Breakfast was about as joyful as supper was. Lytah served the food, no one spoke, and afterward, Lytah cleared the plates. Shilo rose to help, more for an excuse to leave the awkwardness of the table than because he felt obliged to.

“Boy,” Romin called out to him before he even reached the little kitchen. “Sit and tell me a little about yourself. Lytah might be a little on the paltry side, but I assure you, she is quite capable of doing things without any help.”

Paltry? That’s an insult, right? Shilo turned his head just enough to acknowledge he heard while still making it clear he was heading for the kitchen.

Lytah retrieved the bowls from Shilo’s hands and gestured for him to sit back down. Shilo rolled his eyes, but did as she wished. 

“Alright, let’s start with your name and age.”

“Shilo Alatoric,” he said absently, watching Lytah clear the remaining dishes. “Age twelve.”

“Your parents are deceased, yes? What can you tell me about them?”

She returned a moment later with a fresh pot of tea and two matching porcelain cups decorated with little blue flowers. She poured her husband first then gave the other to Shilo. He watched her head back to the kitchen to prepare herself a cup of tea from a different canister.

“My mother died when I was young. Her name was Kaya.” 

Lytah returned holding her cup, however, for some reason wouldn’t take a seat with them at the table. Instead, she leaned against the wall sipping her tea that smelled so herbal and pungent, that Shilo could smell it from where he sat.

“Sorry to hear that. Whatever from?” Romin focused on Shilo and nothing else.

“Accident in the forest.”

“I have to ask, was she blackened like you?”

Shilo glanced at Lytah, not understanding why he was being asked all this again. But she offered nothing, and just sipped her tea.

“You mean, was she a freak too? Yeah, her blackness was just as meaningless as mine. I mean, I don’t remember her being muscle-bound, and I sure as spit ain’t.”

“I meant no offense, really. And your father?” 

“My father? Crap if I know,” Shilo said with a huff. “But this one lady said he was some guy named Elric Armadamnsomething. Look, I told all this to that windbag magus the other day and he gave everyone the official documentation of all my failings yesterday. Just read your copy.”

Romin smiled, it wasn’t a humorous smile. “I apologize, I was not graced with one of those. Besides, I’d much rather hear it from you. What do you remember about your mother? It might offer up some simpler explanation for what you view as your shortcomings.”

“I remember she wouldn't need anyone’s permission to sit at her own damn table and drink her damn tea,” Shilo snapped, causing Lytah to dribble her tea down her chest.

Romin gave a dry chuckle. “Lytah is just being polite and doesn’t want to intrude. But if it bothers you, she can sit with us.”

Lytah glanced at Romin. He tilted his head ever so slightly in a nod. Gingerly, she sat down across from Shilo. Her eyes flicked back to her husband before staring into her tea cup. 

Just being polite, my ass. But Shilo kept that observation to himself.

“Your mother, Shilo?” Romin asked again. “Do you remember anything that might offer up some clues? Were there any others besides you and your mother who might shed some light on the reason why you do not fit into one of the two blackness forte categories?”

Shilo clenched his jaw and glared at Romin through the corner of his eyes. Why do all these mucking mages give a crap? Seriously!

**It’s alright, Shilo, you can share your truth. I’m here with you,** Lytah’s gentle voice filtered through his mind and brought with it a sense of peace.

Shilo lowered his gaze.

“Nana Juo, she was a lady that took care of mother and me because sometimes mom would get sick and couldn’t care for herself, let alone me. Nana Juo passed away shortly before my mother…” Shilo cracked his knuckles, unsure why he was even saying anything. “I don’t remember why she died.”

“Did your mother often take ill?” 

“I don’t remember much really,” Shilo said with a little half-shrug. “She’d get headaches and have days where she didn’t do anything but sleep or sit and stare at the wall. Sometimes she would cry and say things that were scary and made no sense. Nana Juo would call all those her sick days.”

“How long were these periods and how did she recover?”

“Nana Juo would feed her some stinky herd that smelled like skunk to help calm her down. If it was a real bad spell, this group of people would come and help her out. I don’t remember who they were, only that it was always the same girl and lady. Oh, and sometimes there was a man that I remember not liking for some reason. But I don’t really recall much more than that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Romin sat in the study, jotting down the conversation he had with the boy and what he gleaned from Lytah. He wrote notes in the margins of the journal as he tried to decipher all the discrepancies.

The biggest discrepancy slapping everyone in the face right now was the fact that the boy was still alive. The general assumption was he died in that so-called incident that took the lives of his mother, Archmagus Litton, and Litton’s assistant. There was so much blood and gore at the scene, it had to be from more than one body. Although there was nothing recognizable, or even large enough to remotely be considered a corpse for that matter, the investigating enforcers and the watch officers had pronounced them all dead and closed the case. 

Then for him to show up years later…

Odder still, his recollection of his mother and his account of her death.

Why had no one ever reported the boy before? Were the officials even going to question those Orphan Wranglers on that? There had to be some explanation for all of this, or was it all just a coverup? The boy was shuffled through too many foster homes for it to be a mere coincidence. Archmagus Arrinon viewed the boy as an oddity that needed to be puzzled out, but at the same time, disavowed all research from previous studies, citing the need for integrity over mass hysteria, arbitrary viewpoints, or blatant manipulation. However the Council wanted to paint it, it was still a complete and utter whitewash.

