so much he barely noticed when she entered finally, the sun sunk down to the hidden horizon. She was just as he expected, clad in her armour and stern-faced as always, but her expression when she noticed who, exactly, was before her made him flinch physically.

“You,” she intoned, and he could tell she was struggling to keep her voice flat and level, an undercurrent of rage obvious.

“Yeah. Me,” He whispered, making eye contact with her and immediately regretting it.

She replied by slamming her palms into the table, making it shake slightly and making him flinch yet again. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, reselecting her words each time. She finally seemed to settle on something, though, steeling herself before speaking.

"What the hell did you do? Jace is-- The... the Guildpact is..."

"Dead. I know."

He looked at her emptily still, an eerie sense of calm washed over him. Not a comforting one, more that without the release of his magic, after being cornered and devastated like this, his emotions had retreated into the corner of his mind like a mortally-wounded animal.

"He's... he's not dead last I heard, not... Not yet," she muttered, her fury having left her in favor of the same empty despair that had filled Ral. She clearly wasn’t expecting the culprit to have been someone she knew, someone who she knew was close to Jace. “He’s being tended to but… He’s in bad shape. Did you tell the other interrogator what happened…?”

"I did. It was an accident," he replied softly. Gone was the normal flippant air the storm mage usually had; he sounded sincere, the hurt clear in his eyes. "A stupid, stupid accident."

He could feel Lavinia’s eyes on him even after he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact once her eyes softened, able to see how vulnerable he was. He hated being pitied, and he could tell that’s what she felt toward him now, her anger vanished into the aether for now.

She had started to say something, but it was swallowed by a low rumbling, the ground shaking violently for a second and nearly sending the pair of them toppling to the floor. A bright flash starkly illuminated the little room through the window, blue-white so bright it nearly blinded the pair. In its wake it left a sense of faint dread, of wrongness.

That was it. The Guildpact wasn't dead, but now he was. Who even knew what would happen now. He let his head drop again, staring at the table with wet eyes, not wanting to look up and see how Lavinia was looking at him now that they both knew that Ravnica’s Guildpact was broken.

"...I'm sorry," he choked out. It was all he could think to say.

Chapter Text

Everything after the Guildpact broke was a whirl of noise and colour, people talking in angry, terrified voices all around him, tugging him this way and that as they debated what to do with him. He barely understood the words through the din of despair, both from those around him and in his own thoughts. All he could do was stumble quietly behind whatever Azorius officer was manhandling him now.

He thought of Lavinia right after the breaking, the way she had stared at him for several long minutes in utter silence, hands shaking, the way her face had been a stern mask like always, but her eyes betraying her conflicting emotions. Somehow the fact that the arrester hadn’t said a word to him before he was taken away again had been more painful and frightening than if she had yelled or struck him. Anger and violence he could deal with, he was used to it, but silence was something he had trouble with. It made him nervous, awakening some buried, nameless dread from his childhood he could do without.

At least, he thought as he regarded his current surroundings, they were going to deal with his injuries now.

They stowed him away in a small medbay in yet another holding area for criminals, ankle chained to a cot so he couldn’t escape. As he stared at the cuff around his leg he had the vague thought that it couldn’t really hold him. He could leave at any time, couldn’t he? Leave this world behind and start new somewhere else, somewhere nobody would know that he had killed the one person he’d really connected with. But the idea of abandoning Ravnica made his stomach churn, his head spin. It was his home, the place he truly belonged, and he would never leave it behind. Ravnican to the core, right? Maybe he could fix this…

He was already mulling over possibilities when someone he assumed to be the healer entered the room. They were younger than he was expecting, a small, mousy human man in full Selesnyan regalia, posture meek and expression soft. He got the strange feeling he had seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t place where.

“Ral Zarek?” the young man asked softly, rolling up his long sleeves.

“Who else?” he muttered in return, shifting on the cot slightly.

“I’m here to fix you up a little. The Deputy of the Guildpact put in a request that you be patched up as soon as possible.”

Ral’s eyes widened a little, and he looked up from the spot on the floor he’d gone back to glowering at. Lavinia wanted him healed? He felt another tinge of guilt - it had been a constant emotion lately - as he considered that fact. He did nothing to deserve proper care, but he was grateful for it.

“I’m Elis of the Selesnya Conclave,” the young healer continued, approaching Ral to begin his work. “And I already know you. I remember you from the maze.”

“The maze…” His heart sank a little at being reminded once again of that whole mess.

“It was interesting to watch. You’re a very passionate man, hm?”

Ral frowned, narrowing his grey eyes slightly and wondering what the little mage was getting at. He realized it was a distraction a second before he felt the other man tug his gauntlet off, and a considerable amount of skin with it. There was a strange little moment where time seemed to stand still before the pain hit, ripping through his arm as his raw skin was revealed to the air, and he almost threw up in his lap from the shock.

But Elis was quick on the draw, saying something to him he couldn’t quite make out through the searing pain while stroking his palm over the area. It was a strange sensation, first a burning so bad he wanted to wrench his arm away from the clearly sadistic healer, but the wake of the touch left a pleasant coolness as the white mana he wielded knitted new layers of skin together. After what felt like an eternity of agony, his arm was healed enough to move and touch, the skin only a bit tender and quite red.

“I… Krokt, that hurt…” the storm mage panted, throat stinging and mouth tasting strongly of bile.

“It had to be done so I could heal it. Do you need some water?”

The healer was already fetching some from a pitcher before he could respond, so Ral quietly accepted, though swallowing it made his ribs ache. The smaller man was already peeling his tunic away, much to Ral’s chagrin, but he didn’t struggle. Deft hands traced lines of mana over his skin and healed cracked ribs, scrapes, and burns, each touch bringing a throb of pain followed by cool relief.

Ral watched the healer work quietly, pondering how much, exactly, this young man knew about what happened. He lacked the animosity he’d seen on so many other faces in the past day, but there was a distinct hint of sadness in his eyes every time he looked at him. And he still couldn’t shake the feeling he was familiar in some way. It all came together in a frustrating and nerve-wracking whole that made him want to fidget and move around.

Is this what Jace feels like all the time? He pondered before he could stop himself.

He shook his head out a little, and Elis gave him a questioning look.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Um... A little bit. Not too bad though,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he’d been lost in thought.

The little mage’s hands were soon on him once more, though, running through his hair and sending little bits of debris and ash raining down from it to the cot and floor. A soothing coolness spread from the back of his head, and the dull headache he’d been ignoring since the fall faded. Ral exhaled softly.

“There. Not quite good as new, but close enough,” the healer chirped, trying to sound cheerful as possible. Ral just gave him a flat look, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Elis frowned and dropped his hands to his sides.

“...I know I’m not the best healer, but… Nobody wanted to touch you. I volunteered, since leaving you like that wasn’t fair,” he said simply, folding his hands together in front of him.

“So I’m a pariah already, huh? Figures,” Ral grunted, running his hand over the tender skin of his arm.

“...Nobody is happy. When I got here the Boros, Azorius, and the Conclave were getting together to discuss what should be done, but it’s limited to the Guildmasters and those of high rank, so I’m not privy to it. There’s going to be a public one scheduled once they’ve come to a decision.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It really doesn’t,” Elis muttered. He moved to a nearby cupboard and opened a few of the drawers before finally taking out a bundle of clothes. “In any case, you can get changed into these. Your old clothes are in bad shape.”

“Thanks…”

Ral watched as the little mage neatly laid everything out on the cot next to him - a simple tunic and pants, caplet, thick woollen socks and leather bracers. Simple clothes in guildless styles. He ran his hands over his scarf, thankful it and his boots were intact; he was still attached to his identity as an Izzet mage, no matter what. He glanced to where his gauntlet lay on the bank of counters ringing the walls and winced, noticing how much skin was still attached to the metal. That would need cleaning.

“I’ll leave you now,” Elis said softly somewhere behind him. “But if you need me, you can probably find me at Sumala. I won’t go anywhere funny, I promise.”

Ral frowned and turned his head, but the door was already closing behind Elis before he could ask what the hell that meant.

He’d lost track of how many times someone or another had dragged him around by the arm in the last little while, but at least this time it was someone he knew the name of. Lavinia was his escort this time, her grip firm but not crushing like the last few had been. It was her that had roused him from the fitful, shallow sleep he had managed to get on the medbay cot, her that had helped him dress and given him a comb for his unruly hair. She was clearly sympathetic to his plight, but he could still tell that she was just as angry and upset as everyone else, though it at least seemed to be directed at something other than him.

