Tavros crouched on the floor of the barn, scratching intricate symbols into the dirt with a bit of rusty metal. The air was still and thick with the heat of the summer day outside, full of the smell of warm hay and the horses that normally occupied the stalls. Light, golden and so bright it seemed solid, streamed in through the gaps in the wooden slats of the walls and roof like spears, the motes of dust floating in those beams the only movement besides the scrawny, dark haired six year old huddled over a painstakingly drawn circle. He whispered secret words as he worked, etching out the symbols of his true name, followed by the name of something else. Then he spat into the center and stepped back, shivering with excitement.

The simple scratches in the dirt began to glow, the same golden light as the sun, now shifting to a rosier hue as it grew, the light bubbling up from the earth like liquid. Rose gold honey spraying up into the air in a fountain. Tavros watched with glee as the light danced and splashed and finally resolved into a shape that was almost human"What are you doing?"

Tavros jumped at the unexpected voice, jumping up to try and hide the creature with his body as he turned towards the barn door, face red with guilty embarrassment.

His brother Rufioh was standing in the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, grinning because he knew he'd caught Tavros doing something he shouldn't be.

"Nothing!" Tavros lied, poorly, "Uh, just, chores?"

"Dad'll kill you if he finds out you're summoning things by yourself again." Rufioh warned Tavros, brushing past his little brother casually to look at the curious pink creature still struggling to hold its shape within Tavros's circle. He whistled, impressed, putting his hands on his hips. Rufioh was fifteen, just starting to fill out into the same muscular, top-heavy shape their father had, with wide shoulders and narrow hips leading into long, slim legs.

"You did pretty well, actually!" Rufioh said, ruffling Tavros's hair, "That's a good solid stage one apparition. It's even positively charged. Good job, kiddo!"

Tavros beamed, clearly delighted to have his brothers approval.

"It's so pretty," Tavros said, eager and excited now that he knew he wasn't in trouble, "I bet, it's real nice too! I wonder, if it talks?"

"Nah, stage ones aren't that smart," Rufioh said with a shrug, "They can't even hold their shape on the material plane. Can't grasp the concept. Look."

Rufioh reached out with his foot and, before Tavros could do more than gasp, scrubbed out part of the painstakingly crafted circle. This was the first thing that Tavros had ever been taught: Never break the circle. The circle didn't just contain the demon, it was all that bent it to your will. If you broke the circle without giving the demon clear orders, it could do whatever it wanted, including redecorating the room with your insides, which was what often happened.

But Rufioh just held Tavros back with one hand and told him to watch as the vaguely humanoid pink shape drifted out of the circle, struggling not to fall into an amorphous blob. It tripped and tumbled, growing new legs when a pair dissolved, right past the two boys to the first beam of sunlight from the roof. It turned what passed for its face up to the light as it reached it and then, all at once, burst into a cloud of a thousand pink butterflies. Tavros laughed with delight as the butterflies wheeled around the room in all directions, some fluttering out the barn door and off on the breeze, others just spinning around the roof. Tavros reached out to touch one and it popped like a soap bubble at the first graze of his finger, bringing another startled giggle from the boy.

"Don't tell dad I did that." Rufioh said with a laugh of his own, calmly swatting butterflies away from his hair, "He'd have a fit. But positively charged stage ones are harmless. They just want light."

Tavros watched the last of the butterflies escape or pop themselves on the barn rafters, smiling.

"Can we do it, again?" He asked brightly, and Rufioh snorted.

"Sure," Rufioh agreed, ambling over to a hay bale to sit down, "Just never do it without me, okay? It isn't safe for you to summon without me or dad around. If you messed up, that thing could have eaten you for breakfast."

Tavros chewed his lip, worried he was in trouble again by Rufioh's serious tone, but the other boy just patted the hay beside him, inviting Tavros to sit down. The hay was musty, sending up a cloud of dust that made Tavros sneeze as he plopped onto it.

"I just wanted, someone to play with," Tavros explained, rubbing his nose, "You and dad, are busy all the time."

"You can't play with demons, kiddo." Rufioh said, suddenly more serious, worried, "Don't even say things like that. Even the little ones can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. They're not your friends."

Tavros made a discontent noise as he was scolded, looking away.

"But, some of them, can talk," He tried to argue, expression plaintive, "If they can talk, then they're people, right? And if they're people, then, you can make friends with them."

Rufioh shook his head, concern growing.

"No! Absolutely not." He said firmly, "Demons aren't people. They aren't anything like people. And they don't make friends. All demons want is to destroy things and hurt people. Even those pretty butterflies from before."

"I thought you said, they just wanted light?" Tavros said, confused.

"Yeah, all light." Rufioh agreed, "Negatively charged, they'd take the skin off your bones in six seconds flat for the sake of just one candle. Summon enough of the positively charged ones, and they'll blot out the sun just to keep it to themselves. All demons are bad, some are just weaker than others."

Tavros looked away, disappointed and ashamed of his own naive hopes.

"Hey, kiddo, don't make that face," Rufioh said more gently, putting an arm around his brothers shoulders and giving him a little shake, "What do you need demon friends for anyway? You're gonna make a million human friends."

