So much uncertainty. So much worry. Despite being thrown into a world more advanced than his wildest dreams dared to grasp, he was forging a path even they had not foreseen. Miryks was a butterfly, desperately flapping his wings to control the storm they would create. In the end, regardless of the Kindler's assistance, the choice fell to him. As did the consequences.

It was an old wish, echoed by millions. Go back in time with your present knowledge, and relive the decisions that most haunt you. Turn the moments of your darkest fears into your greatest triumphs. The confidence buried within that wish was intoxicating. Life would always change for the better, trading bitter regret for sweet victory. But what of the consciousness that stumbled over those decisions? The being that walked the path to become who you are today, failures and all. Would your future self so easily rend that soul from existence to seize control at a pivotal moment? What if here, and now, was the moment his future decided to drop in and subsume his existence? The thought filled him with a cold dread, but hadn't he fantasized about doing the very same?

A pang tore at the flame's heart from a memory long forgotten. The moment had cut him so deep he was surprised to learn he had forgotten the scar. There was a girl, once. The promise of love, of a family. But the price had been too steep for him, she had asked too much. In the scales of his soul, her love had not been worth the sacrifice of his art. It was all he had growing up, a treasure no one could spirit away. He hadn't trusted her, or himself for that matter, enough to lay down his brush. Miryks would be hard pressed to say he had made the correct decision, after living through so many decades of blood and bile. Love had never come knocking at his door again. For a moment, Miryks considered this wish: implanting his mind into a youthful body to take her hand and damn the brush. It wouldn't work.

The words stunned him, interrupting his thoughts as he allowed himself to take full stock of the man he was today, contrasted to the boy who still remembered red as the color of roses. He was the same person, yes, but different in all the ways that mattered. He was no longer the boy she had fallen in love with. Miryks could hardly even remember the lad himself. It would be a poor reflection of who he had been, a parody of the life and love that he had once known. Would it be the same for this new life?

"I cannot say whether or not the Kinder's prowess would be enough to make up for my own lack of experience. If am to be the first, then I will endeavor to do it right." Each option was as good, or bad, as the other. One relied solely on the Kindler. The other, himself and the promise The Magister left him with. The Hexe-Cross's true intentions were her own, and he would need to deal with their fallout if and when they ever came to light.

"The Patron, Relicuum Cas'Haphel, is agreed to."

Spoiler: OOC
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Diplomacy - (1d20+20)[26] Accepting Patron
Sense Motive - (1d20+17)[37] The Hexe-Cross giving the Age offer to the Kindler instead of waiting for me to accept it