But now the light of morning filled the streets as he was led to the next checkpoint in the marathon of his suffering. The streets around them looked the same as ever; the news must not have spread yet. Sunlight glinted off marble and glass, and he had to squint against the radiance as they approached the Forum of Azor, the great stone ring and towers casting long shadows. The large form of Isperia was perched on the centre dias, surrounded by delegation for both her Guild as well as the Boros and Selesnya. Crowds of the public were gathering around the forum, and he could pick out the face of Elis among them, worry etched on his soft features.

Lavinia led him up onto the dias as well, standing at his side with his upper arm gripped in her hand. A deafening silence fell when he was brought forth, the great judge towering over them, her paws tucked neatly under her as she looked down at them with her unreadable sphinx face.

"Good. We can begin."

The sound of Isperia’s level, controlled voice filled him with a surprising amount of dread. He shut his eyes and shook out his head, having to bite down on himself at the nausea that started to rise from all the conflicting emotions not just from himself, but from everyone else. One didn’t have to be a mind mage to soak up every bit of terror and anger from the people around them.

He stared up at the sphinx, and suddenly got the urge to dare her to strike him. Anything to feel like he had some control over this situation instead of this awful, all-consuming helplessness. The sphinx kept her gaze on him as she spoke once more, tone level and controlled as ever.

"In light of the events that have transpired in the Tenth District, and the breaking of our Guildpact once more, I have met with the Guildmasters of the Boros Legion and Selesnya Conclave. We agree on what the proper course of action should be, and and such, will be using the criminal responsible for the death of Jace Beleren to deliver our message. Aurelia of the Boros Legion, Trostani of the Selesnya Conclave, and I, Isperia of the Azorius Senate, henceforth declare war on the Izzet League."

It took him a moment to fully absorb the words, rocked down to his core. Jace's body wasn't even cold and already the guilds were declaring war on each other. His answer came as loud and bright as a lightning bolt; if he couldn’t release his feelings magically, he could release them in protest.

"You're going to tear apart Ravnica over a stupid accident?!"

"We have put up with the recklessness of the Izzet for long enough. This is the final straw that breaks our backs, and Niv-Mizzet must pay for the destruction he has wrought on our city over the years. This was not merely an accident, this is the sundering once more of our peace. Our Living Guildpact's blood is on your hands and those of your Guild."

Every word that came out of the sphinx’s mouth only boiled Ral’s blood further.

"Ravnica's infrastructure will be completely destroyed! There won't be a quality of life left when or if this war ever resolves! How could every one of you be so stupid, to start turning on each other when the Guildpact hasn't even been buried?!" The words just kept coming.

Maybe some of this aimless shouting would make something of a dent, at least slow down the absolute destruction of the last dregs of everything he held dear. It also helped to drown out the little tug in his chest that told him to run, run to where no one can find you. You can leave all of this behind and let the plane destroy itself. You have nothing left. Nothing to lose.

No. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

There was a long quiet from Isperia, and the crowd whispered around them as she stared him down, expression never changing. Eventually, though, she leaned down her large head until her face was mere feet from his, her breath hot on his face when she spoke.

"How about this, Ral Zarek. If you can convince Niv-Mizzet to admit his Guild is responsible for this, and to agree to surrender the helm of the Izzet to us, then we will retract our declaration of war. You have two months."

You may as well have asked me to convince the Orzhov to donate all their coffers to charity, you big stupid cat , he thought, glaring even when stared down by a sphinx. At least he had less of a chance of being eaten by her than the Firemind. Niv-Mizzet's... everything was his guild, literally an extension of his will and ego. The dragon would sooner go to war than give it up. Despite his stony expression, Ral deflated.

"I... fine."

"Very good," Isperia said, straightening up and motioning to Lavinia, who unshackled Ral and removed the binding enchantment holding in his mana with a muttered spell. "Arrester Lavinia will accompany you to make sure you don't get up to any more trouble. You will be provided with a room in New Prahv, and a curfew."

"Yes, ma'am," was all he said, but his mind was whirling.

He'd never convince the Parun to give up his guild in a hundred years, let alone two months. It was clear that it was less a time limit for his mission and more of a countdown to Ravnica's destruction. Even unbound, his fire, for the moment, had gone out.

He was dimly aware of another Azorius officer whispering something to Lavinia as she led him off the dias, too faint for him to hear, but her expression softened at whatever it was she heard. She still held his arm, but her grip was a little less firm. He wondered what was going on in her head. What he wouldn’t give for Jace’s powers right now.

When they were away from the Forum, she spoke to him again, voice soft. "...Jace's funeral is going to be in a week. You're allowed to come as long as I place a dampening enchantment on you for it."

"...I'd like that. Thank you," he whispered, not looking at her. A week. Maybe he'd need a little longer than that to say goodbye to Jace, to everything in Ravnica before he-- ...No. There had to be a chance, right? If he couldn't ferret out every possibility he couldn't call himself an Izzet.

Not that he could anyway if the plane collapsed.

Chapter Text

As Lavinia led him away from the Forum, Ral was struck by how… normal everything seemed, when they were away from the gathering. A little walking and a carriage trip led them past rows of buildings and streets filled with people that had no idea what had happened in the past little while, countless Guildless with not an inkling of what was coming in the next days and weeks. He stared out the window of the carriage at the crowds and wondered what it would be like to be one of them, going about their lives without pressures from tyrannical Guildmasters, without the burdens of knowing of worlds beyond their own, contained to one district their whole lives. He wasn’t sure he could do it, if he was honest with himself.

A touch on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head to stare wide-eyed at Lavinia, who wore a ghost of a smile on her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes. For a moment he pondered if she was aware of the things he was; she was no Planeswalker, he knew that, but she had been close to Jace…

He didn’t have long to think on that, though, because she motioned out the window at the great Guildhall of New Prahv.

“We’re here.”

“Ah, we are…” he replied weakly, shifting out of his seat to follow her.

She took him inside, through the wide halls and past groups of Azorius officers of all kinds, to the small dormitory area of the guildhall. He kept his head down, feeling uncharacteristically awkward and unsure of what to do with himself. This was alien territory for him, taken out of the familiar world of Izzet labs and cluttered, twisting steam tunnels and dumped unceremoniously into the ordered and numbered realm of the Guild of Law.

At least Lavinia seemed comfortable here, and he was thankful for her presence. They had never been all that close, but he had seen enough of her at Council meetings and the many times he had come to harass Jace at the Hall of the Guildpact to at least be able to hold a basic conversation. And now it looked like they were going to be forced into close contact for an extended period of time.

He watched her as she spoke to a man behind a desk outside the dormitory entrance, quietly observing how sure her expression was, how steady her hands as she filled out forms and leafed through papers. Her voice remained level, despite everything that had just happened. The woman was remarkably strong. It was a little amazing, given that he himself was such a wreck right now.

She handed him a cloth bag, bringing him back to reality.

“A change of clothes and some toiletries,” she said softly, noting the way his brows furrowed slightly as he stared at it.

“Ah,” he muttered, letting his arm sag slowly, the bag nearly dragging on the ground. His own things were probably unsalvageable, aside from whatever he had stashed in his private lab in Nivix. And he had no idea when he’d be able to go there next.

She took a key from the man at the desk and led Ral off, down the halls of the guildhall and the rows of doors meant to hold Azorius officials and new recruits. The pair stopped in front of a door with “94” written on it. Ral frowned at it.

“Here we are…” Lavinia said softly, opening the door and ushering him inside.

The room’s interior was small, the walls painted a flat white and the floor polished hardwood, and no windows. Two military-style cots flanked a small desk and a ricketty looking chair, and a dresser stood near the door, but that was all that filled the little dormitory. The only real decoration was a painting of some buildings and a river over the desk in a rigid, draft-like style. Ral continued to frown.

“It’s not much, but it’s somewhere safe,” she continued once they were inside, shedding off some of her armour and setting it on the bed closer to the door.

Ral said nothing and sat on the other bed, running his hands through his hair and tugging slightly. The shitty living space didn’t really matter, he figured. Another invasive thought about just planeswalking away and letting everything crumble wandered into his mind. But it hurt too much to even imagine abandoning his home, even after everything. He tugged his hair again, this time so sharply it hurt his scalp, and he heard Lavinia make a worried sound in her throat.

The sound of her footsteps made him look up, grey eyes tracking her as she rounded her bed to stand in front of him, touching his shoulders with both hands for a moment and gauging his reaction. When he didn’t do much more than blink at her, she put more pressure into her grip, rubbing his shoulders in a way he had to admit felt incredible. He hadn’t realised how stiff he had been until now, his shoulders tense with knotted muscles that her powerful hands worked lose easily.

“You’re hurting pretty badly, aren’t you,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question.

He had to draw a surprisingly shaky breath and hold it for a moment before he could answer her.

“...Yeah. I am. I… miss him,” he replied, turning his gaze down to his lap.

There was a slight pause as she continued to work his muscles lose, humming thoughtfully. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle and startlingly sweet.

