Crunch, crunch, crunch...

The sound of snow beneath boots was the only noise hanging in the air, the Homunculi's movement the only noise in the nearby forested area. They hadn't been expecting the hostile reaction that the villagers had when talking about magic, but there was nothing Ezra could do about that. They were in a foreign territory with very little knowledge of the societal norms of Salvar. Probably should have read up on that before making their way so far north, but preparedness was something the Homunculi hadn't quite kept up on, either. Not having access to their full memory was really messing with their common sense. They quietly shook their head and muttered to themselves as they continued their trek through the snow-filled canopy.

"I bet Ezoreth never would have made that kind of mistake..." They frown as their words reach no one, finally stepping into a small clearing. Feeling that they were far enough way, they closed their eyes and tried to focus on the world around them. The smell of pine was strong here, and although the air was thinner here than in Corone, it was almost refreshing being alone in the calm and the quiet versus the hustle and bustle of the mercantile ports. After regulating their breathing to a calm and even pace, Ezra began to focus their attention to their hand. To unlock Ezoreth's- no, their tome-, the Homunculi would first have to remember how to cast spells. Conjuring fire would be an easy start, right?

With eyes still closed, Ezra dug through the broken memories, trying to remember the feeling of conjuring flame and taking the first steps into becoming whole once again. They imagined the mana in their body flowing from their heart, down their arm, and building the energy into their palm. They imagined the heat, the light, the passion of the flame. A faint smile graced their lips as they opened their eyes to look at the flame in their palm.

The flame that wasn't there.

Ezra blinked a few times, looking at their arm in bewilderment. What did they do wrong? "Fyr." They muttered, attempting to conjure the flame with a vocal component. Still, their palm remained cold and without magic. The Homunculi frowned, uttering any vocals they could think of in order to conjure the spell. After a few minutes of just staring at their hand in confusion, they began to swing their arm out as if to shoot the flame from their hand. And, like before, there was no sign of the spell functioning. They stared blankly at the tree in front of them, and said aloud to the trees and any deities watching from above,

"Well, fiddlesticks."