Chapter Text
Next to a clearing in the outer parts of the groves in Lunadorf, Eironn swayed both his swords in confident, repeated motions, each one at different speeds. The blades, frost and wind in unison, made ice form and crack in his hands from time to time.
Watching him showcase his abilities was always a spectacle. He often trained for so long, frost gathered everywhere; a sight so rare in the Forest, it never failed to make other wilders admire the landscape in awe —and mild annoyance, once everyone’s breath became visible, shivering and wishing for shelter.
Whenever Eironn came back and since they were children, Lorsan had the habit of catching him up on the latest news in town. Half of the time, he liked to play with the mist of his breath, watching it come and go, maneuvering it through his hands.
Eironn always kept training regardless, his focus unyielding despite the hours.
When Lorsan felt cheerful enough, he did both things at once, explaining every little detail Eironn might have missed during his time away, while the mist swirled freely.
However, his mind was elsewhere that day; perhaps not as quick-witted.
He was idly swirling the rime gathered on the grass, letting the wind pass through the blades in unusual silence. After a while, he spoke his mind.
“Say, Eironn,” he mused, absentmindedly watching the stag-wilder take the same four practiced steps, “Will there ever be a time when you decide to stay?”
“I always come back and stay, whenever you all call me,” was Eironn’s curt response, right after blowing an unerring blow to the wooden dummy in front of him.
Lorsan let out a thoughtful hum, not quite satisfied with the answer.
“We know but, you know what I mean,” he insisted with a flourish on his hand, bringing the frost up in his hand. “Come back for good?”
“I can’t say. There’s always something leading me elsewhere,” Eironn replied, his gaze still fixed on his objective.
Now with the impending date of his own leaving approaching, Lorsan could understand the sentiment better than he ever did. Truth was, Lorsan was still unsure of how to address the honeybear in the room, his mind swirling with doubts and what-ifs. But it wasn’t something Eironn needed to know, right?
Instead, his hum turned accusatory, squinting his eyes as he reflected on the words.
“How are you so sure it’s not just you, obsessing over your craft and blatantly ignoring us?” he quipped.
The question was only a half joke, but it made Eironn stumble slightly in his attack, his resolve wavering at the very last moment. He managed to land the hit properly, although not in the way he intended to.
“Don’t jest like that —you know that’s not the truth,” he retorted, his voice slightly alarmed as his gaze flickered back to Lorsan for a moment.
Beneath his composure, he looked dumbfounded at the assumption, yet a quiet amusement slipped though his regal demeanor as he adjusted his position back and focused again on the dummy at front.
“I’ll concede you do have a point —but it’s never on purpose,” he said, resuming his training once more. “When everything goes back to normalcy, it’s inevitable to get a sense of restlessness in one’s gut.”
“Really?” Lorsan asked, curious at the description.
“Yes,” Eironn replied, swaying his blades with such force, a gust of frost covered the wood around them. “An odd emptiness at the state of your current abilities. A drive to aim for more, for something you won’t be able to find in the comfort of the already known.”
A drive, huh? A call to experience the unforeseen… That sounded fun.
“I think I get it,” Lorsan concluded in contemplative reflection.
With a flick of his fingers, the rime dissipated and dissolved back to the air. He laid back to the fallen trunk behind him, resting both hands behind the back of his head.
“You know, you always speak so seriously about your Way to the Sword—”
“Path of the Blade,” Eironn corrected in a flat tone.
“Exactly that,” The young mage nodded, pursing his lips for a moment before adding a curious, “Why is it so important to you? What does it even mean?”
Eironn didn’t stop for a second, striking at the wooden figure with precision.
“It’s difficult to properly explain in a few words,” he stated after an exhale, “but in perfecting one’s technique, you start to feel a peace within. A certain reassurance.”
“Reassurance? About what?” Lorsan asked.
At that moment, Eironn’s stance relaxed, looking at his spades for a moment.
“Many things,” he murmured, admiring the engravings of his heavier blade. “Battle is, in my mind, the best way to get to know oneself. There’s honesty behind the way a person yields a weapon, and how they decide to hold it against.”
The stag-wilder lowered his swords, leaving his practice aside to gaze back at the younger wilder.