"The kids in the village, hate me though." Tavros said with an expression of depressed resignation.

Rufioh winced, then nodded and shrugged a little in reluctant acceptance.

"Okay, yeah, me too," He agreed, "But that's only because of Dad. Wants you get out of this town, make a name for yourself, you'll have more friends than you can handle!"

"Really?" Tavros asked, sounding hopeful but unconvinced.

"Absolutely!" Rufioh agreed, "You'll see. When I get out of here, I'm going to get a place in the city for us. I'll introduce you to everyone when you get there, and they'll all love you, I guarantee it."

"Dad says, you're not allowed to go." Tavros responded, frowning, "I heard you fighting about it, last night. He said you've got to, uh, keep up the fight, and carry on his name, and stuff."

Rufioh grimaced.

"Yeah, he says that kind of thing a lot..." The older boy grumbled, "He doesn't even get how much pressure that is. Some people just aren't made for fighting, you know? He'd never make you do that stuff, even he can tell you're- um."

He cut himself off, looking at Tavros guiltily. Tavros just looked back at him in blank confusion.

"Anyway," Rufioh hurried on, "I don't care what he says. I'm not interested in his dumb rebellion. Me and Damara and the rest are going to get out of here, just as soon as we can."

"Will you take me with you?" Tavros asked, hopeful, "I want to see the city too!"

Rufioh grinned and ruffled Tavros's mohawk again.

"Sure kiddo." He said, "When you're old enough, I'll show you the whole world..."

Only a year later, Rufioh stormed out during a fight with their father, and Tavros never saw him again.

Once upon a time, the Summoner had been a household name. General Nitram was the terror of the Empress's armies and all other nations quaked at the mention of his name. But he'd never been the most marketable of soldiers. Not like Admiral Dualscar, whose handsome face was spread across every propaganda poster the Empress's media bureau ever put out. Nitram, despite the incredible magical abilities that had raised him to the status of General even in the face of his low birth, had radical ideas that made every loyalist soldier that served him uneasy, and every imperialist superior he had want to kill him. He was openly socialist, vehemently against the aristocracy, and determined to change things from within. Then eventually his unpopular views had outstripped his usefulness and the Empress had tried to have him executed for sedition. In response, General Nitram had made his treason official. A huge number of the empress's army followed him into open rebellion, leaving the empire crippled and confused as he claimed territory after territory in the name of a free republic where all men were equal regardless of birth. More than once, the citizens of the areas he invaded welcomed him with cheers, turning on their highborn lords themselves. And General Nitram proudly revealed that he'd been holding back for years. The powers he unleashed against the empire were earth shaking, legendary. People still spoke in hushed whispers of his infamous summoning of the Archdemon Pyralspite, which he rode into battle against the Grand Holy Bastille, Fortress of the Faith, Supreme Pontiff Makara, leader of the Church of the State and of the Empress's holy warriors. It was that battle that earned Nitram the title of Summoner, as though no man before him had ever truly mastered the art, or ever would again. It was that title that was shouted from the roof tops as the rebellion grew, until it looked like it might consume not just the empire, but the world.

Unfortunately, Nitram underestimated the Empress, and forgot that she had long fought her wars in secret while he had only ever fought on the battlefield. The Empress got to Nitram's lover, a noblewoman who'd turned her back on her title to join the rebellion. How the Empress convinced the Marquis to turn on the Summoner, not even he ever knew. However it happened, she relinquished all Nitram's strategies, the locations of all his armies, the names of all his highest supporters, and then led him herself directly into an ambush. The Empress, in a single attack completely demolished the Rebel Army. The Summoner escaped, fled the country in shame and betrayal, but not before he'd killed the Marquis himself.

He went into exile on a tiny island, far from the Empress's influence. And rather than make him a martyr, the Empress granted him mercy, declaring him banished, and allowed him to rot there in infamy, knowing he would never be able to rouse another army again after such a defeat. And she'd been right.

The Summoner's fame won him nothing in the end but a modest farm on which to raise his two sons. Though there were still those that supported him, none dared show it publicly, and there were many more who despised him for creating a war that had dragged on so long and killed so many and resulted only in the aristocracy being more firmly embedded then before, and more motivated to keep the lowborn in their place. He rarely left the farm anymore. He'd clung to hopes of rekindling his rebellion with Rufioh, but with his eldest son's disappearance those hopes died, and whatever had been left of the Summoner that he hadn't lost in Marquis's betrayal died with it. Tavros watched his father grow older and sadder and retreat from the world. He began to spend more time that ever locked in his office. Tavros knew he was summoning something in there. 'Practicing' in his office had been a weekly ritual for as long as Tavros had been alive, probably longer. What he was summoning, Tavros couldn't imagine. But his weekly practices soon became twice weekly, then daily, and Tavros's curiosity got the better of him.

It was a chilly autumn afternoon. Tavros was eight, and missing his brother terribly. He'd been out all day, wandering in the woods near the farm, cataloguing the animals he saw. He had a sketchbook full of drawings, both of those mundane creatures and of the things he'd summoned. The drawings, and the lists of the animals he'd seen, were a regular part of the letters he wrote to Rufioh, all of which sat undelivered under a floorboard in his room, waiting for Rufioh to send him some sign of where he was. But it had begun to drizzle and Tavros, worried about his sketches, had hurried home before the rain started in earnest. He skulked towards his room, fretting over his drawings, when he passed his father's study and heard a voice.