“He used to get so… invigorated after you came to the Hall of the Guildpact. It was like you lit a fire under him, he always worked twice as hard. It was cute.”

Ral made a sound that was almost a laugh at hearing her say the word ‘cute’.

“I’m glad that you two made up after the Maze, you seem to have a lot in common. He might have made a great Izzet mage if things had been different,” she continued.

“Heh. Nah, he was too careful to be an Izzet. He had the brains for it, sure, but he was always so cautious…” Ral’s voice trailed off, wandering back to the dragon engine, and how Jace had agreed to help him build it, despite all the danger involved. Always so cautious…

He filed that thought away for later. Lavinia, too, went quiet, finishing up his shoulders and going back to her own cot, stretching her arms out. After several long minutes, it was Ral who broke the silence once more.

“...I’m going to be honest, I… don’t know if I can do this.”

"It's a monumental task that Guildmaster Isperia has given you... We'll do what we can, though," she replied faintly.

"...Yeah. We'll do what we can..." he echoed hollowly, giving a smile devoid of any sort of happiness. "...This probably doesn't mean much, and you were assigned to this, but... I appreciate this. I really do."

"I don't want the guilds to go to war, Ral. So many people will get hurt, so much of the city will get destroyed..."

"I don't either. No one does. Except the Guildleaders, apparently," he said bitterly.

"...They're shaken by what happened. Maybe they'll cool off..."

Ral shook his head a little and said nothing, leaning down to undo his boots and slip them off. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could hear Lavinia arranging her armour, the silvery metal clanking softly with every movement. Well, at least he knew now why Jace liked her so much. How could she stay so strong through all this? It was a marvel that she could be so confident that everything would turn out alright.

His mind wandered in the silence, coming up with skeletons of several different plans to trick Niv-Mizzet into giving up his guild and discarding each one as quickly as it came. It would never work, and he had the feeling even attempting one to the ancient dragon’s face would result in a messy death in his gullet. The ever-present urge to flee was still there in the back of his mind, becoming more and more appealing as time went on.

He finally refocused on reality when he hear the door open, looking up to see Lavina standing there looking back at him. She smiled crookedly, but it looked forced.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” she said softly. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

She shut the door behind her as she left, and Ral let himself fall back onto the cot, staring up at the ceiling. He only now realized how badly his head was pounding with lack of caffeine, and he made a mental note to thank Lavinia heartily when she got back.

He occupied himself with counting the tiles in the ceiling, a mind-numbingly boring exercise that he hoped would both serve to pass the time and to keep his mind off things. But he just kept losing track of where he was in the expanse of smooth white tiles, which just made him think about Jace’s skill with tasks like this that other people would never have patience with. A memory of when the telepath spent most of an afternoon sorting every last screw in the lab at Nivix by size and material drew a sad little smile on the storm mage’s lips, despite how frustrating he had found it at the time.

His thoughts of Jace were full of memories like that. The telepath would do something that, from anyone else, would have infuriated Ral to no end, but he only reacted with mild annoyance and maybe some ribbing. Somehow Jace doing things like sorting his lab (he already knew where everything was, thank you) were perfectly acceptable. It made his chest hurt, thinking about it now.

When the door opened once more, he didn’t bother sitting up and instead just lifted his head to peer at Lavinia. She was carrying another bag, and had a small glass coffee press in her other hand. She set it on the desk carefully, then pulled out several more things from the bag - a tin of coffee grounds, two mugs, two teaspoons, a paper package of sugar, and a glass bottle of water.

“I was thinking you could use your magic to heat it…” She mused, starting to measure out grounds into the press.

“Oh, yeah, I can do that,” he muttered, glad to have something else to focus on for now.

He sat up and she handed him the water, which he gently cupped in both hands. Channeling mana into heat instead of electricity wasn’t something he did very often, but it wasn’t too hard either. It warmed his hands and arms soothingly, his fingers nearly glowing orange from within as the water bubbled and steam poured from the open top. Once it was good and hot, he stood up to pour it into the press, filling the room with the rich scent of fresh coffee. Lavinia pressed the pump down and let it steep a few moments while Ral shook his hands out to cool them.

“There we go…” She tipped a little of the sugar into her cup and took a sip, clearly having needed this just as much as he did.

He took his black once his hands cooled enough, and the bitter shock helped him to feel a little more alive after what had happened the last few days. Lavinia really was making all of this easier to deal with, even if thinking of what might become of her if this all goes south made his chest hurt a bit. Still, at least for now, someone had his back.

The two eventually settled onto their own beds, Lavinia with her back against the wall and mug cradled in her hands, and Ral holding his in one hand and the other scribbling on a pad of paper that had been in the supply bag as it rested in his lap. Getting his thoughts down in writing always helped, even if they weren’t great ideas. He had to come up with something. Everything was relying on him.

Over the next couple days, Ral rarely left the room. He had to rely on Lavinia to bring him food and more coffee, and she had brought in a number of books at his request, which were all stacked on the deck, his cot, and the floor, covered in balled up sheets of paper and pages of notes. He was nursing his third mug of coffee that day when someone knocked on the dormitory door.

Lavinia was the one to react first, giving Ral a quick look before she went to answer it, revealing an Azorius messenger.

“Arrester Lavinia, ma’am, you have a visitor. I’ll send him in.”

“A visitor…? Thank you, I suppose,” she replied, brows furrowing as she pondered who could possibly be visiting them.

They didn’t have to wait long, the messenger quickly ushering in someone Ral recognized; Elis, the healer. He looked rather dour and his eyes red-rimmed, but he was dressed in the same Selesnyan style he was last Ral had seen him. He bowed his head respectfully to Lavinia, who did the same in turn. She shut the door behind them once the messenger left.

Ral stood up to come meet the young man, standing next to Lavinia with his coffee cup still in his hands.

“This is Elis, I think it was?” Ral said softly, continuing once the younger mage nodded his head in confirmation. “He’s the healer they sent me the other day. What is it…?”

“...I want to help with your task. The Conclave is being reckless, they're distraught over the loss of the Guildpact. Even if Niv-Mizzet cannot be convinced, perhaps we can soften the hearts of the Guildmasters,” the little Guildmage rattled off, speaking quickly and nervously.

Lavinia raised both of her eyebrows, and Ral bobbed his head in thought, free hand tugging at his hair.

"That might be easier than trying to convince the Firemind to give up his guild. I'll still make an attempt, but I know him. He'd never do it. But if we can get the others to withdraw the declaration of war...." But even that would just be prolonging the inevitable, wouldn't it? It would only be a matter of time before some other stupid conflict came along and set them off. He sighed.

"I'll see if I can gain an audience with Trostani, perhaps... I just hope she'll hear me out. And if all else fails, we could perhaps seek help from, er... Other parts of the city."

“Yeah, good idea…” Ral frowned. Something about how the kid spoke was off, like he was hiding something.

“And another thing… There’s been a rumour spreading around that I think you need to look in to. It’s about the Forum of Azor, and the Guildpact…”

Chapter Text

It was dusk by the time they arrived at the Forum, and Ral was becoming increasingly agitated. Elis was currently nattering on about how he had heard some members of the Conclave talking about how they had heard some Boros patrolmen talking about how they had heard some Guildless talking about something , but he had yet to divulge what, exactly, this rumour was. It was aggravating.

Lavinia at least seemed to be better at tuning the excitable Selesnyan out, walking several paces ahead of the two men and squinting at their increasingly-darkening surroundings.

“And you’re sure we have to do this at night?” She didn’t sound nervous or afraid, mostly just puzzled.

“Oh yes, that’s the only time you can see it, they said. I wonder why, maybe because it’s only really quiet at night? That seems likely, I think,” Elis chirped, tone high and nervous. Ral could feel his eyebrows getting closer and closer to one another as they furrowed in annoyance.

All three stopped walking once they reached the centire dias of the Forum, glinting in the light of the moons as they rose slowly above the city skyline. Being here was different when there was nobody else around, the booths Guild recruiters normally occupied abandoned and empty. The ten sigils of the Guilds shone on their pillars, surrounding the centre platform and gazing down on it like watchful eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for yet?” Ral hissed, turning to look down at the much shorter Elis.

But the smaller man was staring in silence at the dias, his mouth shut firmly. Even Lavinia had gone quiet, her eyes just as fixed at the Selesnyan’s.

It quickly became clear what had caught their attention when Ral turned his gaze back to the centre of the Forum; a point of blue light hovered just above the stone, about the size of a fist. It wasn’t moving, suspended in the air and flickering faintly in the moonlight. Ral opened his mouth to speak but, unusually, found no words come to him.

