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“Alister, you stupid boy! What have you done now?” The voice came right from above Han’s head. Oddly, his first thought was how being called ‘stupid boy’ sure felt like a step down after half a lifetime of being referred to as High Wizard, the Royal Consort, or at the very least Lord Alister. It was quite refreshing, really. An ostensibly disembodied hand was stroking his hair. His head was resting on something soft and fleshy, and he could feel the brush of delicate fabric against his cheek. It began to dawn on Han who had spoken earlier. Only one person refused to call him anything else but ‘Alister’. Only one person would regard him, a man in his forties, as a ‘boy’. Which was a fair point, considering that said person was well over a thousand years old himself. That meant Han also knew where he was, though ‘where’ appeared to be a rather fluid concept at this moment. Each time Han opened his eyes, he found himself in a different place. The rooftop garden, his and Raisa’s private sanctuary. Willo’s lodge. A small guestroom in Southbridge Temple, where he once had taken refuge from the bluejackets. The royal bedchamber on an early autumn morning. And each time, something was off. The colors were too bright, the furniture disproportionally large or small, or everything was askew.
“Will you settle down?” Crow said gruffly. “Before you make both of us go insane.” He helped Han sit up and kept a firm grip on his arm, until Han no longer felt as if he were on a ship.
“Close your eyes and think of home,” his former tutor instructed. Han did as he was told. “That’s better. Now, open your eyes again. Slowly.” Again, Han complied. To his surprise, he was sitting cross-legged on a worn hardwood floor, in front of a hearth whose fire had long gone out. Next to it was a pile of kindling. If you could call a handful of pathetic twigs ‘a pile’, that is. Han didn’t need to turn around to know what he’d see behind him. He listened closely and smiled at the muted whinnying of horses coming from downstairs.
Crow was already on his feet and looked around disdainfully. “What is this place?” he asked, wrinkling his nose at the faint smell of cooked cabbage that seemed to be inherent to this room.
“My childhood home,” Han replied, unexpectedly stung by his ancestor’s attitude. “So show a little respect.” Crow inclined his head, acknowledging he’d just crossed a line. Han figured it was as much of an apology as he would ever get from him.
Crow extended his hand to help him up and Han took it. In turn, Han offered him one of the two chairs at the small dining table and flopped into the other one. He placed his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands. Every part of his body felt heavy and liquid, like mercury. From across the table, Crow quietly observed him for a while, before he asked, “How are you feeling?” His voice was devoid of its usual mockery. Han didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Or, more accurately, he was feeling everything at once. Half of him remembered how, and why, he had come here, while the other half was still trying to catch up. Breathing was a struggle. Try as he might, there was no oxygen to fill his lungs, and his ears were ringing. Gingerly, Han explored his midsection with his fingers, trying to find a trace of the blade that had sent him here. Nothing. His eyes fell on his hands, which looked different compared to the last time he’d seen them. His thieves’ marks stood out more vividly, while the skin was less lined, less weathered. Han shook back the wide sleeves of his garment to expose his wrists. No cuffs. The sleeves themselves were crimson, made of a densely-woven yet lightweight fabric. His Mystwerk robes. Finally, Han looked up at Crow, who merely shrugged. He must have helped Han rebuild himself in Aediion, using the image of the boy Han had been when they first met.
If there was one thing Han had learned during his lifetime, it was the importance of blending in with one’s surroundings. He focused on a memory of his own, and before his eyes, the exquisite Mystwerk robes made way for a roughspun tunic and breeches. He had half a mind of doing his forebear, who looked dashing in his silk-and-velvet finery, the same favor.
Crow was still studying him intently, though he didn’t comment on the fact Han had yet to answer his question. Ill at ease, Han let his eyes skip to any point in the room that wasn't Crow's face, hoping for a sudden stroke of inspiration on what to do or say next.
“So… I did it?” Apparently, this was the best he could do.
“You did.”
“And Ash has the amulet?”
“He has.”
“Will he know what to do?”
“Time will tell.”
