AN: I didn't expect to be writing a Mystogan POV, but Mystogan snatched this chapter away from Eir and decided to give himself a flashback. Like... okay then...
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Mystogan knows a man in an iron mask.
He's seen him around the palace, twice or thrice, taken in chains from here to there. He knows that there are four of them (one might have been a woman, he supposed, but he could never be too sure,) and Byard brings them to different points of the palace for an important purpose.
Mystogan never learns what they're around for, or why they are bound (enslaved, perhaps.) But just once– just once, outside the palace, during an expedition away from his father– Mystogan approached the soldier with the 'Air' designation, eager to learn more.
And he remembered how brightly, how furiously those blue eyes burned.
The way it took his breath away, and despite those chains, he immediately engulfed Mystogan's entire figure in a rupturing tornado, each wisp of air a blade that shredded through his clothes, his skin, his bones–
–if Pantherlily hadn't been passing by at that very moment, he would've died that day.
(He never learns how Air was punished, but at the time, he had better things to worry about, like Pantherlily's exile from Extalia, his father's new plan, and his eventual decision to move to Earthland to suppress the Anima.)
He's had nightmares, since, of a cold, unforgiving blizzard, a silent promise to drag him down to hell one day.
That fear was imprinted on him, even now, so many years later. He knew that Air– and the other three, those soldiers– lived in perpetual agony, and the more he thought of them, the more he vowed to one day overthrow his own father.
One day, he wanted to set them free.
(If they didn't kill him first.)
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Mystogan certainly didn't expect a meteor to crash right through his campsite today.
At first, he despaired over his ruined supplies. Those were hard to get in Earthland, since he didn't have their currency, he was too young to be trusted with jobs without entering a guild, (which, he should, but he didn't exactly have that time and commitment to do so since he needed to travel to find Anima,) and those had been a very price-heavy investment. Its lifespan did not live up to the expense, but he doesn't think anyone expected it to need to sustain a meteorite attack, so...
...But wait, the thing that fell was a human.
And then Mystogan panicked, because humans were not supposed to go flying like that, the leg is broken, why is this human alive, what is wrong with Earthland, and what is he going to do about dinner?
"Uhm... are you okay?" he asks.
Almost immediately after a quick inspection of his own wounds, the white-haired man turns to Mystogan– and scrutinizes him, up and down– as if Mystogan was the injured person among them.
And suddenly, Mystogan finds himself a little self-conscious.
When he travelled with Wendy, they did it mostly alone. But now that he thought about it– his face tattoo might be a problem.
(It's been so long since it was magically imprinted on him.)
(It was an Edolas royalty tradition, done to anoint the prince as a future wielder of great magic power– or something, he wasn't sure. It's not like it actually did anything except place an uncomfortable amount of social pressure on him. He could erase it with magic, as he was meant to do once he inherited the throne– but he didn't know how.)
(It caught a lot of attention here, didn't it? He should find a way to cover it.)
"I'm alright," the man finally speaks, and Mystogan jumps back to attention. "What about you? Are you injured? Didn't get in the blast range?"
Sir, you were the blast range. Please worry about yourself.
But, fueled by a little bit of spite, Mystogan says, "other than the complete decimation of my camping gear," which was very expensive and was literally everything I owned, "no."
He somehow manages to get the man to sit down and wait while he fetches something to help with the wounds.
He introduces himself as Mystogan, Mystogan, because he's realizing now after sending Wendy into Caitshelter that there may be a version of himself in this world, and in this world, the name doesn't belong to him.
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Mystogan returned to the trashed campsite. The area had been briskly cleared away to make a space, and Mystogan wondered how before he saw the wind magic from afar.
The man wielded a silverish, blue wind between his hands, and though the bursts of visible magic power sliced through everything it touched, there was something so gentle about it.
He used it carefully, balancing chips of firewood on a spinning top of wind, bumping them forward, out of the way. He left little cuts in the bark and splinters sprayed, but they were immediately collected by a breeze, carried off as cleanly as he could manage.
This was a man with an incredible expertise in his incredibly aggressive combat magic, but Mystogan could do nothing but freeze, remembering what a similar wind once did to him.
His eyes pulled upward, too instinctively– and then, he realized.
The man's eyes were blue.
And when his magic came to life, it clouded over with a silver shine, so subtle, you needed to squint to catch it, and you would miss it in a blink.
(Mystogan knew those eyes. He knew that shine.)
(...What did he say his name was again? It must've slipped his mind.)
"Air," he says, and his voice comes out in astounded horror.
The man lifts his head.
"Ah, you're back," and a small smile curls onto his face. "Was the river far? I can walk a little if you need me to."
Mystogan was afraid. Afraid, and confused, and he couldn't bring himself to step out of the trees to conjure a response. He stayed, feet rooted to the ground, a flash of water in his hands, a damp cloth in the other– and a stone of raw dread, deep in his gut.
(Of course. If there might be a version of himself in this world, then it makes sense that Air exists in this world, too.)
(And unlike Edolas, he's free.)
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"What's wrong?"
Eir turned to the boy, not so sure why he was looking at him in that way. His eyes were wide, and his body was stiff, apprehensive.
Eir wondered what was different, that the boy would react so differently to him than a few moments ago.
Then, ah.
"You've never seen Wind magic before?" Eir said, lifting a hand and winding up a little spiral of wind, whirling around like a top around his palm. "It's okay, you can come take a closer look."
Somehow, that only made the boy shrink back even further.