"How many years," He heard his father saying, something playful and at the same time deeply sad in his voice, "How many decades, and you still won't give in?"

His father had left the study door unlocked and slightly open, perhaps assuming Tavros would be gone till sundown, as he often was. Tavros stepped a little closer, curious and wary.

"I am what I am, Nitram." Came a reply, in a voice Tavros did not recognize. It was deep and velvety as night and sent shivers down Tavros's spine, "You knew that before you learned my name. I can not change my nature."

"You can," Came his father's voice again, soft and pleading in a way Tavros had never heard his brash, loud, arrogant father speak, "I know you can. If nothing else, that I still believe in."

There was light dancing under the door and through the crack, blue and liquid and unearthly.

"You are a fool, Nitram," Said the stranger, but there was kindness in the words, "A fair and fulsome fool."

Tavros crept a little closer, heart racing as he began to suspect what was behind the door.

"Won't you say my name?" his father begged quietly, "At least once? Just once, call me by my name."

There was a long moment of silence, then a gentle murmur Tavros could not hear, followed by the kind of moan that made Tavros want to flee and hide until he was a few years older at least. Swallowing his fear, he peered through the crack of the door.

In the center of the room was a wide and complex summoning circle, glowing brightly with activity, frothing with blue light that splashed and ran like water. Tavros's father stood before it, his shirt loose and hanging from his arms, baring his muscular, scar covered back to the door. His father's hands were outstretched, reaching into the circle. The light pulled and stretched like a sheet around his arms as he wrapped them around the neck of the creature he had summoned. It was tall, taller than Tavros's father, and for the brief moment Tavros glimpsed it he perceived only that it was masculine, and that its skin was exactly the perfect blue black of the midnight sky in the space between the stars. And then all he saw were its eyes, huge and blue and all consuming. There was a shout, a sound of pain, smell of copper on the air, and then only darkness.

Tavros woke, groggy and confused but otherwise unharmed, on the couch in his father's office. The Summoner sat in high backed chair at his desk, turned to face Tavros on the couch, staring at a deep, still bleeding wound on his arm with an expression Tavros couldn't read. He'd half bandaged it, then stopped, and now he just stared at it, flexing his hand occasionally, as though he wanted it to keep hurting.

"I'm sorry-" Tavros started to say as he sat up, but the older man cut him off.

"It was my own fault," The Summoner said, voice distant and grim, "I should have locked the door."

Tavros wanted to disagree. He'd been taught never to interrupt a summoning since he was old enough to walk. He knew how dangerous breaking a magician's focus could be. Locked doors had nothing to do with it. But he said nothing, afraid of making the situation worse, afraid of the unfamiliar expression his father's face. For a long time, there was silence between them. Tavros felt an eerie, still fear growing in his chest. He knew he wasn't in danger, but somehow the certainty that he had done something terribly wrong crept on him and left him dreading the consequences and wishing he could hide.

"Dad?" he asked quietly, voice cracking with the stress, "Did I... what was that-"

"Nothing." The Summoner said sharply, interrupting again before the question was fully formed, "You saw nothing. And we're never going to talk about what happened here again. Understand?"

Tavros flinched, startled and worried. His father had never spoken to him that brusquely before. He saw the regret in the Summoner's eyes as soon as he realized what he'd done. The older man's tense posture softened at once, shaking off or at least burying whatever had troubled him.

"Hey, kid, don't look at me like that." he said, soft, playfulness tempered by regret, reaching out to muss Tavros's hair, "You look like a baby bird. I'm sorry I snapped. It's just... it's been rough, since your brother."

Tavros nodded, understanding, and pushed past the hand on his head to slide off the couch and into his father's arms instead, hugging the older man's middle tightly. The Summoner hesitated for a moment, then held him back, and Tavros heard a hitch in his voice when he spoke again.

"There, see?" The Summoner tried to sound cheerful, patting Tavros's back, "Everything's fine. Let me get this arm cleaned up and we'll have supper, okay?"

Tavros nodded again and, reluctantly, let go. He stepped away, shuffling awkwardly, and started to leave.

"Oh, and we need to talk about you summoning things in the barn again," the Summoner added as Tavros turned away, making the boy freeze, "What have I told you about summoning things on your own?"

Tavros looked back over his shoulder with a sheepish grin, ready for the worst, but the Summoner just smiled.

"You're too sloppy with putting away your materials," The Summoner scolded lightly, "But your sigils are very clean. It's good work."

Tavros blushed, pleased beyond words, and scuffed the floor with his shoe.

The Summoner chuckled and waved him out with his good arm

"Go on, we'll talk about it at dinner," He said, "I have a mess to clean up here first."

Tavros smiled gratefully and left the office, feeling better until he glanced back. As the office door was closing behind Tavros, the Summoner sank back into his chair, warm smile melting as he turned to stare at his wounded arm once again with that expression Tavros couldn't figure out.

