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Something something... Illuga wanting to become the light for his fellow Lightkeepers so bad he actually does, quite literally, and accidentally channels a massive amount kuuvakhi through sheer force of will in a dire situation

What happens when a mortal inadvertently taps into the power of a god, even if it's just for a fraction of a moment, even if it's a benevolent force? Knowing that the power and will flowing through your veins, your body, is not yours, and instead from a being incomprehensively more than you? Momentarily, in desperation, giving up yourself to channel an amount of power that will get you and your comrades out alive when nothing else can, but could you come out of that experience with your sense of self intact, or-

His kuuvakhi tolerance is obviously not normal (he cooks and eats kuuvakhi creatures and evidently does not get sick from it) so... what if we pushed that to the extreme ._. Do you see the vision guys. Please tell me you do. And if you don't I'm making more content about this anyway.

At the time 6.0 dropped, I observed that Flins has a strong tendency to process reality through the lens of storytelling. He plays with fact and fiction, with narratives and archetypes and roles, and he seems to approach and talk about his own history as a story.

He'll weave true events in with embellishments and dramatic flourishes, keeping people (and himself) from having to stare the bare-naked senseless truth in the eyes too starkly. It's not like he doesn't know what it is, but it's not by accident that he dances around the touchiest, sharpest edges of his stories, and takes people on a detour when their attention could linger on topics he'd rather they leave alone (for his own sake and/or for theirs).

Reading between the lines of his personal history, the fae court comes cultural connotations and guesses we can make about what it may have been like, to exist and mature in such a context.

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Flins and his 'heroes':

Something that sets Flins apart from what we might expect most of 'the court' to be, is his interest in the wider world and his genuine investment in what happens to the people in it. The fact that he left home, to go to these uncomfortable and hostile outlands, to basically become a protector of the people entirely of his own accord, is very telling. A young noble, dissatisfied with the most obvious routes for him to take, with no taste for the type of passionate ventures that lead to some fae's legacies being rather grandiose and a danger to others - young Flins strikes me as a dreamer desperate to do more than dream, someone with an idealism that burns for valour and making a difference in a way that matters.

Flins isn't a glory-hound, but someone who seems to genuinely *care*, and who can't be satisfied staying by the sidelines to have a bunch of opinions without ever lifting a finger to make his ideals real.

As for what his ideals *are*, one pattern we see in him is that he has a clear admiration for 'heroes', for people that are willing to be courageous and strong for the sake of others in need, and stand against 'evil' and threats. People that are noble in spirit and more than just talk. It's something he aspires to, himself, without claiming the title of 'hero' despite having already spent more than a human lifetime living up to it.

The way he describes Varka strikes me as filled with this almost childlike admiration, adoration, of someone seeing a knight in shining armour fully in the flesh. I can only expect that at least some of the literature he devoured 'back in the day' consisted of valiant Arthurian tales, stories of brave hearts and devotion to a righteous cause and using one's power to create a better world for everyone willing to do their part to respect it.

Flins sees Varka as such a person, someone whose deeds and character clearly qualify him for it, even if he won't explicitly measure himself by the same yardstick. He seems to genuinely rate his own performance as falling short of such a lofty standard, without holding that against himself in a detrimental way. He's humble enough to accept that he's just a person doing what he can, and the reward of renown or the satisfaction of achievement and status simply isn't the point for him. (Not to mention, self-flattery to fuel one's ego is probably pretty distasteful to him.)

Following the pattern of him blending truth and fiction, Flins walks the line here between seeing and understanding people the way they are in reality, and thinking of them like characters in a story, that play their simplified roles and have their virtues and sins highlighted to fit the 'theme'. He's capable of seamlessly switching between these frameworks and he's a very grounded person in general, but that won't stop him from translating reality into narratives, playing around with it and deriving meaning and guidance from it, and wrangling the messy complex truth of things into a story he can continue to live with.

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The Nightingale:

I get the feeling Illuga parallels Varka's example a bit here, with one major critical difference: Varka's story is at a stable status quo as the weathered wizened veteran, who knows his limits and learned how to rely on people. Illuga is still in his opening chapters, in the middle of his messy heroes' journey where he's at his most vulnerable to losing his way and being overcome by the double-edged sword of his own valour.

In more real terms, Illuga's a young, burdened young man facing mortal threats no one person can handle on their own, and there is very little time for the amount of growing and refining he has to do to stand a chance of surviving all this long-term.

Illuga is someone with the *potential* to become someone like Varka, like Nikita, like Solovei, and by gawd he's coming through on it already.

I think Flins recognises a very familiar restlessness in him, that inability to stand by hoping other people will do the work and take the risks to change the world. (This is where it gets a little tricky to explain my thoughts.)

*This* exact point, I think, is where some awkward dissonance creeps in for Flins. He doesn't seem willing to fully draw a parallel between himself and Illuga, and he tries to cast himself into the role of the old mentor supporting true young hero. Once again he lets the 'story' inform his behaviour, be the guideline for what he's supposed to do...