"Don't worry," Eir assured, chuckling slightly. "I'm controlling it well, so it's not strong enough to break through skin right now. Even if you touch it, it'll just be a little prickly."
He demonstrated by transferring the little tornado into his finger, before tossing a pebble into it and watching the winds juggle the stone around its surface.
Mystogan approaches, visibly uncomfortable, his face pale.
But when Eir continued to hold it out, he eventually reached forward, hands reaching around to cradle it, about an inch away from the pelts of wind– and his face bloomed with fascination.
"Cool, right?" Eir asked.
Mystogan managed to pick it up, balancing the little whirlwind in his own palm, the pebble bouncing erratically like a beyblade in a field. Eagerly he nodded, "very much so! I never thought magic could work like this."
"Have you never seen elemental magic before?" he asked.
The boy flinched for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was this very clumsy stuttering at the start, "oh uh– no– I mean, yes! No, just– I mean. Uhm," he clears his throat. "That's right– I've seen Air magic before, but she couldn't use it well, so it was hardly anything like this."
Ah, that makes sense.
Eir could feel, from a close distance– that this boy's internal wind of magic was nearly nonexistent. Not in a dangerous, magic deficient way, but in a civilian way.
It's strange, but not completely unheard of.
Without Eir's supplement of magic power, the wind eventually died down, but Mystogan was satisfied then, moving right onto helping the man with his injured foot, removing the shoe and inspecting the bones before tying it firmly to a splint.
Eir watched him work, amazed.
"So, uh... Mister Air?" Mystogan spoke up, after they're done settling down and were working on salvaging the tent.
"Eir, with an E," he corrected. "What is it?"
"Ah, it's nothing really, just," he fumbled with the tent's rods, "uh... where were you headed before your fall, if you don't mind me asking?"
Eir blinked.
"I was looking for a guild around here, called Caitshelter. Have you heard of it?"
Mystogan stilted in a way that meant he definitely did. Immediately, he turned away, eyes leaning far to the right as he lies in the most unconvincing way possible, "ah, no, I, uh, absolutely don't."
Eir stared.
Stared.
And continued staring.
Mystogan sweated, cringed– and then, immediately crumbled, holding his arms up to cover his face and shield himself from the stern staring.
Then finally, he weakly admits, "...yes, I do."
"Great!" Eir says. "Would you lead the way, please? You don't have to bring me there, just point me in the right direction, if possible?"
"No, no, no," Mystogan flustered when Eir tried to get up, "not with that broken foot, Mister Eir! Isn't it hurting a lot? You shouldn't walk on it."
"I'll be fine."
"It's not an opinion, it's an objective medical fact," he hissed. "You cannot walk that off."
Eir beamed, "then I suppose you would have to bring me to Caitshelter, then? We could ask them for a place to rest, too, since half of your stuff is ruined now."
"...whose fault do you think that is?" Mystogan groans, finally letting his annoyance show.
"Mine," Eir happily agreed. And he takes the boy's hands, eliciting a frightened jolt. "So would you let me make up for it with my connections?"
"...huh?"
"I can promise you free lodgings, a stable job, and a wide degree of freedom and security," Eir said. "And that last part is added because you're a child, and people are dangerous. With my name on you, you're guaranteed protection from wizard guilds around the continent, so no one's going to question anything you do. They'll even help you as a grace favour to the nearest mage guild."
Mystogan looked flabbergasted.
"That sounds incredibly suspicious," he said. Fair.
"That's just the kind of unity Fiore has when it comes to nurturing the younger generation of wizards," Eir assured. If you told his past self that this whole country was coming together to protect children, he would've punched you in the face for being delusional. But his next words are genuinely from his heart. "It's a good country."
Mystogan paused for a moment.
"...How did you know I wasn't from this country?" he asked.
Eir had honestly just assumed.
"Your accent, your mannerisms," he said, "and general experience." And the fact that he reminded him of himself. "It's not a bad thing. I have a few kids under my wing that aren't Fiorean as well."
Mystogan looked conflicted at that.
But eventually, he sighed in defeat.
"I could bring you to Caitshelter, I guess... but what are your plans there?" he asked.
Ah, victory. "They're saying they've found a young girl," he pretended not to notice the way Mystogan violently flinched, "guilds in Fiore technically aren't supposed to raise children unless there are extreme circumstances, so I'm basically the one that makes the call."
Mystogan is very, very still.
Eir knew that dark, wary look. Mystogan definitely knew the child– so Eir had to choose his next words carefully.
"It's not like I'm going to take her away from them, I'm just making sure they're safe and registered, and put the children under protection when they're on jobs."
This made Mystogan lift his head in curiosity.
"It's what I was proposing to you before, the Guild Ambassador project," he said. "Of course... if you think it's unnecessary, I can also lay my hands off the situation, if you want."
Mystogan immediately flustered. "No, nothing of that sort, just..." he hesitated, "I'm surprised that there are such generous provisions for children in this world."
Eir blinked. "In this world?"
"I mean this country!" he corrected himself, almost too loudly, "Country!"
Oh, a very interesting child indeed. He's almost entirely sure this is a fellow otherworlder at this point, but he won't make the call just yet. It's not as if Eir wanted to talk about his own otherworldly experiences either– so he supposes he'll let the boy keep his secret.
(Eir thinks he'll have a ton of fun talking to this one.)
"Right!" Mystogan immediately stood up, trying to change the subject, "Caitshelter! You wanted to go to Caitshelter, right? Then let's go."