Of course, things like this weren’t out of the ordinary from Ravinca, he knew. Magical phenomena and spirits were commonplace things that he barely batted an eye at. But somehow, the location and the current mood hanging over the city made this seem particularly noteworthy. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“There it is,” Elis broke the silence, his voice faint and full of the same awe Ral was feeling. “See if you can get closer.”

Ral hesitated, then took a step forward, then another; a slow, steady climb up to the highest point of the dias. As he drew closer, the ball of seemed to grow, filling the Forum with ethereal light and casting an eerie blue glow on each pillar, lighting the Guild sigils like day. He soon had to cover his eyes with his hand to let them adjust, but he dropped his arm once he heard both his companions gasp somewhere behind him.

The orb had ceased being an orb, and had taken on a more humanoid shape; arms that ended in slender hands, long legs that tapered off into nothingness instead of feet, a soft, round face framed with short but unruly hair. A long, half-transparent cloak fluttered in a nonexistent breeze behind the spectral figure, trailing into wisps of nothingness before touching the ground.

Two glowing white eyes held Ral’s, equally white trails of energy leaking from them like tears, leaving white streaks down that achingly familiar face. He could see every bone in those hands and behind that face, but despite that he would know them anywhere.

“Jace,” he gasped, throat tight.

The spectre inclined its head slightly, but didn’t speak.

“Jace!” the word echoed over the stones of the Forum as Ral stumbled the rest of the way up the stairs, tripping over the top step and barely managing to catch himself from going sprawing over the dias.

He pulled himself up to his knees, staring up at the glowing figure hovering before him, who just looked right back with those empty white eyes. The storm mage reached out one hand to try and touch its cloak, but his hand passed right through, only a faint tingling sensation letting him know anything was there at all. He choked back a sob.

“Jace, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. I should have never asked you to help me with the project, you didn’t deserve this,” the words poured out before he could stop them, backed by a stinging heat in his eyes as tears blurred his vision. “...I broke the Guildpact, I good as destroyed Ravnica…”

The spectre shook its head, and Ral went quiet.

“...No?”

A transparent smile played on those blue lips, small and sad, and the phantasm lifted its hands, palms glowing white. An image of the Tablet of the Guilds appeared in a swirl of glowing mist, just as transparent as the ghost itself, but whole and solid. A flick of the spectre’s wrist, and deep cracks appeared in its surface, dividing each Guild sigil from the others, but not destroying the tablet entirely. Held together by thin shards of stone, but not broken.

“...I… you mean, it’s not… broken…?” Ral murmured, transfixed on the image before him, his tears forgotten for the time being.

The ghost of Jace nodded its head, touching its own chest with one hand and inclining its head once more to the illusion of the tablet.

“...You must be what’s left of it. The Guildpact isn’t broken. It’s not broken!” he whooped, scrambling to his feet. “Then the Guilds can’t go to war! Choke on it, you big stupid cat!”

His excited revelry was cut short, however, when the spectre shook its head again. Ral went quiet, arms falling to his sides and brows furrowing. He frowned as the ghost motioned its hands at the tablet again, which cracked into ten pieces, each crumbling away to dust. It took him a moment to process what this could mean, but when he did, the storm mage’s frown deepened.

“...No, the Guilds going to war… will destroy what’s left of the Guildpact, is that it?”

It nodded, and a heavy lump formed in Ral’s throat.

“I have to stop them, then. There has to be some way to fix this. Has to.”

The ghost of Jace nodded, smiling once more. It reached out one hand and brushed it against the side of Ral’s face, but it only phased through his cheek and left behind that pins-and-needles sensation. Ral swallowed the lump in his throat, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

“I won’t run away. I’ll find some way to do this. For Ravnica. For you.”

Ral’s chest filled with a mixture of sorrow and a deep affection when he saw the spectre of Jace smile widely at him, and new tears threatened to spill over. He reached out in what he knew was a futile attempt to touch the other, hand passing through the ghost’s, but that didn’t matter.

“...I love you, Jace. I’m sorry I never told you before,” he muttered, grey eyes glistening.

The ghost only smiled at him before turning away, disappearing back into the stone of the Forum in a burst of blue-white runes.

Neither Elis nor Lavinia said a word to Ral as they left the Forum, the both of them wanting to give him some space. It was the storm mage himself that broke the silence once they were most of the way back to New Prahv, having been occupying himself with his whirling thoughts most of the trip.

“I don’t know how much you guys saw of that, but… the Guildpact isn’t broken, not entirely. I don’t know if… if that was really Jace or some kind of echo, but that’s the last thing holding it together. We have to stop the Guilds from fighting each other, or it’ll break for real,” he rambled out, stroking his hands through his hair as he spoke.

“It’s not…? What was that flash, then? Everyone thinks it was it breaking,” Lavinia said softly, watching Ral with a worried expression. He sounded terribly manic, more like the Maze-Runner Ral and not the Guild-Council Ral.

“My theory is that was the power of the spell leaving Jace’s body, and it came back to Maze’s End, the Forum. That’s where he became the Guildpact after all,” he continued, thoughts spinning at a mile a minute.

“What can we do about it, then?” Elis added softly, tugging on his sleeves nervously.

Ral was quiet for a little while, continuing to tug at his hair as he thought. They needed to find a way to stop the war from happening, and the way he was told to do so would never work. Niv-Mizzet would never give up his Guild. But maybe they could find a hieromancer with enough skill to fix the cracked foundation of the Guildpact. And then there was Jace.

His heart ached at the idea of never seeing him again, the only part of Jace left the echo in the Forum, a mute spectre who might not even really be him. Maybe some distant plane held the secret of restoring him to life, part of him hoped. But necromancy was a dangerous art that never really delivered on its promises, and whatever came back probably wouldn’t even be human.

...Necromancy.

Ral barked out a rough laugh when the thought hit him. Why the hell hadn’t he considered this yet? Jace’s little friends. They might know things, things he could use. He wheeled around to grin manically at Lavinia and Elis, who both stared at him like he’d grown another head.

“We have to go to Jace’s estate.”

Chapter Text

Ral barely slept that night, scribbling on sheet after sheet of paper into the wee hours of the morning by lamplight. All he managed was a shallow nap before the sun fully broke the hidden horizon, fully clothed in his bed. He awoke to the smell of coffee and food, lifting his head hazily from the pillow to see Lavina setting a mug and plate on the desk.

“Did you get much sleep…?” she asked softly when she noticed he was awake.

“Enough. I’ve functioned on less,” he replied, pulling himself to his elbows and reaching for the plate. “You?”

“I’m alright… Spent a lot of time thinking about what we saw, I suppose.”

“Ah. Me too. Coming up with a plan,” he said, plucking a braided bun from the plate and breaking it in half, popping part of it into his mouth. “Mmh. I haven’t had fresh houska in ages, thank you.”

“You seemed like you needed it, it’s no problem.”

Ral ate his breakfast quietly while listening to Lavinia get dressed, the sound of her armour oddly calming to him now. His mind was still spinning with ideas and thoughts, each one begging to be polished into a brilliant masterwork, producing a dizzying array of possibility he was entirely used to. His current plan was his main focus right now, polishing it like a stone in a tumbler against each other thought, grinding off the rough edges to find each glittering facet. Perfect.

He crammed the rest of his houska in his mouth and swallowed quickly before sitting up fully to speak at Lavinia.

“Okay, here’s what we do. We get into Jace’s sanctum, I know one of the entrances, it’s in his library. He’s bound to have something in there that can help,” he explained, gesticulating excitedly, “and he has that little pack of… of friends, they might be helpful too, I know he was always going on about them…”

“And then what?”

“He’s got all the physical Guildpact records I’m pretty sure, there should be some bylaw or something that will prevent the Guild war, something we can show Niv-Mizzet or that big stupid cat…”

Lavinia made a faint noise at Ral’s comment regarding what amounted to her boss, and he hastily apologised, before launching back into his rambling.

“And that might strengthen the… Spectre, make it a little more solid. I don’t want to see the last little bit of Jace left torn apart by the people he was trying to protect. That’s not fair to him,” he mumbled, the storm mage’s voice softer and more tender than usual.

“We can fix this,” Lavinia added to try and reassure him, clapping Ral lightly on the back as she headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

The Guildpact’s Estate wasn’t very far from the Guildhall, allowing the pair to make the journey on foot; they were planning to meet Elis there. Ral was quiet most of the way, lost in his head once more as he mulled over details and smoothed out snags in his idea.

He was pulled from his thoughts at the sight of the gates that lead into the great estate; word must have been spreading, for the wrought iron was adorned with ribbons and bouquets of crimson roses, offerings to the fallen Guildpact. The people were in mourning, and it hit him now more than ever how much they were going to suffer with Jace gone. Before he took up the mantle of Guildpact, the common people of Ravnica were little more than speed bumps in the Guilds’ fight for dominance, and that state of fear loomed once more in the distance.