“When you start to embrace that honesty, others are able to see it as well. You start to feel competent in protecting home —although it is always a losing battle at the end. There’s always something new to learn, and so, the cycle continues.”
At the mention of home, Lorsan couldn’t help but widen his gaze back to the Forest: its vines and vegetation ever-still and ever-glowing, always warm and pleasant, the cloudy light filtering through the treetops. Enchanting, mysterious… Alluring for many, but so known and even boring for him sometimes. He propped himself up in his elbow, pointing up at those same surroundings.
“So, this place,” he concluded, gesturing to the grove above them.
Eironn followed the gesture and observed, and his head tilted in a small shrug. A ghost of a smirk in his lips showed up as his attention went back to his blades, swinging them again as he adjusted his grip in an agile movement.
“Not quite, but yes. You could say that,” was his ambiguous answer.
Without the need of further explanation, Lorsan was able to understand the meaning behind the words. There’s more to home than a place in time; the moments, the people… But hadn’t Eironn lived much more time outside than in the Dark Forest by now? How could he be so sure his home was with them?
A thought pressed in before he could stop it: When Lorsan’s time to experience life beyond the gates, will he think the same?
Will he have any reason to stay, once his mission gets fulfilled?
“What if you find home elsewhere? Can that happen?” he ventured, his voice coming more reflective than expected.
The blonde wilder’s gaze flickered back to the younger one, watching him fidget slightly —probably without noticing— and responded with a serious tone:
“It could happen. Many people experience what you describe and I can see why; there’s a lot of wonder out there.”
Lorsan’s ears perked up to intently listen, searching for any signs of grudge beneath Eironn’s words, but he couldn’t perceive ill judgement on them, stating it as a matter-of-fact —a reality he was used to seeing, rather than anything else.
The young mage was ready to leave the topic for good, but Eironn chose to add:
“But in my experience, the further I’ve been, the more I feel the pull that brings me back to this place.”
The young mage grinned, amused by the statement.
“That doesn’t count,” Lorsan lilted, “You’re the Scion of the Lucent — ”
“Don’t start with that, will you? It’s embarrassing,” Eironn interrupted, the hint of a defensiveness evident in his tone as he parried and attacked the dummy with a little too much force, freezing everything in sight.
“Alright, I’ll stop! Don’t freeze me,” Lorsan pleaded with a laugh, shuddering lightly as his hands raised in surrender.
The frost subsided with a deliberate apology from the stag-wilder, and Lorsan was grateful for it.
However, his curiosity about the Outside lingered despite everything, and after a brief pause he couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He was determined to distract Eironn from the training session once more.
“I’ve never asked directly —not that I remember of— but, what is it like, out there?” he asked, his ears standing tall in Eironn’s direction.
“Everchanging; you never know what to expect,” he answered, a cold wind gathering in his sword as he prepared his next movement against the wood.
“Sounds quite exciting,” Lorsan said, a satisfied smile spreading on his face at the thought.
Then, unable to resist, the conversation drifted abruptly.
“I’ve always been curious about something,” Lorsan continued. “How did it go, the first time you decided to go on your own accord? How did everyone react?”
Despite the initial surprise, Eironn’s focus didn’t waver.
“No one was truly surprised,” he said. “Going on solo training for weeks was a common occurrence for me.”
“And why didn’t they let me do that?!” Lorsan huffed, crossing his arms in frustration.
“Don’t resent them, they eventually did,” Eiron replied, a rare smile on his lips.
However, his smile faltered just as fast.
“...Lyca resented me for a while,” he added, his voice getting quieter in a reluctant admission.
Lorsan shuddered, but not from the cold.
“For how long?” he asked, his voice lowering as well.
“A reasonable time,” Eironn replied, shaking his head as he recalled something —Lorsan could tell it was a fond memory, despite the bittersweetness. “Honestly, I wouldn’t ever hold that against her.”
At Lorsan’s obvious questioning expression, prompting him to continue, Eironn kept explaining.
“After some time away from the gates, I took notice of how there’s always a friendly hand in the depths of the Forest, no matter how far from home we are. Once that barrier is crossed, there’s not really a way to do that. Perhaps it’s Lyca’s role as a patroller that makes this awareness more evident.”
Eironn was right, Lyca’s worries were never truly unfounded.