Days passed, and on the surface things seemed better. The Summoner stopped locking himself in his office. He took a greater interest in Tavros's studies, helping him to work on his magic.

But Tavros could tell his father wasn't well. His attention wandered often, and Tavros would find him staring into space, expression far away and full of guilt. With every day that passed he moved slower, was more reluctant to leave the bed in the mornings, said little and ate less. He was sick, Tavros could see it. But he didn't know what to do to help.

A few days later, he went into town alone to get groceries. It was a chore he used to do with Rufioh, as their father had a hard time going into the town without getting into a fight. Sometimes, he'd do it on purpose if he was drunk enough.

Tavros missed having his brother with him, but he was old enough to do it alone, and his father needed him right now.

Luckily, most of the people in town who disliked Tavros's father, didn't hold what the Summoner had done against Tavros. Though they had been stiff with Rufioh, who everyone had expected to take up his father's mantle. Rufioh had been wiry and mischievous even at Tavros's age, always fighting the other village boys and getting into screaming matches with any adult who dared insult his father in front of him. Tavros had never been that type. He was built softer and rounder, and was more likely to cry than fight. He might have been a decent fighter if he tried. Once or twice the local boys had singled him out for a beating when Rufioh wasn't around to chase them off, and Tavros had proven he could take a hit and get right back up. He'd just never be the type to try and hit back. He'd just stand up, dust himself off, and wait for the next blow. It was a terrible trait for a revolutionary's son, but it did endear him to the local mothers.

His shopping trip was mostly uneventful till the end. He'd filled his pack at the market, even managed to charm a few prices down. But as he turned towards the road home he spotted a gaggle of older boys, loitering near the end of the market. One of them caught his eye and grinned nastily and Tavros realized with some dismay that they were waiting for him to leave the main street in order to jump him. He frowned and, hoping it was the right decision, ducked out of the market and down a side street. Maybe he could circle around them and get out without them seeing him.

He hurried down the narrow side street, taking a quick left turn when he heard boy's voices growing behind him. He could still lose them if he was quick, he thought, looking for another turn. But then he heard a triumphant shout behind him and realized it was too late to slip away. He broke into a run, sprinting down the cramped alley. He wasn't strong, but he was surprisingly quick as long as there wasn't anything to trip over. Maybe he could keep enough of a lead on them to get back to the main road!

Then the boy that had grinned at him suddenly stepped around the turn in front of him, having circled around while his mates closed in from behind. Tavros, too surprised to act on anything more than instinct, did not stop or miss a step. He lowered his head, squared his shoulders, and sped up instead, catching the lone boy in the gut with the full force of a panicking eight year old. They tumbled backwards together into a stack of crates, the older boy wheezing, the wind knocked out of him. Tavros, cushioned from the fall by his foe, scrambled back to his feet and kept running.

But the older boy wouldn't stay down for long, and his friends were still coming, and Tavros was all turned around now, not sure which way in the maze of side streets would lead him back to the main road. He had to think of something to do, fast.

He suddenly remembered, clinking in his pocket, the chalk he used to write his grocery list. He had enough distance he thought, heart racing faster at the thought. He had enough time to make a quick circle. He wouldn't call something dangerous, just something big. Big enough to scare them off, make them never come near him again. He could do it, he knew how. Swallowing hard, still running, he reached into the pocket of his coat, fingers closing around the warm and dusty chalk. He could do it.

And then a door opened just as he was about to pass it, making him stumble to a stop, crashing into the hip of the woman who was on her way out. She'd been about to dump out the washing water, but she dropped it as Tavros collided with her, spilling it over the cobble and her skirts. She started to glare down at Tavros, ready to give him a piece of her mind about running about so recklessly, until she saw the desperate, frightened look on his face, pleading for help, his hands clinging to her damp skirt. She looked back the way he'd come and heard the voices of the boys, angry and growing louder. Without a word, she snatched up her washing tub and ushered Tavros back inside, closing the door quickly behind them.

Tavros sank down beside the door, hugging his knees to his chest, and listened as the gang ran past, shouting angrily.

"The little brat couldn't have gone far!"

"It's your fault we lost him, falling over like that!"

"Is not! You should have run faster!"

Their voices faded as they ran on, and Tavros breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're the little Nitram boy, aren't you?" Asked the woman when things outside grew quiet, "Tavros?"

Tavros nodded quietly, embarrassed and suddenly worried she might be one of those who disliked his father. She was a tall woman, rangy and strong despite her age, with olive eyes and long, shaggy brown hair she had tied up the way all the village married women did, though there was no ring on her finger. It hung from a string around her neck instead, in the way of widows. The house smelled like cats, and her fingers were stained with ink.

"You have to stop getting into such trouble," The woman said, not unkindly, helping him up, "I saw those boys chase you off the road last week too. What would you father say?"

"He'd, tell me to fight them," Tavros answered with bitter certainty, "But, I'm not very good at that."

The woman nodded, not surprised. She looked at Tavros for a moment, her expression calculating.

"You know, I was there during your father's rebellion." She said.

Tavros didn't answer, giving her a wary look, afraid he was about to have to run again. But the woman just smiled and turned away, rifling through some papers on a nearby table.