They only had to wait a moment for the Selesnyan to arrive, the young man looking mournfully at the offerings and even bowing his head slightly in reverence. Ral mumbled a greeting, still focused on the flowers himself.

Hesitating at the gate, Ral plucked a single rose from a bouquet and slipped it into a buttonhole on his coat. Lavinia carefully placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Are you alright..?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, trying to hold himself up a little straighter. With the estate before him, he started to mentally prepare himself to search the sanctum, and to explain away the evidence of other worlds.

The gate creaked when Lavinia pushed it open gently, just enough for them to enter, not wanting to disturb the offerings. Beyond them lay the courtyard and garden, a grassy green area ringed with the buildings of the estate itself and featuring even more wrought iron in the form of balconies and stairs, all leading down to the garden. It was a beautiful piece of architecture, but they had precious little time to admire it; the creaking had alerted those still staying here to their presence. One of the lower doors slammed open, and the bright red hair of the pyromancer was only visible for scant seconds before she caught flame at the sight of them.

Ral swallowed, tracking the young woman’s movements carefully. He knew Jace’s friends were pretty much living here full time now, but he had been expecting to maybe talk to one of the more level-headed among them. This was going to be awkward, and possibly painful. He was thankful that the wards against his magic were no longer required, prepared to bring down some rain to douse the pyromancer if need be.

"Uhm. Hey."

"What the hell are you doing here, you ass?!"

The yelling from the pyromancer - Chandra, that was her name - quickly summoned another of the estate’s inhabitants, a teary-eyed elf woman Ral was unfamiliar with. Elis was already edging around toward her, trying to avoid notice, while blue-white runes wound up Lavinia’s arms, ready to place wards if the situation escalated. Ral raised his hands, palms towards the pyromancer, in an attempt to look non-threatening.

"We need to search for some things in the estate. We really don't want any trouble. It's for the good of Ravnica," he tried to explain as calmly as he can, hoping that it didn't come to blows. He'd rather at least be on decent terms with Jace's friends than make a scene.

"Oh you care about this damn plane now , do you?! Should have thought of that before you murdered Jace, you godsdamn monster!" The pyromancer was clearly very upset, her voice raising even more and hands catching flame as well as her hair.

Ral winced visibly at that, silently willing her to shut up about planes, face screwing slightly with frustration. Being accused of murdering his lover also hit a sore spot, and he started to crackle angrily, the clouds already overhead growing dark with precipitation and roiling with storm magic. Lavinia at his side was still preparing her wards, and Elis and the unfamiliar elf had vanished, largely forgotten by the others gathered.

"I didn't murder him,” he growled, voice low. “It was an accident. That you would even say that...."

"It's your damn fault! You good as murdered him! I cannot believe you have the fucking balls to show your smug little face here now!"

She punctuated her words by hurling a small fireball his way, impacting the grass at his feet and leaving a small smouldering crater, embers flying from the impact and burning tiny holes in Ral’s pants. Wine-coloured electricity rocketed up Ral’s spine, but he managed to restrain himself enough to not reflexively launch a bolt in return, instead reaching his mana bonds into the clouds and tugging, summoning a curtain of rain down on everyone gathered and putting out the fire in the grass. A few white lights flashed around him as Lavinia’s wards took hold as well, just in case.

"Will you cut it out?!" he shouted over the rain, slowing it to a more measured fall. "I never wanted this to happen! Don't you think I've suffered enough, that Jace is dead and now my home is dying too?!"

Chandra’s fire went out quickly under the rain, her hair sticking to her face as she kept frantically trying to ignite again and again, but never managing to produce more than a few flickers. She made a noise that was a cross between a scream and a sob, her body steaming visibly with all the heat.

"You bastard... You fucking bastard, I hate you so much he was my friend and you took him away ..."

Despite her furious words she soon started to cry, her rage going out with her flame. She didn’t even look up when a door behind her opened, revealing the large and dark-skinned man Ral recognized as Gideon, with Elis and the elf right behind him.

Gideon quickly gathered the pyromancer into his arms, golden light flickering around him slightly as he held her to his chest, running a hand through her wet hair and speaking to her in a quiet, soothing tone. The elf was right by her side as well, holding one of Chandra’s hands gently and leaning on the much larger Gideon in turn.

Seeing Chandra break down took the fight out of Ral, too. He never really knew any of those other Planeswalkers very well, but it's very clear to him how much pain they're in as well. He hesitant walked towards them, very slowly, and the rain calmed further.

"...I'm sorry. I really am."

Chandra struggled in Gideon’s arms at the storm mage’s approach, but him and the elf together kept her restrained, though it didn’t look much like she was trying too hard to break free anyway. She quickly just goes limp against Gideon, giving up.

"Sorry won't bring Jace back... Sorry won't... won't fix a damn thing."

"I know that... That's why I'm trying to fix what I can. It's... what Jace would have wanted."

"And how do you know what he would have wanted?" Chandra hissed, struggling anew when Ral said Jace's name, her red-rimmed eyes locked on the storm mage.

"We were closer than you might think," was all he could mumble out, throat tightening.

Chandra looked him over a little, still trembling with her leftover rage but too worn out by her emotional outburst to do much with that anger. She just sniffled slightly and wiped her face on her sleeve, still quite wet; she'd stopped giving off so much heat. Her voice was very soft when she spoke, clearly having a lot of trouble with her emotions.

"He was... was like a little brother to me... I miss him..." She slumped against Gideon when she was done talking, letting him and the elf hold her.

Ral let out a shaky break, and the rain slowed further, before finally stopping.

"...I miss him, too," he meant for that to sound more dignified, but his voice broke when the words tried to force their way through the lump in his throat.

Gideon pulled Chandra closer, his low, rumbling voice joining the other two.

"...We all do."

Chapter Text

"I think it would be best if you went and did what you came here to do."

The rumble of Gideon’s voice broke those gathered out of their quiet introspection, the big man pulling Chandra closer to him. Nissa had the pyromancer’s face gently cupped in her hands, standing beside the two of them and whispering things too soft for anyone else to hear, but whatever it was seemed to be helping. The other woman’s breathing steadied, her expression much more relaxed.

Ral nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat and avoiding eye contact with anyone else; maybe then nobody will see how hard he had to fight to keep the tears back. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like he was intruding on the deeply personal pain of Jace’s friends, despite feeling that pain just as acutely.

He felt Lavinia’s hand on his shoulder, but didn’t look at her, even if the firm squeeze was reassuring. When she spoke, her voice was much softer-edged than he was used to hearing.

“Let’s get going… You three get inside and warm up.”

He watched Gideon nod quietly to Lavinia and turn away, avoiding eye contact with the storm mage. He didn’t blame the other man, and even felt a small pang of guilt at soaking everyone in the sudden downpour, but there was nothing to do about that now. Only room to move forward and ferret out what they came here for, no matter how it hurt. The hidden door of Jace’s inner sanctum was waiting.

The pair headed off together wordlessly, the thought of what needed to be done shared by them both even without a telepath in their company, the third of their company trailing behind after. The estate stood quiet and lightly misted with the sudden rainfall, misty drops fluttering from the trees in the garden and from the wrought iron decor adorning the buildings themselves, pattering on the cobbles like a whisper. The sound of the city after a rain usually was something Ral found calming, but this… It was too quiet, too still. Nothing but the quiet mumbling of dripping water to drown out his guilt.

The library entrance was the one Ral was most familiar with; a narrow door in one of the out-of-the-way stacks of the enormous section of building hidden behind an illusion of solid brick. He knew the precise way to apply magic to open the lock, something attuned to the very particular manabonds Jace preferred and that none of his friends were privy to. Ral was, though, and his fingertips shimmered with anticipation of using it as the trio wound silently through dusty tomes.

When they got to the end, however, the illusion masking the door was nowhere to be seen, the unvarnished wood standing out against the stones clear as day. Ral stared at it a moment, Lavinia and Elis both peering around him in bewilderment at his sudden hesitation, until the cogs in the storm mage’s mind finally clicked into place. The illusion had died with its maker.

The quick application of trembling fingers to the lock and a burst of cool blue made the door click open, Ral throwing it open fast enough to make it thud dully against the wall on the other side. A moment to steel himself, and he stepped through the threshold, the other two right behind him.

The door opened into a hallway, the walls lined with shelves and tapestries. Things Jace had collected from other planes, that nobody else on Ravnica could see. One of a kind pieces of art from somewhere far away, nestled  away in the dusty halls of Ravnica.

Just like Jace, Ral found himself thinking. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“What’s all this…?” He heard Lavinia ask somewhere behind him. When he turned, she was gently thumbing the fringe of a tapestry depicting knights on horseback marching over an open plain toward a castle. If he was remembering right, Jace had mentioned buying this on a plane called Bant. Elis was a bit behind, staring up at an unfamiliar collar-shaped sigil on the wall with a strange, almost wistful look on his face.