However, Lorsan knew how ruthless she could be when apprehensive. It was one of the reasons he still didn’t know how his sister would react once she found out about Lorsan’s leaving. Every time he tried to shed light to the issue, he always managed to deviate from the topic in the most ridiculous ways. And when Lorsan finally had the nerve to tell her and she disagreed —as she definitely would— no amount of pleading would make her change her mind.
Would the motives be enough to convince her? It was Grandpa’s will, after all.
Lorsan’s thoughts got interrupted as Eironn spoke again, concluding with a gentler:
“In the end, she understood my own struggles, which I’m ever grateful for.”
So Eironn did have his own struggles, Lorsan realized. It made him feel less alone.
Nevertheless, he and Eironn were very different. It was only natural Lyca would eventually relax about the prospect of Eironn leaving in search of adventures. He was battle-savvy, impassive to the point of obsession, yet always ready to lend a hand…
The contrast was overwhelming.
Then, the stag-wilder sighed and stretched slightly, correcting his stance once more in stronger blows.
“Is there an ulterior motive behind that question?” he added, not looking Lorsan in the eye, but his tone was casual enough for the younger wilder to get startled, feeling caught.
“No reason!” he pressed to say, fighting not to blurt his thoughts aloud. “I just…”
Lorsan trailed off with a small, thoughtful sound before taking a big breath and sighing, hefting his staff from the ground and supporting himself on it to stand up, sitting on the trunk behind him. He held onto Heedwind with his whole body, his lips pursed into a frowny pout.
“Just putting my thoughts out there, alright? If I, hypothetically speaking, decided to go outside, for any reason. Do you think it’d work out?”
A faint rustle of leaves, far away from their location, distracted Lorsan who moved his ears with curiosity. But the sound quickly got lost as soon as Eironn sighed and swung his blades, cutting through thin air as he sheathed his spades on each side of his belt, moving away from the dummy and closer to the younger wilder.
“Why not? There’s no other way to know but trying,” he reflected. “You wouldn’t be the first, nor the last that decides to go back, if something goes wrong.”
Before Lorsan could think of a proper answer —or excuse that could save him from further explanation— Eironn added a flat:
“Want us to go on a journey together?”
The polite, stiff offer made Lorsan snicker.
“With you? No thanks,” he replied, his hand waving in an amused gesture. “I wasn’t being serious about it. Besides, I’m not sure if you could keep up —Everyone’s so slow here, I’d probably leave you behind.”
Eironn sat on one of the stumps close to the hare-wilder, crossing his leg with an amused smirk.
“I understand. Experiencing life at your own pace will always be the better choice,” he replied. “That leaves room for you to explore; to find your own drive.”
A personal drive, beyond the mission? Is that what he should strive for?
Lorsan thought it was too much of a hassle to figure out just yet. Instead, he dwelled on the idea of him and Eironn sharing a journey —a sight so disastrous, it made a laugh escape him.
“Can you even imagine? Lyca would be so mad at us!” Lorsan mused as he laid down on the trunk, wind gathering under him and lifting him up, floating in the air as he looked up to the tall trees. “Especially with you, she’d definitely think you convinced me into it.”
“I agree,” Eironn said, a smile tugging discreetly at his lips. “In any case, perhaps there’s someone else more suited for the task?”
“What? No, there’s no task at all! These are hypothetical, I remind you,” Lorsan repeated with a quiver of his ears.
He could think of someone, but it was a silly thought.
The frost slowly began to melt, leaving room for the evening dew to gather on the glowing orchids of the Forest, innocent manafleurs emerging from their hideouts, drawn by the sudden shift. Both wilders kept musing about the outer world and the responsibilities that traveling meant.
Their conversation carried, seemingly dissolving in the warm breeze of the Forest.
When Lyca showed up at home, she looked oddly upset, barely able to conceal it. Lorsan scratched his head at the sight, wondering if he had done anything to make her angry that day. It only took a few moments before she made her concerns known.
“Lorsan,” she began, a long inhale and sigh escaping her. “Is it true, what I heard from Granny?”
At the sound of Granny Dahnie’s name, Lorsan’s ears shook visibly, tensing above his head as a nervous smile spread slowly across his face. In time, Lyca crossed her arms as she let herself fall on the rustic couch with a loud thud. Then, she looked at Eironn from across the room.
