Chapter Text
The early morning light shined on Wellment with an easy breeze. The city stood proud and strong, even in the early morning breezes. Misery eels were finally chased back to their nests in the Twilight, and the nice bakeries and shops in the Sunrise was soon to open. The Islands of the Magisters stood in the middle as black birds gathered on the large tree on the island where Heartsease stood, proud and tall after many years.
To most, the day was perfect. To Conn, it wasn’t.
Conn opened his eyes blearily to the morning light in the attic he had called his home for two years now, consciousness beginning to slowly seep in. Usually, his mornings would be easy: he’d get up early, quickly hop out of bed, throw on his favorite black sweater and jacket, and go get breakfast downstairs. But today was different.
The first odd sign was that he wasn’t hungry. He’d always been hungry, even after being a gutterboy - old habits die hard, he supposed - but today, even the thought of food was making his stomach turn. The second odd sign was the feeling of weak magic in the air. This he knew was an issue already, with the threat of Arhionvar on the way, Wellment’s magic weak pulse was even more concerning. The final odd sign was the way his head was aching, and the way his stomach felt unsettled.
He was sick. He knew how it felt, he’d felt it when he went outside the city for the first time to go to Desh. But him being sick here in Wellment was a problem he hadn’t expected, and a worrisome one at that.
He slowly slid himself up, groaning in pain. His stomach didn’t like that. But he didn’t have time to wallow in pity. The magic shouldn’t have let him get sick at all. The fact that it was having trouble even preventing that was a major problem. He had to go check on it, and get more pyrotechnic materials to try and find his locus stone. He didn’t have time to be sick.
Cursing under his breath, he slowly slid himself out of bed, wobbling to his feet and bracing against the wall, gasping for breath. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to steady and took a step forward. And then another. And another.
It wasn’t so bad, he thought to himself. He had managed through a lot worse pain. He’d be fine. He was fine. He just had to shake off the sore aches and the tiredness that seemed to cling to his bones. He didn’t have time to rest.
He walked down the stairs, slowly, quietly. He didn’t want Nevery or Benet taking notice and starting to fuss over him. It was nice of them to worry, he supposed, (that’s what Rowan would say anyways,) but he had more important things to do. He could come home and rest as soon as he finished, he justified to himself.
Thankfully, years of experience in the Twilight made him quiet and sneaky, so he knew he could get past the two of them. So he made his way downstairs, passing by Nevery’s office, only to step slightly on a creaky floorboard. He held his breath, waiting for Nevery to come out… but nothing. He snuck past the rest of the way. Success!
Now was the harder part - getting past Benet. He’d be in the kitchen by now, Conn was sure of it. He could smell the bacon cooking. It made his stomach turn nauseatingly, and he bit back a groan as he braced against the wall. Damn it all, Benet would be suspicious if he didn’t have breakfast. But even the idea of eating right now… how would he be able to get past him?
As he fought his sluggish mind to come up with an answer, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.
“Connwaer?” Nevery prompted, sounding worried. Conn startled, immediately straightening up and giving his best smile - which looked more like a grimace than anything else - trying to seem unassuming.
“Hello Nevery.” He said, cursing his hoarse voice.
“What is the matter with you, boy?” Nevery said, raising his eyebrow, sounding suspicious. “I called your name twice. What are you doing, lurking in the stairwell like this?”
Conn paused, knowing he didn’t want to lie to his mentor. He hesitated, before settling on, “I’m fine, Nevery. Just going out, is all.”
“Before breakfast?” A new voice sounded, this one deeper. Conn turned to see Benet at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him and Nevery.
“… well, I…” Conn started, before stopping. Curses, they were suspicious, how could he get out of this one? He hesitated, before settling on; “I have some things to do is all.”
“Something is wrong.” Nevery muttered, coming closer to him, placing a hand under his chin to get a better look at him and placing a hand on his forehead. Before Conn even had time to argue, he cursed and drew away. “You’re sick, boy.”
“It’s not that bad. I won’t be out for very long.” He protested weakly, Benet coming on his other side and feeling his forehead for himself, drawing back and nodding.
“You’re not going anywhere today, kid.” Benet said, crossing his burly arms.
“I have to. I can’t just sit here, I’m going to help the magics and help protect the city against Arhionvar.” Conn argued back, trying to walk past them, but Nevery stopped him, grabbing his arm.
“I will handle the preparations for defending the city, boy. But as you are right now, you are no use to the magics and will only put yourself in further danger.” He growled sternly. “You will go upstairs and rest, that’s it.”
Conn glared at the two of them fiercely. This was stupid! He hated the worrying. He could handle himself, he’d proved that plenty of times, and Arhionvar wouldn’t wait for him to feel better to attack. There was no telling when it would come for Wellment, and they had to be prepared.
He needed to keep going, for the good of the magics.
