Crossroads

 When the mage, who had so vehemently insulted Sylen for the memory and the Witchfinding, took the plate from the bar and laid it before its owner, Sylen’s heart squeezed tight in his chest.

 Despite the outrage and the insults, the mage before him still showed compassion. It had been hard to recognize in the moment, but it was with the offering of his food that he realized the mage didn’t feel fury towards Sylen, but betrayal.

 Starving as he was, he felt too sickened to eat, but still he gave a feeble nod as thanks to the mage. He listened to both men– to Jericho, then Malmr– and ruminated on his answer.

 A memory. A testimony. Proof of Floren’s villainy. Sylen didn’t want to get involved directly in the trial himself– not only did he have enough to deal with in his own life, but by Grace and Fortune, he never wanted to see Floren again, let alone an even more murderous Floren than the one he’d known.

 “I don’t know if this will even work,” he said weakly. “I don’t know if I’m even capable of trying. But my– the– god,” he hissed, twisting his head away.

 He didn’t want to think about it, let alone admit it. He wanted to wallow in his denial, to run away from everything and bury himself in the past, before any of this had happened to him. He wasn’t a mage. He had nothing in common with them. His thoughts spiraled, lightning-fast, crushing his ribs and making it hard to breathe. He gathered himself best he could, brow knit tight, and took a deep breath to continue.

 “I could… Maybe bring out a memory,” he said, slowly this time, “of my own choosing.” He looked to Jericho, head slightly bowed in acknowledgement. “And– if the two of you could help me, I– I think maybe you could take my memory with you.”

 He turned to Malmr. “Your magic, I saw it briefly before I was caught in the memory. You were going to shield us off. My memories– they’re mist. They’re tangible. I’m not sure if you’d be able to, but you might be able to keep the memory with you, as testimony.”

 His expression grew dark and his tongue dry as a nostalgic dread crawled through his veins. “I saw something, once. That Floren did. I didn’t think it could ever be resolved, I– I knew he was a noble. His words would be stronger than anyone who would try to contest him.” Sylen met his acquaintances’ eyes. “But if everything you say is happening, and there are others on your side– maybe this memory will tip the scales in your favor.”