The Gramorian navy fleets were the largest, most robust steel ships Argratheum had ever seen. Most sailing ships were small, wooden boats that traveled just as far as the wind was willing to take them. On occasion, you could find a large sailboat with a crew as large as one hundred men. But nowhere else in the world would you find steel-hulled vessels capable of crews of thousands. In Neil's opinion, however, It was painfully bland both inside and out. The walls were simple steel gray plates with its only texture being the nuts and bolts sticking out. 

They walked down the twilight tinted halls. He’d gone with Val to check the ship more thoroughly. Either for anything of use or a remaining guard waiting in dark to reclaim the ship. Other than a massive inventory of stale cracker-like biscuits in the canteen; they didn’t find anything useful or any guards. However, he did find a locked door in the far back-end of the ship. It looked just as dull as the others. The only difference was the complicated lock in the very center. A coil of thick steel intertwined in a tangled mess over the handle. No matter what spell he used on it, Neil could not seem to get the door to open. Neither could Val, though she didn't offer much help.

She didn't like the ship. It gave her 'the creeps' as she put it. If it were entirely up to her, they wouldn't be on a Gramore navy vessel in the first place. To be more accurate, they never would have left their island. This entire 'avenging their father's death' mentality came entirely from her so-called master. She would have refused to go along with this suicide plan if she had the influence.

Her hostility toward the Azbien siblings had mellowed out with time. Only a week had passed on the ship but she was beginning to warm up to the little girl. Serra asked her several questions about the firefox. The girl would often shower her in compliments and attention, pleasantries the fox rarely, if ever, received. So, Val was more than thrilled to share all sorts of secrets about her kind. The man, however, seemed to keep his distance from Val as much she did of him.

Edmund rarely spoke with the demon. In the beginning, he was far more cautious of his sister talking with her, but after many stern complaints from Serra, he eventually let it go. Instead, he spent most of his time on the ship teaching Neil and trying to understand not only his magic but his odd behavior as well.

"This," Edmund said, picking up the silver tool, with a needle on one end and a coalpen on the other. "Is a compass?" It was none he had ever seen before. 

Neil nodded. "That's right. It draws perfect circles. See?" He demonstrated by using a blank page of one of his many journals. The needle pressed into it the center. He revolved the coalpen, leaving behind a perfect dark arch. Measured exactly, he drew six evenly spaced out circles that converged on a single middle point. Adding the seventh circle, he drew it through the middle of all six. That was the same symbol he'd drawn for Edmund's wounds. "A healing spell."

"I know what it is." Edmund took it from him, touching it the same way Neil had. It glowed softly. "So instead of calling on it, you just draw it?" Neil nodded.

"My father never showed me how to use it the way other mages do. He always said that he would teach me the proper way but..." He trailed off.

Edmund sighed. "Most children learn this when they're eight years old." He glanced over at Serra, who was playing with Val near the helm of the ship. "That demon won't burn her, correct?"

Neil noticed this before, but Edmund had a certain look in his eyes all the time. A sort of stern and serious expression that encapsulated his entire personality. "Val's flames only burn what she wants to burn." He even gestured to the way Val's tail brushed up against Serra's dress. "You said before that your sister can't use magic. I thought everyone in Gramore could."

With a grunt, Edmund simply replied, "It's rare, but it happens." He just about held his breath looking down morosely at his sinful hands. "They tell us from birth that our country is superior. It's ingrained into our heads that anyone who isn't touched by the 'Gods light' is primitive and insignificant." He paused, grimly. "I believed them."

"They keep chasing you?" Neil wasn't entirely sure he understood. "She's just one person, right? So then why-"

"She's a blight." Edmund grit his teeth. His fingers clenched tightly in his palms. "A child born without magic brings misfortune to the entire family. It taints the bloodline. The only way to save the family is for the magicless mage to go through the trials."

"The trials?"

"It's a death ritual. No one ever passes the trials." He trembled just thinking about it. "A-anyway...we can't return to Gramore."

Neil wanted to inquire more about these trials and death rituals, but seeing the man shake at the mere thought of it changed his mind. The mood between them suddenly became heavy. It gave Neil a terrible feeling. "Yeah, Gramore doesn't really like us, either." He scratched the back of his head nervously.

Edmund kept his eyes trained to the floor, but Neil went on anyway. "So, how do I do that thing you did with the water? And the fire was pretty cool, too."

Those sudden questions and change in tone earned him a sideways glance from Edmund, but the man played into the distraction. "What is your aptitude?"

"Uh, not much." If Neil was being honest, he didn't actually know. Everything he could decipher from his father's notes and the lessons Onagi had taught him personally were all healing magic. Which, didn't require a high aptitude at all. Mages usually dedicated their lives to one specialized area of magic, Onagi had explained to him several years ago. Neil always supposed his father was training him to become a healing mage. Even though Neil often tried learning many other, higher-level spells. Something other than repairing and growing waterloops.

Once, he had. He'd found an old journal in Onagi's study when he was thirteen years old. Most of the old man's journals were clean and perfectly preserved. They were heavy with leatherbound hardcovers. This one, however, had seen better days. It's covers bent outwards and wavy as if it had been soaked in water. The once white sheets were tinted yellow with red splotches staining a few of them. The first three pages were composed of rows of small, vertical lines. Groups of four with a fifth drawn horizontally through the very center.

That book described hundreds of different spells with their corresponding symbols. Some combative as well as defensive. Everything Neil wanted to learn, but never could. He'd used one of his square pieces of paper to write the new symbol. The spell he chose was designed to turn a person's arm into a sword - something that looked utterly incredible, which was really the only reason he picked that one specifically. 

It worked.

The glow was bright, nearly blinding as it altered the physical appearance of his arm from the elbow down solid and sharp. A broadsword. Onagi called it an intermediate spell, but it wasn't complicated Neil thought. He managed to do it with no trouble at all. He was quite proud of himself, actually. Eager to prove to his father that he really was capable of learning such things. Onagi's reaction was not what Neil was expecting. The old man was incandescent with rage.

Neil had never seen his father that angry before. Not even when he got a little carried away with Val in the forest and caused a minor fire. No, that time his father only scolded him, gave him extra homework, and sent him to bed without supper. When he used the weapon spell, Onagi just about lost himself.

"Never practice this wicked evil, boy!" Onagi had spoken frantically, slurring his words as spit flew from his lips. The old man's crude, dirty nails dug deep into the skin of Neil's upper arms, enough to draw blood. The pain of it was nothing compared to the apprehension in the man's eyes. He looked close to tears. "You promise me, right now. Never, ever, look at that sinful book again."

Neil promised. And he hadn't opened the book since. Even still, the very one was safe and tucked away in one of the many pockets of his enchanted bag. 

"The magic I used," Edmund spoke, taking Neil out of his painful memory, "Is a difficult spell to learn. I spent nearly my entire mage life perfecting it."

Neil paused. "So then, you would say you have a naturally high aptitude?"

"I suppose."

"Happen to know any spells for coiled locks on steel doors?"

Edmund frowned at the question. His red eyes only then meeting with Neil's emerald orbs. "What?"