[It comes as no surprise, when he senses Hector's approach on the edges of his awareness. But it doesn't make it any less frustrating, reminding him that one of his many regrets is never learning how to suppress his magic and cloak his presence, making himself invisible to men and monsters. His pursuit of raw power had come first, starting early, from when he was still fresh meat among the human arrivals to the castle. For close to a year he'd request the same grimoires from the library, reading and rereading them cover to cover until he had memorized entire passages and basic magical seals, having no more need to glance over the notes he had taken.
Most of the library's keepers wouldn't give him or anyone else the time of day, absorbed in their own studies or with making copies of yellowing, disintegrating tomes when not preserving the dignity of the space and the priceless collection of books and maps and blueprints it housed through brute force. But after a whole year of the barest of exchanges between them, one demon scholar began sharing a few quotations from the latest philosophical text or work of poetry it was reading. Hell, boy, is not the world beyond these doors, but a door locked from the inside, it had told him, once. It all smacked of pretentious bullshit to Isaac, an annoying waste of time for a kid desperate to get his hands on some books on alchemy and devil forging. But it's only now that Isaac thinks he understands what it meant.
His mind is his own worst enemy. And he's rattled by how little it has taken for his defenses to crumble and for him to feel like a stranger in his own body and trapped in his own head, like he had for years, back when all it would take is a simple touch, a careless few words, to jack fury or panic into him.
That anger is all he has now, keeping him alive and alert and willing him to pay at least some attention to the path Hector's taking. It's not quite as much of a beeline towards him as Isaac suspected -- and he can only wonder what Hector's intentions are, hating that it matters in the least to him.
He might not know what to do with himself, but any thought of joining Hector on the road again has soured. Let him board a vessel and plunge to watery grave. If destiny called from the other side of the world, Isaac is sure he'd find a way across without him.]
no subject
Most of the library's keepers wouldn't give him or anyone else the time of day, absorbed in their own studies or with making copies of yellowing, disintegrating tomes when not preserving the dignity of the space and the priceless collection of books and maps and blueprints it housed through brute force. But after a whole year of the barest of exchanges between them, one demon scholar began sharing a few quotations from the latest philosophical text or work of poetry it was reading. Hell, boy, is not the world beyond these doors, but a door locked from the inside, it had told him, once. It all smacked of pretentious bullshit to Isaac, an annoying waste of time for a kid desperate to get his hands on some books on alchemy and devil forging. But it's only now that Isaac thinks he understands what it meant.
His mind is his own worst enemy. And he's rattled by how little it has taken for his defenses to crumble and for him to feel like a stranger in his own body and trapped in his own head, like he had for years, back when all it would take is a simple touch, a careless few words, to jack fury or panic into him.
That anger is all he has now, keeping him alive and alert and willing him to pay at least some attention to the path Hector's taking. It's not quite as much of a beeline towards him as Isaac suspected -- and he can only wonder what Hector's intentions are, hating that it matters in the least to him.
He might not know what to do with himself, but any thought of joining Hector on the road again has soured. Let him board a vessel and plunge to watery grave. If destiny called from the other side of the world, Isaac is sure he'd find a way across without him.]