'But before that,' Rin's father suddenly covered his palm again, and pulled back his hand. 'You must tell me why this is something you must do. Prove to me that you remember everything your mother Empress taught you.'
Arin wondered why the mirror hadn't directly taken him to those memories instead.
Maybe because this one answered his question in a more condensed way?
'…' Rin looked down at his own, fidgeting hands again. He was silent for so long that Arin was almost starting to think he didn't remember, when he finally opened his mouth.
'The magic that is passed down in our family is cruci-crush-'
'Crucial.'
'…Very important, for maintaining peace and order in the Empire. We can use it to avert the most destructive disasters before they happen.'
'Then, Rin, is your magic something you may only ever use to avert critical catastrophes, as and when predicted by our prophesiers?' the man asked.
'Mm, no,' Rin shook his head, still looking down. 'I can also wield it and establish rules that protect the interests of the throne. That protect our family. For instance, to save your life if it is endangered before your time. Or…'
'Or?'
'Or to do away with anything that has potential to do us harm. Say, if someone discovered the truth of our sovereign talents-'
'That would be terrible, indeed. But why is that, child?'
'People are nice, but desires make us all selfish.' Rin sighed, his gaze fixed upon his own hands. His fingers had stopped toying with his sleeves, and his index finger was now scratching lightly, up-and-down the side of his thumb. 'If people knew, everyone would want for us to use it to their benefit.'
'Ah, but would they not understand that your magic must be conserved for the more important things - things that would affect a greater number of people?' the man asked lightly.
Rin glanced up at him, and Arin could tell that the child was wondering why his father insisted on asking him questions to which the answers he already obviously knew.
The handsome man blinked down at him innocently.
'They would, until trouble befalls them. And while the people at a distance might eventually accept it as being something out of their reach, those nearest to us are a greater cause for concern. If-if the captain of the imperial guard had a dying spouse, he'd hope for us to change their fate. And it would be natural for them to do so, because it is only human.'
Rin cleared his throat. 'If the chancellor lost their child, if a count's estate was left hollow and destitute by some event, if a close attendant were to suffer an incurable illness… They would all, naturally, expect our aid. And upon not receiving it, their hearts might sour.'
'And, Father Emperor,' Rin added, looking straight into the man's storm-gray eyes. 'Before you ask, we cannot help them, because even the smallest use of our magic drains our strength such that it may take years to recover, and weakens our ability to make greater, large-scale changes.'
'For instance, mother Empress told me of how, when you had proclaimed the safety of Mirrorstone and all its surrounding cities in the year they'd been predicted to fall – before my birth – you'd then had to spend months confined to your bed. She'd had to arrange for an anatomy talent-bearer to transform, wear your face, and take your place in court.'
'Had you not refrained from using your magic in the few years prior to that, millions of innocents would have died, and much of the Eastern regions would have been decimated. Oh, and you yourself might never have awakened again.'
Since Rin was still looking up at his father, Arin could catch sight of the slight grimace the man hid with a smile.
'You… are doing well to recite what your mother has taught you.' He cleared his throat. 'Tell me, son… did she still seem angry when she told you that?'
Arin nodded mutely.
His father sighed. 'It was predicted that no other external force, nor any effort by even by the most elite tower magicians and seasoned soldiers, could save those cities. I was only doing my duty…'
Was that a hint of… sulking in his voice!?
Even Rin seemed to have picked up on it, because he quickly said, 'Mother knows, of course. But you must understand why it would have worried her all the same…'
His father laughed, raising a hand to pat the boy's shoulder. 'Yes, yes. My dear son needn't worry. I understand.'
He held out his hand again, which now had a tiny silver gecko wound around one of his fingers. 'Now that you have assured me of your knowledge, let us move on to the more important matters. What will your little familiar be called?'