"He even asked me to join him, once." She said, "I had... experience in rebellions. But we never agreed on ideology. But I kept an eye on him, even if I wouldn't fight with him. Close enough of an eye that I had to come here when he failed or risk being taken for a supporter and shot in the street like the rest."

Tavros listened, confused and slightly worried, hand on the door.

"You need to get out of here." She said finally, pulling a flyer from the pile of papers, "Away from your father. He's a good man, but he can't put down his anger. He'll keep carrying it forever, and he'll make you carry it to, if he can. Here."

She handed him the flyer, and Tavros took it, frowning curiously.

"Apprentices wanted," He read, mumbling, "To join Admiral Dualscar in the capitol, for training in the arts of... summoning, and high magic? Only the talented, need apply..."

"If you have even a drop of your father's talent, you qualify." The woman said, "Your father's still respected for his skill in the capitol, whatever his political leanings. They won't pass up the chance to train his son, trust me."

"I, but why," Tavros stammered, stutter getting worse in his confusion, "I'm not ever, going to join the imperial army, or be a real summoner. What's, the point?"

The woman took the flyer, rolled it up, and bopped him on the head with it.

"The point is not wasting your talents!" She said sharply, "The point is doing something with your life! Do you intend to molder on that farm with your father the rest of your days? Ridiculous!"

Tavros ducked a second blow from the rolled up flyer and she pushed it back into his hands.

"Talk to your father." She said, "He knows, deep down, he knows what he's doing to you, and that you deserve better. You'll see. Now come on, you can leave through the garden. Cut through the neighbor's plot and you'll be on the edge of town in no time."

Tavros took the flyer, folding it up carefully and putting it away in his pocket. The woman opened the side door into the garden and Tavros, pausing to check that his groceries were still in one piece, stepped past her into the sun.

"Promise me you'll ask him," She said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Promise?"

Tavros paused, looking up at her sad, weathered face, and after a moment nodded.

"I, promise," He said haltingly, "I'll ask."

"Good." She said warmly, passing him an oatmeal cookie wrapped in a handkerchief, "Have a cookie for the road. And tell you father Meulin said hello."

He waved as he left, and climbed through the neighbor's gardens to the edge of town, where he found the main road again. It was a longer walk than usual, but the cookie was delicious, and he had dreams of an apprenticeship in the capitol to keep him company...

Tavros let several days pass before he found the courage to ask the Summoner about the flyer. His father was still deep in the mire he'd been in since Tavros had interrupted his summoning and Tavros was afraid to make it worse. Equally, he was afraid the older man would say no. The more he thought about it, about being a real, proper summoner, the more excited he became. He still didn't think he wanted to join the imperial army, but to go to the capitol and be really trained with others who loved summoning as much as he did, that would be spectacular. To see the great magical library at the heart of the city and add his name to the book of summoners, right beneath his father's... He lay up at night, staring at the ceiling and dreaming about the things he might see and learn. And about the other students, kids his own age who might finally be his friends. It was a heady daydream, and the more dear it grew to him, the more terrible the thought of his father saying no became. For a long while, he couldn't decide which was worse: never asking and possibly missing his chance, or daring to ask and being refused. It was Meulin's words that eventually made him settle on the former. His father, as much as Tavros loved him, would never have a greater ambition for any of his sons than to take up the mantle of his rebellion. And he barely even had that ambition for Tavros. Tavros realized, with grim certainty, that if his father said no, he would have to follow his brother in running away. Like many children his age, he looked at the idea of running away with fearful excitement. It would be hard and frightening of course, which was why he'd never done it. But it was also bound to be an exciting adventure. He'd find his brother on the road, and they'd go to the capitol and become summoners together. It was such an exciting dream that he nearly decided not to ask at all, to bank on the refusal and just flee now. But some part of him, which was older than the rest and a little more practical, reminded him of the dangers of the road, of hunger and robbers and cold, and convinced him that he should at least give his father a chance.

The Summoner was in his study when Tavros went to him. The door was open wide, but Tavros still felt as though he were trespassing, and he hesitated at the threshold, looking in. His father sat in his high backed chair, staring down at the circle painted on the wooden boards of the study floor. Strictly speaking, it was bad practice to put a permanent circle on a wooden floor, as the warping of the boards during hot or wet weather could alter sigels and even break the circle itself. But this had never seemed to worry the Summoner. At least not until now. There was a bucket of cleaning solution and a brush beside his chair, currently untouched. He'd been talking the last several days of removing the old circle, putting in a new one somewhere safer. The basement perhaps, on the stone floor where it was less likely to warp. Tavros had encouraged the project, because it had seemed to bring some energy back to the man. But now he simply sat, staring at the circle, work not even begun, and the expression on his face was so torn and twisted that it made Tavros want to cry just glimpsing it.

"Sir?" he said quietly, and the Summoner jumped, quickly disciplining his face into a smile that hid absolutely nothing.

"Yeah, kiddo?" He asked turning that smile on Tavros, "I was just about to get started here. What can I do for you?"

Tavros was holding the flyer, and he turned it in his hands as he fumbled with his words.

