Hana was saying a lot of words that made Uban's head spin. Aether? And what did grammars have to do with magic? In that moment, he couldn't decide if if was the quite literal buzz of the lightning that pooled around him like a roaring fog and the rush of adrenaline it brought, or if it was the sheer unfamiliarity of what she was saying. Either way, he was very confused. Like Hana, he had not noticed the scene unfolding some ways off behind him, as all he could really hear was violent buzzing and Hana's voice. And all he could feel was his magic. Now that he held it, he could feel it wanting to rebel against him, to run free into the atmosphere as it was wont to do. He was well acquainted with this rebellious nature and knew how to quell it. It was one of the first things he had learned when he figured out how to control the newly discovered power he held. But it took concentration--more so now that he was holding an immense amount of energy. He had little room for anything else. 

He blinked hard. "Aether? Is that...isn't that what you use to put unwary guards to sleep...?" He gave a short laugh. "And I don't know what you mean by grammars. I mean, it's how you put words together. But I don't see what this has to do with any of that...but I would like to see this magical telescope. I wonder what it would do to me, or I to it...?" 

He forgot his musings the moment she tasked him with hitting the medallion. He moved on instinct, making a motion like throwing a ball again. This time, the lightning did not leave him and splash over the iron like it had with Hana earlier; it stretched out like fingers from his hand and, falling short of his mark, snapped back to him. "Hmph." He tried harder, punctuating it this time with a growl, though it did him little good. 

He had to think through this differently. Remembering the way he could feel Hana, he reached out with his senses and tried to do it again. There she was, like a lone metal pole on a clear hill in a storm. But she wasn't his target. He tried moving out, searching for another connection. His first attempt at this failed; he sought too broadly and couldn't focus, losing all perception. But he tried again, starting with Hana and using his eyes and the loose movement of his hand to try and guide his own mind towards the medallion. To his surprise, he found it. It was so, so faint. Like the heartbeat of a dying man. But he could feel it. 

A grin spread on his face; Uban gathered up the lightning in one hand and pushed it hard towards the object and it went soaring across the space between them. The arcs combined into one and struck their mark with force and with an ear-splitting bang. There was smoke and sparks, and when both cleared, Uban was standing there with his feet still firmly planted in the sand, hands and face blackened slightly over a sheen of sweat. And he was laughing. Not the amused laugh of a child playing a new game. Not the satisfied laugh of a man victorious. A deep, throaty laugh that was nothing short of manic bubbled up from his chest. His eyes were equally as manic; wide, golden and wild looking, but terribly satisfied with himself. He looked at his hands, still laughing, then back at her. "That was...heheh, that was the greatest thing I've ever done." And this brought a fresh wave of wild laughter.

---

Puff. Puff. A small space in time, then, exhale. A long, slow exhale. Berlin's gray eyes were a storm. Quiet, but desperately tumultuous underneath those lids. His mind was racing, and though he looked like his cool, composed self to any stranger, his crew would know better. To them, he looked harried. Crestfallen. Anxiety was painted all across his face.
"Damn." He said with a breath of smoke, which he was inhaling with more frequency and speed than he really meant to. "I've done it now. I really have, haven't I? Damn." 

His eyes wandered in the direction Wheel had gone. He'd come around alright. He'd be fine. Wheel had a rage like a hot poker left too long in the fire, but at least he was consistent about it. Rohaan...he was all over the board. The disciplinarian in him wanted to lay blame somewhere for the incident, but he found that he couldn't. Wheel had not been provoking him intentionally--he'd been teaching him in the only way he knew how. And Rohaan, he knew, had more on his mind than bows and knives. He even briefly tried pinning the blame on himself, like he could have or should have prevented this situation from even happening in the first place. But that wasn't right either. 

Now he had two crew members at odds. Wheel and Rohaan had their spats before, but they were smaller and resolved themselves on their own in one way or another. In this case, he wasn't sure just how affronted Rohaan had been, and how much of it had just been outburst. He wasn't certain how Rohaan would react to being put in close quarters with Wheel again so soon after. Maybe it'd be fine. Maybe it wouldn't. But he just didn't know and that galled him.

But worse was the space now between him and Rohaan. That look in the boy's eyes would haunt him for a long time to come. He had worked so hard over the last two years (had it only been two?), but now he could feel that work slipping through his hands. 

His hands.

Merciful Tevira, his hands. He had never asked for his 'gift' as his mother had called it. It came to him very young--younger than he could remember--and entirely unbidden. But his mother had encouraged him to use it for good purpose and his father had stressed upon him the importance of earning the trust of his fellow man the hard way. Everyone needed to, but it would be crucial for him, as there would be those who would doubt him because of what he was capable of doing. And for good reason, he thought bitterly. He had always been so careful with the people in his life, careful to coax true, honest trust out of each and every one of them the hard way. 

In that moment, he had just forced it. 

Berlin thought distantly that Rohaan might trust him enough to forgive him once he cooled down. That he knew Berlin was not like that. That he understood why he did what he did, that he hardly meant to--not like that. But the truth was, he had no idea. This was uncharted territory for both of them, and considering Rohaan's sordid and all too recent history, Berlin would not be surprised if he had just touched on some dormant but tightly wound nerve that was the remnant of the scared, ragged creature he found packed in a barrel for shelter like a beaten dog. 

Puff. Puff. Exhale. Seated on a piece of driftwood, he was a storm expertly contained. "Alright..." he sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I've gotta fix this. Somehow. Damn. I'd go after him, but it's a bit hard when he's at the bottom of the ocean. Damn."