But Illuga *isn't like that*. With everything he's been through since he was young, and how fast it all happened, there was no room to 'live in a dream' and pattern his thinking off off stories and abstract ideals. He might *know* stories, and he might enjoy them, but he doesn't *live* them the way Flins' life is reality is constantly overlaid with the filter of a fae's tale, of a fairytale.

The young Nightingale isn't interested in casting himself or Flins into such 'roles'. What Illuga wants is for the tangible, frightening reality around him to stop tearing things from his hands - and knowing that there is nothing out there to pray for 'mercy' to, all he can do to make that happen is to put up a better fight. To become stronger, more capable, more experienced. To be ready for anything.

In the meantime, he's learned to 'take what he can get'. He's already paid the price for getting attached and not being able to protect the things you don't want to lose, and so far this has only made him more determined to hold on.

Illuga isn't going to be soothed by distancing himself from reality by burying it in embellishments and anonymising the people in it by turning himself and them into actors in a grander tale. To do so would be to deprive him of what drives him forward. For Illuga, it's *personal*, and it has to be - even if it hurts, no-one is replaceable. Even if it hurts, he has to cope with a reality that left its marks on him already, and clouding his mind won't help him survive. This clearly leads to...

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The disconnect:

Flins and Illuga inhabit the same reality, and yet they don't. Flins' existence is chronically half-shifted a step into fiction, the realm he retreats to in the same way he can retreat into his lantern to process his thoughts and emotions and gain both clarity and a safer distance. It's a habit he's had for hundreds of years, and it's served him well enough to still be around even after all he's been through.

Illuga can tell something isn't clicking, that there's something he's failing to grasp about Flins that makes him so difficult to read and connect to.

Our fae has to be at least vaguely aware as well that Illuga isn't satisfied with him, as well, and I do wonder...

I do wonder if Flins knows that he's holding back, for the same reasons as always: he's loathe to stray too far from his secure bunker and get too entangled with reality the way Illuga experiences it, because *that shit sucks*. It's painful, it's messy, it's *scary*. He's like an introvert refusing to commit to a two-week festival surrounded by people and noise, deprived from the solitude and detachment that lets him function.

I get the feeling Illuga sees Flins as someone more real than the man himself does. To Illuga, the motifs of mentor and mentee, of senior and junior, of mysterious wiseman and searching youngster -

*they don't matter at all*, not when they stand in the way of being able to form a connection with someone as real and messy and vulnerable and human as himself.

While he would have every reason to 'be afraid of fear', to want to avoid making bonds that will hurt should they be cut, to Illuga it seems like this fear is a vital piece of his life. Pain is proof you're not dead yet. Having people you're afraid to lose is proof you're not alone and you haven't failed yet. Fear and hope are entwined for him as a result of everything he's already experienced.

Compared to that, our nigh untouchable fae seems to be quite the coward. He isn't afraid of physical distress much, because it's something he knows he can deal with and is especially resilient to, but he seems pretty unwilling to risk getting completely overwhelmed by something he's not nearly as confident with.

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To Know and To Be Known:

I think it's likely that Flins simply doesn't *know* what it actually means to be seen and be wanted and be cared about as the human being he is, fae or not. He might grasp the concept perfectly well, but he doesn't know how *he* would handle such a scenario.

Flins' way of caring about people is very selfless, and bordering on unconditional - as long as someone isn't 'a villain' causing harm to others, he has no reason to judge them as undeserving of the same respect and protection he affords people per default. Even when it comes to Rerir, the reason he opposes him and the Wild Hunt is because of the threat they pose. He will stand against such a threat regardless of the ideology or cause that drives it, and he doesn't show any interest in condemning Rerir on a personal level (and he does oh-so-nicely fit into a Role as well).

Other than holding people to the standard of showing him basic respect, Flins doesn't expect or demand anything in return for his own goodwill. He does what he thinks is right *because* it is right.

It's not that he's ignorant of the fact that other people care about him, in the sense that he knows that any decent person is capable of showing a degree of loyalty or concern for others. At a bare minimum, he understands human connections well enough to make use of them when it suits him, and that requires more than a vague idea of how it all works.

These dynamics don't require a deep personal connection between himself and others, just an earnest motivation to participate in a prosocial way.

But then, there's Illuga.

Our young but wise Nightingale, who isn't satisfied with what's otherwise done the trick just fine for hundreds of years.

Illuga, who is agitatedly pacing around outside of Flins' secure shelter, waiting for him to come out and drop the 'act' and ditch the script.

Illuga, who wants to know Flins in a way he might not even know himself.

...

Uh oh.

This kind of insistent invitation is asking something of the fae that might seem simple enough, but to Flins entails stepping into uncharted territory that he knows damn well is a minefield of unknowns and risks. He doesn't need to have personally lived every human experience to have a pretty broad view of all the ways people can mess up and suffer and cause others harm even with the best intentions - the reason stories *exist* is because of the underlying reality that makes people create them in the first place.

In an ironic way, Illuga's yearning for a more real connection, as a way to stand more strongly in a world he can't control, is asking Flins to give up some of the control he does have.

-

'Will you PLEASE come be afraid with me.'

To Illuga, this how people can strengthen each other even if it comes at the risk of being bloodily torn apart. It's how he fuels his light, his conviction, his sanity, his heart.