Romin put down his quill and sighed. Too many inconsistencies adding their own nuances to the brew when there should be only one objective with one very obvious outcome.

He went to the bookshelf and pulled out a worn bloodstained journal hidden on the top shelf carefully out of Lytah’s reach. The enforcers hadn’t confiscated all of Litton’s research.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yeisha pulled down the retractable ladder and climbed into her scuttle attic in search of some old journals she never had the heart to throw out. The attic was dark and the sun filtering through the vent didn’t offer much help. She illuminated the energy lantern perched above the opening and crawled towards one of the chests. Asha poked her head up over the ladder, there wasn’t room for two people to move around up here. But thankfully, there was enough room for a grown person to sit upright, well, as long as that person wasn’t Jin. 

“I think I found them,” she called out, pulling out three leatherbound journals from another chest.

Asha started to ask if she needed help, only to end up gasping in amazement as Yeisha magically floated the books downwards. Once Yeisha came down herself, she collected the books hovering in mid-air and then headed to her studio with Asha following right beside her. 

“No,” Yeisha said, pausing in her steps. “We should look at these in your room. It’ll be cozier.”

As they sat on the bed, Yeisha couldn’t help but smile watching the girl bounce once upon it before getting settled. When she first introduced Asha to the room, the child had been so excited about a real bed, she immediately began jumping on it with joy. The room used to belong to Lytah, and Yeisha never converted it to anything else, saving it just in case. Her three-bedroom cottage already had one room as an art studio and she just never saw the point in altering it to anything else.

“These are filled with old drawings and journal entries I made as soon as I got my hands on a sketchbook. You see, when we were first forming our little nation, the less essential items, such as paper and stationery products, weren’t readily available to everyone.” 

Yeisha flipped through the books before selecting one to show Asha. Its first page was a sketch of several hybrid children ranging in age sitting around an old tree. 

“This is Lytah, Jin, Siree, and her younger siblings. In fact, that tree is right out your window.”

Asha glanced out the window at the large walnut tree in the front yard that she could easily imagine herself sitting comfortably within its nook.

“You drew these?”

Yeisha nodded and then gave a little shy smile at the girl’s praise. She handed her the sketchbook and Asha studied the page, admiring her work.

“I just thought seeing pictures of those around you as children might help put you more at ease. People don’t seem as scary when you know they were once a child the same as you,” Yeisha said with a smile. “I’ll give you some time alone with it while I get a little work done. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Asha nodded her thanks and engrossed herself in the artwork as Yeisha quietly stepped out with the other two books. Most of the drawings had names written below the individual to indicate who was who, so she had no problem finding kid representations of the adults she just met. There were several pictures of an unnamed infant and later a toddler named Shadow that she could only assume had to be one and the same. She hadn’t met this person yet, so the kid didn’t hold much interest in her other than showcasing Yeisha’s artistic talent. 

She paused at another drawing of the toddler and then quickly flipped through the book. After seeing so many drawings of the kid, the pictures suddenly stopped somewhere past the halfway mark. She glanced around. Yeisha explained she used to share her home with Lytah, and before that they used to live next door with Enolla’s family. But maybe, with the care that she took in drawing this child, the toddler was someone close to her who suddenly passed away?

Asha closed the book. She wanted to ask, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Asking might be painful, and she didn’t want to cause hurt to the caring lady that had taken her in out of the kindness of her hearts.

Yeisha sat alone in her studio and flipped through the pages of the other journals until she found a drawing of Elric. He was among the people she drew from memory before she forgot their faces completely. At the time, she berated herself for doing it, but now it was almost bittersweet to be able to identify Elric’s features in Shilo. His nose and coloring were of his mother, however, the other dominant features, his high cheekbones, angular jaw, and squarish chin, were Elric’s. She felt an odd mix of sorrow and joy at the sight. It was his child, it had to be! 

She turned the page and encountered a face that annoyed her even more than Elric’s. She silently cursed herself for coloring in his heterochromia hazel and blue eyes. No matter how much she’d rather not remember Elric’s brother, she had known him since he wasn’t much younger than Shilo, and if the kid’s nose was straight instead of downturned, he could nearly pass for his twin. Which meant, he could almost pass as Elric’s double as well.  

Through this boy, his son, she could still hang onto a piece of Elric. The little tiny part of her that still held a touch up high for that snooty, eccentric genius, delighted in the fact she could finally become the foster mother to his son.

Until Arrinon shot that down like a flaming arrow through a bluebird’s heart. That bloody pompous horse’s ass!

He was right though, but that didn’t mean he needed to be a blooming giant dung-hole about it.

She flipped a few more pages and came across a drawing of a person whose memory was always more bitter than anything remotely sweet. The woman’s hooked nose and catlike eyes were also present in the boy, just not as pronounced. 

She felt her skin crawl up her spine. With a shudder, she closed the book, not wanting to be visited by any nightmares of her past, and placed it high on the bookshelf.