“Ah… Just some art he had commissioned… You know how much he loved books…” It was a weak excuse, but all he could really muster at the moment. He quickly turned his attention to the two doors at the end of the entrance hall; one to the right and one to the left. He knew the right hand one led to Jace’s private bedchamber and the left to a drawing room and smaller personal library. The bedroom was unlikely to offer much information, and would probably be far too overwhelming for him at the moment, so left it was.

Ral swallowed and prepared himself to explain away the things to be found beyond, to rationalise them as perfectly normal, nothing from a far-away place that most on Ravnica could never even dream. Explain away his own Planeswalker nature, and Jace’s. He gently pushed the door open.

The chamber revealed was somewhat like a miniature version of the large library outside the inner halls, with bookshelves and a table taking up most of the space. The main difference was only really clear to those who would be looking for it; many of these books were from other planes, some written on things more exotic than paper or vellum. The heavy stone table, too, played host to otherworldly things; more tiny trinkets, including a diamond shaped stone coated in unusual carvings serving as a weight on a stack of thick papers. A large fishtank took up a section of one wall, reflecting its owner’s love of aquatic life.

“Do you think the records are in here?” Lavinia asked from his side, hand on her hip as she scanned the exotic books. “Looks like more of what’s out there.”

“They have to be somewhere, right?” Came a faint reply from the hesitant Elis, who was carefully scanning the room.

Ral didn’t answer, too focused on the tank. The water was cloudy, algae starting to creep up the glass, and the fish within seemed sluggish. The poor animals had been neglected after the sudden passing of their caretaker, and it pained the storm mage to see something Jace had loved so dearly on the brink of death. After hesitating a moment, he pressed the fingertips of both hands to the glass, channeling a spell he had learned when he was young and not used much since; a pulse of cool blue, and the water was clear and fresh again, free of green slime and dirt once more. A quick moment fumbling with a tin of food later, and he felt at least a little better about himself, having cared for Jace’s beloved fish.

“Ral?”

He turned to look at Lavinia, who was standing at the table with a few sheets of paper in her hands, Elis at her elbow. Both were frowning slightly, and Ral grimaced. They must have found something. Hesitantly, he made his way over to peer at the pages she held.

Scribbled notes in Jace’s small, narrow hand, alongside drawings from the plans of the mana engine they had been building. Jace had always been very skilled at copying things; maps, blueprints, notes… It made his chest ache, looking at the damned project that would eventually kill one of its builders. Stupid project. Stupid, careless project. Why was he even building it again? It seemed like every time he tried to remember why he was working on it, it just slipped away from his grasp.

No, there had to be something, some reason.

He gently took the notes from Lavinia’s hands, flipping through them and reading them under his breath to himself, making the other two look at each other, worry clear on their faces. The information not copied directly from Ral’s own notes was basic; Jace was not an artificer himself, but he was learning fast, the use of jargon evolving, mimicking how the storm mage spoke and wrote about the subject. The artwork, though…

Ral traced his finger over Jace’s sketch of the projected final design, following the arc of the wings, the curve of the neck, the outline of the head bearing a set of very familiar horns…

A warded-off memory very abruptly slammed itself to the forefront of Ral’s consciousness, bright and clear as the moment it was formed and making him almost gasp in surprise; standing before a huge dragon with horns just like that, being given the plans, the mana stones… Bolas. That was right. The elder dragon was the one that had commissioned the building of the engine, and had reached into his mind and sealed off the memories from Jace. He must have known about the mind mage's capabilities. But how? And the dragon had insisted Ral have someone else he trusted participate. Why?

But the memories were starting to fade again as fast as they had come, prompting the storm mage to scramble for a pen and scribble down as much as he could before it trickled through his fingers like sand. He heard Elis yelp and Lavinia bark his name in surprise, but paid neither of them mind. This was too important.

He felt a hand rest on his back as his hand started to slow, the memory too faded to get much more out of, but it was enough. Enough to remind himself of what had happened, and the implications… he turned to see Lavinia’s sharp eyes and furrowed brow, and suddenly felt sheepish for ignoring her, but it had to be done.

“Ral. What did you find?”

“These are the blueprints from the mana generator me and Jace were building. I had been specially commissioned by an… independent contractor. I take side jobs sometimes, I…”

He glanced down at the papers again, at the carefully-copied schematics, and something caught his eye, making him trail off in his explanation. One of the calculations was off. The red mana stone was too large compared to the others, which must have overloaded the engine, caused the detonation when applied by outstripping the other four in output… How hadn’t he noticed?! And Jace was too inexperienced to know better.

He ground his teeth together a moment, flipping through all the other papers looking or more answers, but none were to be found, not here. No. He shut his eyes and tried to pull up tangential memories; Bolas wouldn't make a mistake like that, not with his connections. It was far too careless. Either it was a mistake.... or it was a deliberate sabotage. It was becoming increasingly clear that he had been set up.

He slammed the papers down abruptly, sending the skittish Elis hiding behind rock-steady Lavinia.

“Son of a bitch! That bastard set me up! He sent me bad blueprints!”

“What? Who did? What’s going on, Ral.” Her tone was getting increasingly firm, clearly wanting more information.

"The project was designed to fail, Lavinia! Catastrophically!" His voice was taking on a manic tone, a much more familiar mien for the storm mage. "My commissioner... He must have wanted Jace dead. This would be the perfect way to frame me."

"You mean... Someone did murder Jace? Why? And you know who did it...?! We have to go apprehend him immediately...!"

Despite the situation, Ral barked out a humourless laugh at the idea that someone could try to arrest an elder dragon. But despite that, he was getting more tense, more aware that he wasn’t going to be able to hide the truth much longer.

"I really wish we could. But he's quite literally above the law," the storm mage croaked.

"...Above the law...? Do you mean a Guildmaster? Or something else?" She sounded like she knows she's not going to like whatever answer she gets, an edge of suspicion to her voice, and it only served to make Ral more nervous.

He shook his head, finally looking right at his two new companions and ready to lose them both.

"I mean... above anything here. We're dealing with things that go beyond Ravnica."

“Beyond Ravnica?” Elis echoed from behind Lavinia.

“There are… A lot of other worlds out there,” Ral muttered, heart sinking. He had worked so hard to hide what he was, and now he had to tell. He had no choice. “I’ve been to some of them. Jace has too. My commissioner wasn’t from Ravnica.”

Much to his surprise, though, Lavinia just nodded, and Elis’s face steeled, looking more serious. Ral swallowed, the reaction not what he was expecting at all. Lavinia touched his shoulder, gently, as if sensing his confusion.

“...I knew about Jace. Not you, though. He heavily implied, but never told me. So whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

Elis, too, stepped forward, looking more sure of himself than Ral had seen so far. He kept his head held high, dark green eyes serious and jaw tensed, like he too was about to spill a secret.

“...I’m one, too. I had guessed about you, and the Guildpact. I… There are some signs, if you know where to look.”

Ral was floored. All that worrying, and both already knew. They knew, and he didn’t have to hide anymore. He couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing a shaking hand over his face. Maybe this is why Jace’s friends stayed together, because the idea of not having to hide anymore was an enormous relief.

Chapter Text

Ral and his newfound companions spent a few minutes talking quietly as the storm mage took down a few more notes, hectic scribbles in his looping, hurried hand. He couldn’t help but think about how messy it looked next to the neat, narrow text in Jace’s notes, but that thought made his chest ache in an uncomfortable way, so he tried not to dwell on it.

He idly quizzed Lavinia about how much she knew (enough; what a Planeswalker was and that it was the reason Jace often left; that his friends were Planeswalkers too.) and about Elis (from Innistrad; he hardly Planeswalked either, which is why Project Lightning Bug had failed to register him more than once. That must have been how he recognized the druid; from his mana signature.). It was keeping him grounded, which he was thankful for.

Eventually, though, he had to move on. He tucked the notes away in his bag, carefully folding them so not to damage any of the detailed drawings or delicate notes. There had to be something going on here; he hadn’t even known the dragon was aware of Jace. Did they have some kind of history? Jace had never mentioned…

It was becoming increasingly clear that he was going to have to look at the room he had been dreading going near. It could hold some vital clue, and he needed all he could get his hands on. He had heard Jace talk passionately about his love of mysteries and puzzles enough that that was clear. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and addressed Lavinia and Elis.

“...We should look around some more. There could be… clues, around here. I want to know why the… one who commissioned this pile of garbage had it out for Jace. The other door is Jace’s bedroom, there could be…”

He trailed off when Lavinia and Elis exchanged a look; he didn’t have to be a telepath to know they were both clueing in on how he knew that. His face warmed up a little, and he turned away toward the door, stiffly making his way back to the hallway.