"Um, well," He mumbled, "You see I was, I was in town, the other day and, and this woman, uh, this woman was talking to me, and she thought, I mean, I thought, that is, this is something I would really like, something I need to, to, to-"

He stopped, hung on the word and scrunched his face up in agitation. He took a deep breath and gave up on finding the right words, simply handing his father the flyer.

The Summoner accepted it, curious, and scanned over it. Tavros saw his lip curl as he reached the mention of Dualscar's name.

"What is that old barnacle doing pretending to teach summoning?" he muttered, "The man could lead a fleet, sure, but he was far better at putting summons down than raising them himself. He could barely summon a stage three on his own. Mind you I once saw him harpoon a stage eight over the capitol harbor all on his own. Asshole dropped it on the dockside houses rather than risk crushing a single of his precious ships."

Tavros waited patiently as his father griped about the other man. Dualscar, handsome and talented (if not very charismatic in person, at least according to the Summoner) had been the Imperial Armada's golden boy both before and during the Summoner's rebellion. They'd gone up against each other more than once. There was a great deal of personal dislike between them. Given the chance, Dualscar would likely have been delighted to publicly gut the Summoner and bask in the praise of finally slaying the disgraced leader of the old rebellion. But there was grudging respect there as well that came from one soldier recognizing the skill of another.

After a moment of reminiscing about old rivalries, it finally occurred to the Summoner why Tavros had handed him the flyer in the first place. He stopped, staring at his son in surprise.

"You... want to apprentice yourself to Dualscar?" The man asked, and when Tavros nodded timidly, the Summoner seemed to light up with righteous fury, "Like hell! Like hell I'm going to let that fish breath teach MY son-"

He cut himself off suddenly, seeing the crushed look on Tavros's face. There was a moment of silence between them as Tavros felt his dreams crumbling. He'd never be brave enough to actually run away, that had just been a pipe dream. He'd be here forever, alone, and the best summoning he'd ever do would be nothing above a stage four, in haphazard circles scrawled in the dirt floor of the barn...

"You really want this?" the Summoner asked quietly, and Tavros nodded, earnest and expecting the worst.

"More, than anything," He answered haltingly.

His father looked away, looked down at the circle on the floor, and Tavros saw something guilty and shameful slip across his brown, well aged face.

"I suppose I've been doing you a disservice, keeping you here," The Summoner said, "I never was the best teacher. And I certainly don't have their books and resources..."

He glanced back at Tavros, seeming to be searching for some approval, some sign that he was doing the right thing.

"...I'll send some letters." He said at last, "I can't make any promises you'll be accepted. But I'll try."

Tavros had thrown himself at his father before he'd even finished speaking, hugging him so tightly the last words came out half choked by Tavros's ecstatic grip.

"I'll be a summoner, just like you," Tavros said, dizzy with happiness, "I'll make you, so proud."

The Summoner was staring over Tavros's shoulder at the circle on the floor as he patted his son's head, and his eyes were full of shame and secret hope.

"You already do, kiddo. You always did."

The Summoner had to pull every string and call in every favor he had for Tavros to even be considered. In spite of everything, the Nitram's were still lowborn, and no noble would take an apprentice without a title. But the Summoner's name still carried some weight amongst the capitol's magical aristocracy, where he was remembered more for his summoning skill than for his unfortunate political leanings. Word of the Summoner's son created a buzz of excitement for the possibility that Tavros might have his father's talent. That Dualscar might train the child of the Summoner himself sent a flurry through the gossip circles of the capitol. And Dualscar, being above all a vain socialite, found himself in a corner. Give Tavros a chance, or disappoint his peers and face the humiliation at every garden party and ball this season.

He'd arrived one chilly May morning before the fog had even lifted, sweeping onto the farm in a heavy, ornate carriage that was bound to sink intractably deep in the wet muddy roads of the small island town. He climbed out, wreathed in a massive cloak dyed rich, royal violet, which broadened his already impressive stature into something solid and towering and ominous.

Tavros, who'd only woken up ten minutes before when his father had spotted the carriage coming, and rushed to wash and dress himself faster than he ever had before, stood beside his father in the wet grass before their house, trembling at the sight of the admiral.

The Summoner nodded respectfully at his rival as the other man approached, and Dualscar nodded stiffly back.

"Summoner," He said in a thick lyrical accent that was half capitol affectation, half sailor's motley growl, "Good to see you've finally accepted your place in your old age. You were always better suited to farming than soldiering."

"Admiral." the Summoner replied, polite smile developing a few too many teeth to be polite any longer, "Good to see you as well. Speaking of old age, I see you still haven't learned to dress for yours. Is that a lace cravat I see? Don't you think you're just a few decades beyond that?"

Judging by the flush on the admiral's cheeks and the way his hand twitched, fighting the urge to jump to the admittedly somewhat dandyish cravat, the Summoner had hit the other man's weak point dead on.

"Cut the banter." Dualscar said sharply, "I came to see the boy's skills, not twitter like bitter housewives."

Tavros took note of the fact that the admiral was the type to take his ball and go home if he thought he was losing. But the Summoner just gave a sarcastic, sweeping bow as he gestured towards the barn as though it were a grand ballroom. Tavros saw Dualscar scowl at the dusty, aging structure and twitch at his cloak as though he were mourning its soon to be ruined hem already.