With that thought in mind, he made a break for the door. He heard shouting behind him, but he kept running, despite how his body was aching in protest and how his head was pounding. He shoved the keystone into the Heartsease gate, opening it and running through, going through the twisting halls under the river until he couldn’t hear anyone chasing him anymore.
He panted with effort, swallowing back the bile growing in his throat as he leaned against the cobble wall. Drats. Nevery and Benet would be furious when he got home. He hated to run from them. He couldn’t stop going though, not now. So he heaved himself up with effort, shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and began to walk.
———
Conn kept his head down as he wandered through the slums of the Twilight, keeping a watchful eye out. He was headed towards Spark’s place, and didn’t want any encounters with the minions today. He knew they’d warned him off, but he needed pyrotechnic materials, and fast. Finding his locus stone was his best way to be of use to the magic, and his only way to fight. He had no time to lose.
He headed towards the mudflats, feeling himself begin to relax a little after getting through the streets without obstacle, only for the bile in his throat begin to surge up suddenly. He dove for the nearest trash can, coughing up what he had in him - which wasn’t much of anything but spit and spots of blood - for what felt like ages. After a while, he pulled his shaking body away from the trash can, shaking. He considered just sitting down and resting for a second, but shook the thought off. Just because he felt like death didn’t mean he could wallow in misery. He had a job to do.
So instead, he stumbled up again, forcing himself to keep walking towards Sparks place. He wondered through the flats, careful to watch his footing, and finally stumbled across the place and knocking on the run-down door.
“ ‘Lo Sparks.” Conn said as normally as he could when the door opened. Sparks stood in her normal grey, tattered dress, covered in soot. Her face was red from hard work, giving him a gap-toothed grin.
“ ‘Lo there, Connwaer.” Sparks said, widening the door, “Come to see Embre, then, ‘ave ya?”
“Yeah, gotta get pyrotechnics.” Conn replied, keeping his voice level and shuffling inside.
“Righty-o, gotta get the blackpowder tea going then, don’t we? Embre’s in there.” She pointed to the back room, pausing and giving Conn a closer look, “Y’a alright there? ‘Lookin’ a little pale.”
Conn shook his head, fighting the pounding in his head. “I’m okay.” He muttered, brushing her off and stumbling towards the backroom and knocking on the door before entering.
“Evening.” Embre greeted as he walked in, his back turned as he crushed up some pyrotechnic ingredients.
“Hello Embre.” He replied, leaning against the wall and blinking black spots from his eyes. His throat felt like the desert of Desh, but he forced himself to speak.
“You’ve come for more materials then. Still having trouble with the magic?” Embre said, turning to face Conn again, only to frown at him, “You look… pale.”
It wasn’t a question. He hunched in his coat. “Doesn’t really matter. Can I have some more slowsilver? And some saltpeter too.”
“Conn.” Embre gave him a look. It was the first time he called him by his name. “You’re sick, aren’t you.”
Conn kept his mouth shut.
Embre looked him up and down, his eyes narrowed, “You aren’t doing pyrotechnics while you’re sick. And definitely not when you’re shaking like a leaf.” He said dryly, crossing his arms.
Drats. He didn’t even notice he was shaking.
“Go home.” Embre said, not waiting for his response and turning back to his work. “I’ll have the materials ready when you come back.”
Well. There was no arguing with that. Conn began to walk out without a word.
“I mean it, Conn.” Embre called out as Conn rested his hand on the doorknob. “Go home.”
Conn stayed silent. He didn’t want to lie to him.
———
Conn always hated coming back to where the Dusk house used to sit. Even if it was destroyed, blown to bits for good, it still make his stomach twist with nerves. To come back to a place he’d avoided for years was anxiety-inducing, but he knew he had to talk to the Wellment magic, and he knew it would be gathered here.
Well. He couldn’t exactly talk to the magic, since he didn’t have a locus stone. But he could try to see if it could give him some more clues to try and help it against Arhoinvar. Anything was better than sitting around being useless and sick.
He approached the pit where the Dusk House used to be, looking down into what seemed like a sea of stars. Wellment’s magic slowly swirled up, picking him up slowly, weakly. Spell words began to rattle through his brain, trying to talk to him. He shouted back a few of his own, but he knew it wouldn’t work. The magic was scared, it was weakening, to the point where it needed to preserve as much strength as it could muster. That was his hypothesis anyways, since he was sick.
He tried to ask the magic what he could do to help it. But again, nothing worked. The magic just spoke spell words again, not understanding him. Conn felt the magic lift him a little higher, trying to figure him out.
But it was pointless. The magic, sensing he couldn’t say anything to it, slowly put him down, its voice finally stopped echoing through his head.
He stumbled away, falling on his side and gasping for breath, his vision failing. His energy felt like it had been sapped from his body, his head pounding ten times more and his stomach feeling like it was stabbing with pain. He heard frantic voices behind him, but he couldn’t seem to care, as his eyes slipped closed and the darkness of sleep consumed him.