He hesitated in front of the door, hand resting on the brassy handle. He stood there long enough for both of the other two to follow, and for Lavinia to pick up on how much he was dreading setting foot into somewhere so personal to the fallen Guildpact. He felt her hand rest on his shoulder, heard her say something he was sure was encouraging, but none of it really registered. It was just him and the door, stormy eyes carefully taking in every grain of wood, every slight chip in the paint.

Now or never.

The door creaked open and he stepped inside, carefully scanning the room.

It was mostly the same as the last time he had been here; the same soft lighting, the same fat leather sofas and low coffee table in front of a fireplace. The same four-poster bed draped with pale blue gossamer cloth and covered in some ridiculously high thread count Golgari spider silk sheets (“So don’t put your boots on it!”, Jace often chided.) and a half dozen fluffy pillows. The side table had an empty wine bottle set on it that looked suspiciously similar to the one they had shared several weeks ago.

He let his gaze sweep around more of the wide chamber, able to pick out differences easily; the door to the adjacent bathroom was ajar, while the walk-in was closed. A leather bag was leaning up against the coffee table, it’s contents strewn over the surface, among them a leatherbound book (he made a mental note to look through it later) and a strangely long white feather. One of Jace’s gloves was tossed on the bed, and…

A shock of red caught his eye, and he stepped toward the bed. Couldn’t be.

But there was no mistaking it; the bright flash of red among the subtle blues and whites that covered every other surface of the bedchamber stood out like blood on pavement. A scarf was neatly folded and resting on the pillows, tattered and burnt ends visible, marking it as one he thought he’d lost a long time ago and long since replaced.

He swallowed a lump that was rapidly growing in his throat, and picked up the scarf gently, running the ends between his fingers. This was one of his alright.

“Heh… I guess he found it,” he croaked under his breath, before gently setting it back down. He didn’t dare take it back now. Even if Jace was gone, he wanted to leave some reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“Take the book, I don’t think there’s… anything else here,” he managed to say with at least a shred of his dignity left. Things were hard, so hard. But he had to fight through it, not let down the strong, flippant facade he’d long been cultivating.

Lavinia picked up the tome gently, turning it over in her hands a moment before tucking it under her arm for safekeeping.  She wasn’t looking at him, and Elis hadn’t even come into the room; the druid was hovering in the doorway, worrying the edge of his tunic.

“...Let’s go,” he muttered. The smell of the place was getting to him, anyway; sandalwood and old paper lingered in the air, both scents that had clung to Jace’s clothes and body constantly. It was making his head spin.

“Good idea,” Lavinia replied quietly. He was thankful she was ignoring how wet his eyes were gotten.

The trip back to the Guildhall had been a quiet one, with Elis departing to his own partway there. Ral took this time to flip quietly through the book; it had turned out to be a personal journal of Jace’s, and despite how dirty and invasive it made him feel to be reading it, he didn’t have much of a choice. He wondered if this was how Jace felt when he had to read someone’s mind.

At least most of it was fairly mundane, as far as being someone in his position could be. Records of meetings, some scribbled Guildmeet minutes here and there, all intermingled with doodles of things. Jace was quite the artist, Ral concluded. It probably had something to do with being a telepath and illusionist, but was still impressive. He could have sold his work if he was serious about it, maybe.

He had a bit more time to look the journal over when they got inside, as Lavinia was quickly pulled away by another Azorius and he was left to sit in the vast antechamber by himself while he waited for her. He hunched over the book and folded his legs up, the leatherbound journal spread open across his knees, and read.

Guildmeet today. Going to meet Ral after, can’t forget. He wanted to take me for drinks, which is sweet of him. He’s starting to open up, but I’m scared to read him to find things out for sure. I don’t want to ruin things before they start.

Judging by the date, this must have been just as they were starting to get close. Jace had been so jumpy then when they were alone, and especially as they got more and more… intimate. He knew why now, of course, but it had mystified him at the time. He kept reading, skimming over the short recounting of the little date they ended up going on, flipping through the next few pages absently, as most of it was Jace’s recounting of a series of meetings between Guilds he had to mediate.

He stopped when he found a sketch of familiar horns. He leaned a bit closer to the page to get a better look; the handwriting on this page was smaller and more shaky than usual, as if Jace had been trying to get as much down as fast as possible. A lot of it was meaningless to the storm mage, seeming to be recounting events he wasn’t privy to. A few things stood out, though; some names (Tezzeret sounded familiar….) and places (Kaladesh! What a lovely plane. He’d gone there once, when he still dared leave…) ones he knew about, but then…

Nicol Bolas.

The name was underlined and in slightly larger printing than the rest. A few bullet points were under it, which seemed to be related to some previous meeting, and something called the Consortium, something Jace had never mentioned to him. He would have to look into that later. But from this, it seems the two had previously had some kind of contact, and from how shaky Jace’s hand had been when writing this, it hadn’t been good.

No time to dwell on it right now, though, as Lavinia was returning. She had a parcel in her arms, and her expression was… odd. He couldn’t place it well, much like many of her expressions. She was a difficult woman to read, he was finding. He wondered what had happened to her to make her that way, but the thought was brushed to the side for now.

“Let’s go, back to the room,” she told him curtly, striding off before he even had a chance to disentangle himself from the atrocious way he had been sitting. He had to jog slightly to catch up to her, the journal now closed and tucked away in his bag with the notes.

Once they got back, he set the bag down and shucked off his boots, glancing over at her occasionally as he did so. She was watching him, still with that odd look on her face. It was starting to get kind of weird.

“Yes…?”

She was quiet another moment, then sighed, setting the parcel on the corner of Ral’s bed. It was a squishy looking thing, wrapped messily in brown paper and covered in little slips of paper that signified that it had been passed through collection by the Boros and then into evidence by the Azorius, then released. He’d seen slips like this a few times after reckless experiments in his younger days, after having to recover confiscated equipment.

He sat down and pulled it into his lap, a little hesitant; he wasn’t sure what he was going to find under the nondescript brown wrapping. Slowly he undid twine and peeled away paper, before the package unfolded like a flower, displaying the payload inside.

A neatly folded square of blue fabric.

It took him a moment, before he noticed the white embroidery on the edges, familiar sigils traced along the dirty, damp cloth. Jace’s cloak. It had been repaired who knows how many times, likely by Jace’s own steady hand, and the edges were tattered, but this one was his favourite. He wore it everywhere, including to the artifice session that had ended in disaster.

Ral pulled it out of the package, making it unfold to reveal more of the patterns crossing it, the light fabric still smelling faintly of smoke. There was a faint stain around the middle, but he was pretty sure that had always been there, and parts were still dirty with ashes. He pulled it up to his face, heart thumping in his chest, and buried his face in the hood. The smoke-smell was strong here too, but under it, the faintest whiff of sandalwood.

He was trying hard not to make a sound, but he couldn’t hold back the choked sob, at least thankful the fabric would absorb most of it. He was dimly aware that his arms were shaking, and a static charge building in his spine, but he was surely in control of himself enough to keep it held back.

“Ral…?”

He heard Lavinia’s voice faintly somewhere to his left, but he kept his head down, immersing himself deeper in the cloak, the scent making his loss seem all the more real, visceral. This was all he had left. The only little piece of Jace that remains.

“Ral, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she must have thought she did something wrong, upset him. He shook his head, still buried in the cloak, and she went quiet.

“Don’t apologize,” he mumbled, voice completely broken and belying just how much of a mess he was behind the cover of the cloak. “ Thank you. ”

He felt her hand rest on his shoulder, and she didn’t even flinch at the slight discharge of static, which is quickly fought to tamp down. Her grip was firm, reassuring. It made it easier to breathe.

“...You really loved him, didn’t you?” Her voice was hesitant, but soft, gentle. He took a moment to regain his composure, finally pulling his head away from the cloak, but not looking at her.

"I know it never really seemed much like it. Must have looked really fucked up to anyone who saw us from the outside, but…”

“That’s alright… You must have had your ways of showing it. Now… We should get to bed.”

“...Yeah. Good idea.”

He could ponder the schemes of an elder dragon in the morning, he supposed. He bundled the cloak up in his arms and let himself fall back on the bed, fully clothed.

Chapter Text

The past few days had passed in a flurry of notes, coffee mugs, and plates of klobása and houska. Ral kept Jace’s cloak draped in his lap the whole time, occasionally stopping to thumb the tattered fringe or smell the hood (was that weird? It felt like it might be weird.) when he was starting to sag under the pressure. He had to remember what he was fighting for. It’s what Jace would have wanted. Hells, it’s what he wanted; Ravnica was his home, always there for him when nobody else was.

