74 Ash 121
After a while, Sivan got up to start cleaning. He knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight, not with only a chair leaning up against the door to keep it closed. The sprites trailed along, keeping close. He didn't know who had been here that had frightened the little elementals; they were largely safe from corporeal beings. They could flicker out of the plane just long enough to find him. They traveled in ways that normal things couldn't. But he didn't mind. They were his friends, and whatever had frightened them was certainly unsettling him.
Exael, unasked, began to glow. Its purity was not terribly bright, but it seemed to cast everything in a more benevolent light. It too was largely incorporeal, preferring to ride around inside Sivan than manifest, though it did have a form. He knew that much. Perhaps when he could truly bond with it through a Sacrament, it would be more comfortable in its true form. That form was a thoughtform, of course, but it would translate to the material plane in a certain way that fit who it was.
He sighed and began to make piles: broken things that could not be repaired and could not be used for something else; broken things that could not be repaired but could be used for something else; broken things that could be repaired; things that were just out of place. There was the voucher, of course, but Sivan had learned to be frugal. Perhaps he could swing this so his cottage was even nicer after the fact. It would just require toil on his part, and he would have to get over the feeling of insecurity, of course.
He went down into the cellar, everything lit by the sprites and Exael's glow emanating from, well, Sivan. One of the wine bottles was broken, so he carefully gathered the larger shards. Then, curious, he spoke to the elementals, who seemed keen to be distracted by a task. Nut gathered all the tiny shards, Geb and Khal worked together to heat edges and fuse things back together. Zin pulled the sticky wine up off the floor, filtering out impurities, and pouring it right back into the mostly intact bottle.
"Huh." There was only about half a bottle now, and the bottle looked a bit more fragile than it ought to, but he would show the glassblower this trick when he went to make his alchemical glassware. Perhaps they could get better at it, and Zin could get better at reconstituting liquids. He gave the wine a little taste and it didn't taste perfect, but it didn't taste horrible either. It tasted alcoholic, so he decided to carry it around with him for the night.
Sivan didn't keep much but food stores in the basement at the moment, so it was more a matter of tidying than collecting broken things, thankfully. He would have food to eat in the morning.
Back upstairs, he surveyed the semblance of order he had created. Out of curiosity, he pulled aether through one of his runes and let his senses reach out. There was plenty out of order, but he was curious whether he would be able to find some subtle clues as to what had happened. The Sky Guard themselves had said it was strange—breaking and entering, but nothing apparently stolen, and in the middle of the day.
Exael did its thing as well, reaching out, rifling through whatever it sensed with its celestial mind. Together, they blended their abilities. He could sense the snail-paced growth of the walls where Geb was reshaping his home. He could feel the bees outside finally settling in to sleep now that he was home and whatever had upset the energetic balance of the place seemed to be finding its new equilibrium. He could hear the squealmouse breathing up near the ceiling; it must have fled from the destruction and worn itself out with worry. Malice eddied through the room, a foreign thing. An elven thing—that lined up with what the Sky Guard had said. Some elf more keenly suited for violence than burglary had been here, but why? Sivan was nobody.
There, Exael said.
Their conjoined awareness honed in on a mess he hadn't yet rifled through. He did so now, turning things over with his hands but not really looking with his eyes, but rather letting their senses brush against things until...
"There," Sivan said. He blinked down at what was in his hands, a scrap of paper with penmanship and a symbol he didn't recognize. It looked to be torn from something else, something he might have overlooked as trash otherwise. It was written in Mythrasi, which made Hytori the most likely derivation of the elf who had attacked the Sky Guard.
“...line must end. See it done.”
There was an arc of gold encircling an arrow of the same metallic hue. He didn't recognize it, nor did Exael have any insights to share on the matter. If it referred to his Hytori bloodline, it seemed likely. As far as he knew, his father hadn't fathered any other children. The way things were going, it was unlikely he would have any children. But his was a common line, so this seemed unlikely. Even if his father, who was a notorious wastrel, had made enemies, Sivan didn't think him capable of offending anyone so grossly that they would send someone across the continent of Ailizane to murder his son.
Even the idea required more wine. He ate something, thinking his stomach was settled enough for it now and not wanting the wine to go too fast and too hard to his head.
When most of the mess was dealt with, he went out into the garden. Nothing had really been bothered out here. Thankfully the would-be murderer hadn't overturned any pots or the like. Sivan wondered whether he couldn't teach the elementals and the bees to attack anyone who wasn't supposed to be here next time it happened. It would take a certain sort of focus to make it all the way up the tree to where the hive lay hidden to knock it over, and even then, the swarm would only increase in ferocity from the existential crisis. He did some watering and weeding, happy for time spent with bare feet on mossy stone and damp grass.
Inside again, he was unsure whether he could sleep, so he spent some time on his bed with his back to the wall, fixing bits of clockwork that had gotten twisted or bent on the mysterious elf's rampage through Sivan's quiet life. He glanced over at IX under its sheet, glad that no harm had come to it in his absence. He would have to see about some magical locks from Torin, perhaps. He would have to talk to Master Jacun about other means of magical security that might become alchemical projects for him as well. He would have to learn how to fight. He would have to learn more offensive and defensive magics rather than those of utility that he had learned to make life better.
This was not the sort of life he had ever intended to live, but this was not a situation he had ever imagined he would find himself. He wasn't important enough to call it an attempted assassination, but if someone wanted him dead because they thought he was attached to some line that needed to be severed, he didn't know that it would end here.
It was Exael who finally bade him sleep, promising to wake him after dealing with anyone who tried to get through either of the doors, though it was unlikely they would make another attempt knowing the Sky Guard was nearby. Sivan managed a bit, and even found the squealmouse tucked under his chin when he awoke. He gave the little beast a pet and a snack before he left for the day. There was a Sky Guard nearby who agreed to watch the door as he went to the Artisan's Guild to show them his voucher and see when they could come and make repairs. Thankfully, it would only be later that day.
And so he made one more stop on his way home, to see Master Jacun and explain what had happened. He showed him the scrap of paper and asked about the sign.
Master Jacun's pretty brow furrowed.
"That's the Sparrowhawks," he grunted. "A group of mercenaries. Not particularly high demand killers but certainly not the bottom of the barrel. Whoever wanted you dead just wanted you dead and didn't care about how messy it was."
The man wasn't great at comforting, but at least he let Sivan go home to see about the sanctity of his home.
