It took him a moment to catch on to the fact that the Mirror had not shifted him elsewhere. It hadn't advanced onto a new memory, nor had it suddenly glitched and hallucinated a different command to follow.
He was still within the same memory.
He just wasn't allowed to see, hear, or experience in any way whatever it was that Rin was currently learning.
Considering how cagey everyone had been regarding whatever the secret of this ancestral hall was, there must've been some incredibly strong magic restricting its access. Even to the point of sealing it all away within the memory of one who had experienced it for himself.
Something, something, absolute proclamation sovereign talent.
Arin sighed to himself.
Whatever.
All he could do was wait.
…
After a span of time he could not measure - though it did not seem nearly as long as he had feared – the maddening white receded, disappearing from the edges and folding in on itself, until and image appeared before him.
It was the same, magnificent set of doors, now closing.
Rin stood once more in the corridor, silently watching the last of the chambers within disappear behind the wood.
For the most part, he would've seemed unruffled to the casual observer. He wasn't slumped, or staggering, or visibly affected in any way. There was no anger, nor sorrow, nor even a trace of confusion breaking through his composed facade. He didn't even say anything at first.
But to Arin, who was experiencing his memories through all his senses, as himself, something had clearly changed.
The boy's unclenched palms were cold and clammy. His controlled, rhythmic breathing brought no comfort to the dull ache that had appeared deep within his chest at some point. His vision was strange, seemingly laser-focused on nothing in particular. His mouth was so dry that his tongue felt painfully stuck.
There was silence in the corridor.
Through his peripheral vision, he could see both his parents regarding him carefully. There was something strange in their expressions, as though they were waiting for something. As though he were a wild beast that would suddenly lose its mind and attack them.
Of course, he did no such thing. He didn't meet their eyes.
After taking some more time to himself, he suddenly drew in a deep breath, then exhaled it all at once. It was only then that he finally glanced up at his mother's worried face, before allowing his gaze to glide over and rest on his father.
The emperor met his eyes. He then inclined his head, almost formally.
'You understand now.'
His words were not phrased as a question.
Rin looked searchingly at the man before him. It seemed to Arin that he was waiting for the man to say something more. When he didn't, the boy slowly nodded.
'Yes, Father,' he said, his voice steady.
Arin felt something in his chest tighten.
The empress was still studying her son's face. When his eyes turned to her again, she swallowed, and then sighed. She seemed to have found whatever it was that she'd been looking for in his eyes.
'When I married into the imperial family,' she said quietly, 'I, too, was… unprepared.'
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the closed doors.
'The secret… that knowledge is guarded more strictly than even the knowledge of your family's sovereign talent. This one cannot be spoken of. It cannot be hinted at. It cannot be sought before its appointed time. It cannot be cited after. It matters not who the speaker, nor who the intended listener may be.'
Rin lowered his eyes for a moment.
'Mm.'
His father had walked over to his mother's side, and had taken her hand comfortingly. His words, however, were still addressed to him.
'You were told at the proper age,' he said. 'As all the royal children before you were. As was I. And your sister.'
There was another pause.
The Empress drew a slow breath.
'There are burdens we pray our children will never have to bear,' she said. 'When your father and I learned that…' She stopped herself smoothly. She seemed to have regained whatever bit of control she'd momentarily lost. 'When certain signs became clear, we had hoped, but…'
'But hope does not alter necessity. Remember that, my dearest son.'
The corridor seemed colder.
Rin did not look up at her again.
The emperor cleared his throat. He straightened, then said, 'You will begin attending court sessions next year, as is tradition.'
Rin nodded.
'I will prepare accordingly,' he said, his tone controlled and polite.
Arin suddenly felt a jolt of recognition as he thought back to Sera, in that sunlit memory with the strategy set.
The emperor studied him for another long moment, then reached out his large hand to pat the boy's shoulder a few times. With another ghost of his familiar, warm smile, the man turned decisively to walk back up the corridor.
Rin didn't follow immediately. The empress, too, lingered.
She stepped closer to her son and, after a brief hesitation, placed her hand against his cheek.
'You need not speak of this to anyone,' she said softly. 'You cannot, even if you wished to. But if you require comfort –'
'I am fine, mother empress,' Rin interjected.
A faint, humorless curve touched the lady's lips.
'I know,' she said. 'I always knew you'd take it better than your sister. Even though this is something that none of us ever wished for, I knew I could trust you to… appear… to be more in control than her, at least. That foolish girl nearly lost the use of her voice.'
With slow steps, the two of them began to follow after his father. Rin still hadn't commented, but the empress continued speaking.
'She was angry,' she said. 'Ha. When I first learned, I was angry too.'
When Rin finally looked back at her, he saw her lips pressed together. 'But anger fades,' she said. 'Duty remains. And distance makes it somewhat easier to endure.'
...
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