The Yellow Mage listened patiently to Vellichor's tale: that he had been somewhere beyond.
Knowing the Dread Mage, such a journey wasn't unthinkable.
This was far outside the Yellow Mage's expertise.
A sort of projection of oneself beyond the known limits of the world?
That didn't interest him much, but Vellichor's story was fascinating.
His experience. His loneliness.
All alone in an alien place, without any knowledge of himself or any rules that could be abided by. Not even any power to do anything about it.
But to the Yellow Mage, it was clear that Vellichor was leaving something out.
He didn't know if it was a vital detail or just some throwaway parts of the journey he didn't think were worth mentioning.
But in a journey such as his, what was an unworthy detail? What should he have focused on, and what not?
He had no comments to make, nor any questions.
The Yellow Mage would not press Vellichor. If he thought he should share it, then he would. If not, that was his business.
The Yellow Mage had no story to tell of his own. His 'journey' during Vellichor's absence was almost entirely inside his tower and the surrounding village.
He took care of Vellichor; just another patient in his day-to-day.
He had researched a bit into the goddess's tears, but that was it.
The more exciting part was on Sonder's end, but it was her tale to tell.
But that didn't mean that there wasn't anything to talk about until she woke.
"The mask," the Yellow Mage said. "It should be destroyed. If not that, then it should be put somewhere less accessible."
"Destroy it? I don't know," Vellichor said. "It's a very nice piece of craftsmanship. Don't you think? Sure, the air tastes bitter just being around it, and one can hear tortured whispers, but destroying it?"
The Yellow Mage looked at him.
Vellichor continued, "I think I'll keep it."
"As a precaution?"
"As a souvenir."
The Yellow Mage was silent for a moment.
He looked at the mask.
It was difficult to describe what was wrong with it. There was no visible movement. No sound that could be clearly identified as coming from it.
Yet the thing had a presence. It made the room feel slightly unpleasant.
Vellichor appeared to have no difficulty with this.
"You can feel it, can't you?" he asked.
"The mask?"
"Yes."
"Of course."
"And?"
"It's unpleasant."
Vellichor turned it over in his hands, examining it.
"That's about it."
The Yellow Mage looked at him for a little longer.
The mask was not merely unpleasant.
It was saturated with something that resisted description. The Yellow Mage had felt it before, and he had no particular desire to feel it again.
"Does it not bother you? Feeling its influence?"
Vellichor shrugged.
"Not particularly. It's sort of soothing, reminds me of someone I used to know, but that doesn't mean that I'll do anything it tells me to. My will is entirely separate from the mask and its wants."
There was no sign of distress. No tension in his expression. His breathing was normal. His hands were steady.
"That seems unwise."
"Maybe."
"You seem remarkably confident, but that does not mean that you are safe from it."
"No?" Vellichor said, with some defiance in his voice. "I think I'm safe enough."