In the barn, Tavros got to work at once, busily scratching his circle into the dirt.

"Is this really the best you have for a summoning area?" Dualscar asked disdainfully, "I can hardly believe the boy knows anything, studying in such crude facilities."

"Well, we can't all have marble halls, can we?" The Summoner replied, watching his son with a light smile, "Or no, we could have. But your lot put a stop to all that, remember?"

He grinned a sharklike grin at Dualscar, who sneered back until the Summoner broke eye contact to watch Tavros again.

"Don't you fret your pretty little lace underthings about it," Summoner continued, "The boy is more than capable. And in the field he'll have his structures up and three summonings started while your pampered capitol magicians are still looking for a flat surface."

"We'll see." Dualscar replied, unconvinced.

Tavros wasn't listening to their conversation, hard at work on his circle. He'd been planning what to do today for a long time, trying to decide what the perfect summon would be. What he'd finally landed on wasn't anything from a book. He'd had to improvise much of the constraints and bindings himself to get the effect he wanted. As he scrawled their strange sigils he saw Dualscar frowning and his father raising an eyebrow, intrigued.

The circle was quite large, which was why they were doing it in the barn rather than the study or the basement. It was more than twelve feet across, the edges thickly inscribed with dense and specific rites and rules in the slanting esoteric letters of the arcane language. As Tavros worked he muttered under his breath, lighting each rune briefly with a glitter of honey colored power, solidifying it, building up the invisible magical structure that would be the summon's cage. Each rune was both a bar of that cage and an undeniable order to the occupant, and if any one fell it would mean the end Tavros, at the very least.

Such a large circle would normally require blood to activate, but as Tavros finished inscribing and stood back, he didn't reach for a knife. Instead he began to chant, slow and rhythmic and precise, almost singing. These rituals were the only time Tavros's stutter never seemed to bother him. Words that usually stopped him cold glided easily as silk on water when carried by the musical current of a spell. Maybe it was the confidence doing magic seemed to fill him with, or just that he'd practiced the words ahead of time. He'd expected it to be more difficult with Dualscar watching, but somehow the fear never came, or never grew beyond an excited kind of nausea at the pit of his stomach. He was more elated than scared, eager to show off the spell he'd spent so long on. And as the spell began to come together a kind of serenity came over him, and he remembered working out here with his brother, summoning things they knew they shouldn't. And he remembered the day of the butterflies and smiled.

The outer ring of the circle began to glow, bubbling with bronze colored light. The sigils began to move, sliding around the outside of the circle, turning faster and faster as though they intended to take off. Tavros watched carefully, still chanting, urging the magic on, building it higher. Then, with a great heave, he spat heavily into the center of the circle.

The light erupted, dazzling all three in the barn for a moment as it flared, shimmering brown honey gold light fountaining towards the roof as something spiraled up from the center of the circle where Tavros's saliva had landed. It swirled up, tiny at first, a white dust devil no larger than a thumb, which grew with every passing second, curving and stretching and warping as the requirements of Tavros's cage forced it to take the shape he wanted, long and sinuous and angular. It was singing out as it grew, a high musical cry like that of a wild horse, piercing and lonely as the shape built ever higher under Tavros's carefully sculpting hands. Dualscar took a step backwards, worried, as it grew tall enough to threaten the ceiling of the barn, but Tavros never flinched, hands moving like the conductor of an orchestra as he sang his spell in harmony with the creature's cry.

As it reached the peak of its height, Tavros suddenly pulled away from the spell to turn and grab a rope hanging from the ceiling nearby. As he dragged it down, the barn's skylight suddenly fell open, flooding the room with dusty golden light. As soon as it hit the creature in the circle, it suddenly unfolded and the shape Tavros had been forcing it into became clear. It opened wide, bat like wings that filled the barn from end to end, craned back a long, serpentine neck and turned it's jagged, elegant reptile head to the sky, blinking into the light with terrible scarlet eyes. It was Pyralspite, or a facsimile of him anyway. Summoning an imitation of his father's most famous demon, the one he'd flown over the empress's palace itself, was risky he knew. But the look on the two men's faces, the Summoner's delighted and awed and full of pride, the Admiral's shocked and frightened, was worth it. And then Tavros, gleeful, ignored the simultaneous terrified shouts of both his father and Dualscar, and scrubbed out the edge of the circle with his foot in a single triumphant swipe, cutting off the magical energy feeding his creation.

The dragon opened its mouth in a final shrill cry, then shattered into a vast cloud of white butterflies, which filled the barn like a snow storm and lifted Tavros, laughing, into the air. In the final moments of the spell, their joined mass behind him looked exactly like vast, radiant wings, carrying him into the light.

And then a moment later he'd been left on the ground as the butterflies either popped in a glitter of light at the touch of any solid thing, or else flew away through the skylight, yearning ever towards the sun. Tavros, sitting on the ground, breathing heavily, was shaking with elation at the success. He looked over at his audience, and found they'd both toppled over into the dirt in shock. Dualscar was pale as a ghost, with the unmistakable expression of a man who'd just seen his life flash before his eyes. Summoner was wide eyed and slack jawed and the unexpected joy in his eyes mirrored Tavros's perfectly. The older Nitram scrambled to his feet with a whoop of exultant delight and scooped Tavros up into a hug, swinging him around as they both laughed like madmen. Dualscar continued to stare at them as though that was exactly what they were.