A small stack of letters he hadn’t been bothering to open had been piling up on the corner of the desk, about three of them now. Addressed to him and his room number in New Prahv in a small, neat hand with no return address, Lavinia had been suspicious of them ever since they arrived, but since mail tampering was apparently a crime the Azorius cared about, she had left them alone for now. They didn’t look like they were booby trapped, anyway; they were thin, light things. 

Finally, though, Lavinia’s prodding propted Ral to finally open them, beginning with the first to arrive. As he suspected, it was just a normal-looking letter, on clean stationary in the same neat hand as the envelope. The message was short, to the point, and a little cryptic, making the storm mage raise his eyebrows a little.

Mister Ral Zarek,

Your plight has drawn great sympathy in our circles. I have been called to establish a rendevous to discuss offering our assistance, with details to follow in a later message. Do not allow others to see this letter, and destroy it as soon as possible after reading.

Signed, a friend.

Interesting. He glanced at Lavinia, who was busy sorting a stack of blank papers and a small box of inkpots, and wondered if he should tell her anyway… maybe later. He picked up the next one, after tucking the first back into its envelope and sliding it under the notebook he was using.

Mister Ral Zarek,

As promised, details. I trust you have received and read my previous, and are complying with my request; this letter has been enchanted to appear as gibberish to the eyes of anyone but its intended recipient, so do not worry about it falling into the wrong hands. 

I will be present at the ceremony honouring our dear Guildpact this week, which is where you can find me. I know your appearance quite well, so I will find you instead of you having to find me. We are unsure if your Azorius watchdog is to be trusted, so do please try to lose her for at least a moment so we may talk. See you then.

Signed, a friend.

This was getting slightly worrying, he figured. He picked up the third letter and rubbed it in his fingers a moment, noting it was slightly thicker than the last two; some kind of trap? But the last two letters had been quite amicable, if… odd. But it could also be a ruse. He bit his lip a bit, tapping the edge of the letter on the desk. It was strange to him, overthinking like this. It was a Jace thing, to worry and fret over everything. He felt a pang in his chest, and his other hand balled in the cloak in his lap. 

No time to let emotion get the better of him. Now or never. 

Tearing the envelope open, the letter inside was even shorter than the last two, and a thin strand of something blue and glowing dropped out into his lap. When nothing immediately harmful happened, he relaxed a hair, looking the message over.

Mister Ral Zarek,

You can call me Boji. Enclosed is proof of our dedication to your cause.

He tucked the letter away and picked up the strand, turning it over in his fingers. It was cool to the touch, glowing with a dim blue light and showing obscure runes down its length. It was also impossibly light and thin, feeling almost like something made of pure mana. Strange. He stuffed it in his pocket before Lavinia could see.

All in all, the letters were… interesting. And… the funeral, right. He glanced at the desk calender that Lavinia had been maintaining, noting the date; the funeral was scheduled for the next day. He bit his lip.

“It’s tomorrow, huh?” he broke the silence. Lavinia turned from her organising to look him over, taking a moment to figure out what he ment.

“Oh… yes, it is. I’ve already had some clothes laundered for you,” she said, motioning a set of Guildless styled garments on one of the beds. 

Ral squeezed the cloak in his hand lightly, staring off into space a moment. His throat was tight now, and his chest ached. Caught up in his work, it had felt like this day would always be in some nebulous future, always soon but never that soon. But here it was, only a scant few hours between him and even more pain. He just couldn’t get away from it, huh?

He got to his feet finally, cloak still in his grip.

“...I’m going to bed,” he muttered.

“...Goodnight,” was all Lavinia could get out, watching Ral deposit himself heavily onto the cot.

Ral felt naked without his gear. Sure, he could muster up a nasty shock without it if he needed to, but one didn’t wear something almost every day without noticing it when it was gone. The vest and overcoat were in a style he wasn’t very used to, either, too tight around his torso for his liking. But at least it was distracting him from what was in front of him.

A carriage had brought them here together, a lush park controlled by the Selesnya in the shade of the towering Vitu-Ghazi. The park was quite full, with groups of Guildless clustered around the edges, some weeping openly and holding one another, others standing in quiet introspection. Ral felt a twist of sympathy, knowing all too well how the Guilds when unstrestained could trample over people like them. 

He jammed his hands in the pockets of his trousers and glanced at Lavinia, who was wearing her full Azorius regalia. It was quite impressive, polished to mirror sheen and maintained perfectly, but he could see the sadness in her eyes despite the stoic face. He had gotten pretty good at reading his new friend in the past days. 

She made a motion with her hand, and his attention was drawn to a section of the park that was flanked by weeping willows, a wooden platform so drowned in white blossoms that he had thought it some kind of bush at first glance. A set of low steps lead up to the platform, a small section of it free to display the living wood and glass casket. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it for too long, instead looking around the crowd more.

There were all types here, from every guild, though the Izzet representation was… low, worryingly so. Even a few Gruul were present, their faces painted in what he had to assume was some sort of mourning pattern. No obvious signs of Dimir, but you never knew with them. They were everywhere.

“Jace’s friends are here,” Lavinia offered, resting a steady hand on his shoulder and indicating them, standing in a small group near the platform. The elf woman (he still didn’t know her name) had her arms wrapped around the pyromancer, rocking her gently with Gideon resting a massive hand on her back. 

Another woman he didn’t really recognise was here, too, dressed in purple. She seemed sort of familiar, though, like she was described to him at some point. She was looking at him, gaze weirdly intense. He made a note to give her a wide berth. He wasn’t sure if he should try and speak to the rest of them either, to be honest, given last time… They’d come to that if it happened, he supposed.

"Do you want to go... pay your respects...?" Lavinia ventured, watching as a group of Guildless walked up the stairs to place down even more flowers, some reverently touching the glass case protecting their fallen Guildpact and weeping.

Ral hesitated, but held himself high,  his eyebrows turning up a bit when he saw the Guildless, patiently waiting for them to finish mourning. He was there once, even if it was in a time before he found his place. They needed this, too. 

"...Yeah. I should," he finally replied, stepping up to the stairs and pausing before the casket, hoping the group of Planeswalkers nearby didn’t cause a scene. He did his best to hold back, but he could feel his fingers shake as he looked down.

Jace looked so calm under the glass case, resting among even more flowers. The healers had done a wonderful job on him even if they couldn’t save him; the injuries were hidden with the soft blue shroud and white scarf around his neck. Ral pressed one palm on the glass, eyes tracing over the lines of white tattoos that crossed the other’s face. He never looked this peaceful when he was alive, face always lined with worry and eyes weighted down with some memory or thought.

“I really fucked up, huh?” he muttered under his breath. “I rubbed off on you too much. You should have told me to knock that shit off.... You would have been more careful.”

The more he talked the more choked he sounded, eventually leaning down, touching his forehead to the glass and hating the silence between them, for the first time since they had met.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, not even reacting when Lavina ascended the steps behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

After what felt like an eternity, though, he got to his feet, eyes wet and red. He felt strange, horribly exposed and vulnerable like this, but there was no holding it back now. Sometimes, you have to let yourself cry, right? 

“He looks peaceful,” Lavinia offered softly, rubbing circles on the storm mage’s back. 

“He does,” he replied lamely, not wanting to look away from Jace yet.  "Maybe... wherever he is... if he's anywhere... I hope he's like this. Actually calm and comfortable for once." 

I hope he doesn't have to see what's coming next, Ral found himself thinking. 

He knew he should move, but it was hard, so hard, to know that once he made that decision to turn away, that would be it. 

 "...Maybe I didn't say it enough, but it's true. I love you, Jace." 

One more glance, and finally he turned, forcing himself to not look back.

Much of the ceremony was a blur after Lavinia led him away, but Ral was roused back to his senses when he put a hand in his pocket and felt the thin strand of mana that he had taken from the letter. Right, the meeting with his mysterious pen pal. He wasn’t even sure who this Boji person was or what they could look like, but they did say they would find him… He glanced around a little at the area around the bench he was sitting on, but nobody of much interest was nearby. He could see Jace’s Planeswalker friends in the distance, though, the mysterious woman in purple half-turned in his direction but not doing much else. She gave him the creeps, and he quickly looked away.

A smidge of movement caught his eye after Lavinia stood up to talk to another Azorius Arrester that was closeby, though, and he shifted just enough to face that direction. It turned out to be a tall, slender man in approximately his late twenties, dressed in dull colours and sporting a set fo half-moon glasses. His glossy black hair was swept into an unusual style, and his dark eyes were sharp as they regarded Ral carefully. He walked over, slow and careful, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

“Mister Ral Zarek?”

“Yeah…?”

“Boji. Wonderful to make your acquaintance in person.”