Crow was being as uncooperative as ever. It was like being flung back to the Mystwerk bell tower for one of their early lessons. Han ran a hand through his hair, before he tried again.
“Now, what happens?”
“Can’t say.”
Anger rose like bile in Han’s throat. “Can’t or won’t?” he snapped. The more heated he became, the more Crow radiated an air of icy calm, one eyebrow slightly raised. If anything, that made Han more agitated, but he knew what that would get him, so he forced himself to simmer down by reciting a list of healing herbs in his head.
“What’s it like?” Han asked when he trusted himself to speak again. “Being here, I mean.” This time, Crow actually appeared to be contemplating an answer.
“There are good sides to it, and bad,” was the excruciatingly evasive reply he came up with. “Just like anywhere else.” Han resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Will you stay with me?”
Crow smiled ruefully. “Just a few more minutes. Then I’ll be moving on”
“What?!” Han coughed, jumping up from his seat. Crow immediately followed suit. It was like seeing himself in a looking glass, a rather disconcerting experience.
“Come on now, boy. What did you think was going to happen?” Crow said, like he had used to whenever Han failed to see what – in Crow’s view - was clear as day.
“I…”
“Ah, right... you didn’t think. I told you time and again, you use your heart instead of your head. That has always been your biggest flaw.” This obvious rebuke was incongruously laced through with pride. Crow looked Han straight in the eye. “As well as your greatest virtue.” Han cast down his eyes, humbled. When he met Crow’s gaze again, words cascaded from his mouth, unchecked. “Where will you go now? Why can’t you stay? I’m sure you can find a way. I mean, you weren’t supposed to be here in the first place. You’re the first one who thought of conserving himself in a flashpiece. The first one who succeeded. There’s got to be something you can… we can do. We need to act fast, is all.” Han didn’t want panic and despair creeping into his voice, but he didn’t remember ever having sounded this shrill, not even when he was a lýtling. “Why an’t you even trying?”
“Enough!” Crow bellowed. “What part of this don’t you understand? You will live on in Aediion now, and I, very soon, won’t. A consequence of the choice you made, I might add. I’ve been trapped here since the Breaking of the World. Don’t you think I’m ready to move on, that I deserve to move on? I’m already stretching myself thin as it is, just to be here right now. Stop wasting my time with your nonsensical temper tantrum.” He was right. Of course, he was right. He was so right, that, in a sudden burst of frustration, Han swung his fist at him. But before it could connect to his ancestor’s haughty face, Crow had already swatted the back of Han’s head, though, admittedly, with a much lighter hand than he would have used in the old days. Momentarily disoriented, Han looked around for Crow. They had been facing each other just two blinks earlier, and now he was standing to Han’s left.
“Don’t try that with me, Alister. You should know better by now.” Han could hear the smirk in Crow’s voice. He couldn’t muster a smile in return. Recognizing that each next moment with Crow could be the last, Han felt deflated. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and willed his hands to stop shaking.
“Alger, I…” Nothing came to mind. Even uttering a single syllable presently struck him as impossible, let alone delivering a heartfelt farewell speech. What parting words to say to the man who had taught him so much, had given him so much? Skills. Knowledge. A sense of purpose. History. Heritage. A sense of belonging.
Once again, Crow moved fast, but this time it was to fold Han into a tight embrace, just like he had when Han had visited him after his wedding. “Don’t you worry, son,” he said, softly and soothingly, “I know.”
The two men held each other. Han wondered if Alger was truly getting less and less solid, or whether that was a figment of his imagination. He kept wondering until Alger had fully evaporated.
Everything in the room was exactly the same. There were still two chairs, for instance, but only one of him, now. As Han tried to draw a needless breath, he felt a weight on his chest, too light to be the burden of his grief. He reached for its source and closed his hand around an amulet hanging from a chain. Han pulled the chain over his head to take a look at the flashpiece, expecting it to be a replica of the serpent amulet. Instead, he saw the Lone Hunter piece. Only now, the Lone Hunter had a raven sitting on his shoulder.