"How- why in- how did-" Dualscar babbled, stumbling gracelessly to his own feet, "That was-"

"It was amazing is what it was!" Summoner crowed, lifting Tavros in the air, "Did you see the wingspan on that thing? And the way he flew at the end, gods above!"

"That was-" Dualscar tried to say again, only to be cut off by the Summoner.

"That was incredible! Better than anything I could do at your age!" The Summoner gushed, "All this time I thought Rufioh was- well, I was wrong, anyway! How did you hide that kind of skill from me, kiddo? And letting it go at the end, that was-"

"THAT WAS THE MOST IRRESPONSIBLE, DANGEROUS, UNDISCIPLINED HEDGE WITCHERY I'VE EVER SEEN!" Dualscar snarled, finding his words at last, "How dare you endanger me that way! And you! Encouraging your own son to break his summoning circles! I knew you were a fool Summoner but I never took you for suicidal!"

Tavros had stopped laughing by now, and simply clung to his now similarly grim faced father, joy replaced with worry and guilt. Dualscar, cloak rumpled and dusty, carefully coiffed graying hair mussed by the cloud of butterflies, should have looked ridiculous. And yet the disturbance of his obviously carefully maintained appearance only seemed to make him more terrifying as he steamed with rage.

"Power you might have!" The Admiral continued, pointing threateningly at Tavros, "But coupled with reckless stupidity power will bring you nothing but an early grave!"

"Hey!" The Summoner snapped, stepping between them with a snarl, "That's enough! Nothing got hurt except your gaudy ass cloak. Tavros knew what he was doing. He just happened to know something neither of us did. And it was the most damn impressive thing I've seen since before the war. If you don't want him that's your own loss."

He turned to Tavros with a grin, clasping him by both shoulders. The clouds that had been across his eyes for so long seemed to have vanished entirely, and that alone was enough to make Tavros's heart soar with joy.

"Hey, forget this crusty barnacle," Summoner said, "Forget the apprenticeship. Stay here with me. I was squandering your talents before, letting your training slip. But if you can do something like that, the rebellion might still-"

"Wait just a minute!" Dualscar interjected, abrasive with offense, "Is your blatant treachery all you think of? I never said I wouldn't take the boy!"

He huffed imperiously as Tavros's eyes lit up with renewed hope.

"He'll just need some more adequate safety training is all." The Admiral finished, straightening his cloak and smoothing back his hair, "A proper grounding in the basics and essentials is clearly necessary. That circle was far more complex than it needed to be."

The Summoner scowled, muttered "like you would know you waterlogged hack" under his breath and turned back to Tavros, squeezing his shoulders.

"It's up to you, kiddo." He said, "Whatever you want to do, you know I'm behind you."

But Tavros could see in his eyes which he was hoping for, which he'd already mentally decided Tavros would choose, without question. Tavros mentally cringed, realizing how much he was about to disappoint him.

"I, would like to go with the Admiral, please." He said, and watched his father's face crumble. In the Summoner's defense, he only let it show for a moment before he got himself back under control and smiled, ruffling his son's hair.

"All right." He said, trying to hide the remorse in his voice as he turned to the still primping Dualscar, "You heard the kid. He's yours. And you'd better take damn good care of him or it'll come out of your hide."

"The day you can lay a finger on my hide is the day I retire and row out to sea to let the sharks have me." Dualscar replied with a glare, and Summoner replied with a sharp toothed grin.

"I'll keep that in mind," He said, "I know a great stretch of shark infested shore line I can recommend you."

The two men wandered back towards Dualscar's carriage to sign papers and work out details, telling Tavros to go pack his bags. But Tavros waited, lingering in the barn until they were both out of sight. Then he hurried to a dark corner, sketching quickly in the dirt. This one was much simpler than the first, only two feet wide, and its instructions were simple and clear.

A few whispered words and a dab of spit, and the circle glowed and bubbled over, a small white shape forming in the center. This one was solid, unlike the amorphous spirits he'd called before. It took the shape of a bull no larger than a young cat, a pair of delicate wings fluttering on its back. It looked at Tavros with clear, intelligent eyes. Tavros pulled a letter from his clothes and pushed it carefully across the circle.

"Find my brother Rufioh as quickly as you can." He said in an anxious whisper, reaffirming what was written around the circle, "Deliver that to him. Then discorporate."

The fairybull gave no indication of having understood his words, but it picked up the letter and took off into the air, out through the barn's skylight. Tavros hurried outside through the barn's back door to watch it as it sailed high through the air, circling once over the house as it got its bearings, then turned and flew towards the sea.

When it was too far away to see anymore, Tavros returned to the barn and covered the binding circle with a tarp, shielding it with a hay bale, hoping it stayed intact long enough for the letter to reach Rufioh. The bull would vanish as soon as it was broken. The letter wasn't long or particularly emotional. Tavros hadn't really known what to say. So he just wrote,

"I'm going to the capitol. Come find me."