“Did you know about this?” she asked.
Her tone was woeful rather than coming from accusatory, making Eironn blink in surprise —and quiet worry.
“I don’t understand,” he stammered softly, genuinely confused. “What’s wrong?”
In two steps, he was already by Lyca’s side, sitting on a stool as their knees touched, his eyes lingering on her, quietly attentive. Lyca smiled, but it was slowly replaced by a serious grimace.
“Lorsan is leaving,” Lyca stated, her frown deepening as she spoke.
Eironn’s eyes drifted back to Lorsan, who was hiding behind his hands as a defeated sound rasped at his throat.
“This can’t be happening —I was planning to tell you!” he stumbled, his hand nestling on his hair and sliding it back in frustration, quickly leaving it to drop himself onto the sofa, right beside his sister. “I’m not leaving just because, I promise!”
“So it is true,” Lyca reproached, her lips tensing in a sour expression.
When Lorsan saw her blinking rapidly to hold back tears, his expression softened in regret.
“It is,” Lorsan confessed, trying his best to reassure her and not upset her further. “But it’s not that simple. Will you let me explain? Please?”
Lyca’s frown eased, but she still was looking down and away.
“Granny already told me everything I needed to know,” she huffed, her cheeks puffing slightly.
When he gazed at Lorsan’s again, it was heated from pent-up frustration.
“That you’re going on a mission, outside the gates,” she continued. “That we need help from other places, that all of our combined efforts haven't been enough to fight the illness, and we still can’t figure out why…”
She trailed off, sighing again as she leaned back her seat. Beneath the anger, there was a hint of reluctance. Of surrender —of acceptance of the cold facts that had led them to that very moment.
“The Sages are on the right, sadly. Granny and I agree on that,” she admitted wearily, closing her eyes in defeat.
“So there was a reason for your sudden curiosity,” Eironn added in a low voice, his hand moving to his lips in a thoughtful gesture as his eyes followed Lyca’s expression.
After a troubled sound, Lorsan could only mumble an embarrassed “yes”, confirming Eironn’s suspicions.
“Grandpa told me to keep it a secret —sealed in discretion, in his words,” he explained. “The fact we’re speaking of this is already dangerous… but I still wanted to tell you two, eventually.”
Lyca turned her head slowly, meeting Lorsan’s gaze.
“Does Bryon know?” she asked, her expression serious.
“Bryon? Why bring him up, all of the sudden…” Lorsan grumbled, idly rubbing at his neck.
Her sister’s eyes narrowed, her cheeks puffing again.
“He doesn’t? You should tell him,” she huffed in not-so-subtle offense. “He deserves to know, it’s the least you could do from all the times he’s saved your fur from danger.”
The young mage stood silent for a moment, unable to retort.
“Bryon’s different,” he mumbled at last, “Him and I, we… You wouldn't understand, you’re not a Windwhisperer!”
However, his ears trembled in worry for everyone to see. Lyca only gave him a sympathetic smile.
“Sure,” she scoffed softly, rolling her eyes.
Then, her expression turned sorrowful.
“Can’t he go with you? Can’t I go with you?” she asked.
Her voice softened, her ears flopping slightly —a sight so worrisome, it made Eironn’s expression flicker. Lorsan shook his head slowly, a resigned smirk spreading across his lips.
“I’ll try to be in contact… Come back soon,” he added in flimsy reassurance. It was the only thing he could offer.
Lyca’s arms crossed tighter, but the stiff gesture didn’t last long as she covered her mouth, a weary yawn escaping her.
“You’d better be,” was the only thing she managed to say, her usual poise slowly returning, though a trace of frustration lingered.
Eironn’s lips tensed at the sight, but his stern expression returned once he gazed back at Lorsan.
“Have you packed your belongings yet?” he asked him, standing up from his seat, gesturing to the hare-wilder to do the same.
“Uh… Yes? Well, not really,” Lorsan replied, lifting an eyebrow at him as he complied.
“Shall we go prepare them, then? I’ll guide you on what’s essential,” Eironn offered, reaching for a heavy blanket and placing it on Lyca’s lap, before reaching Lorsan’s door with a few steps.
The younger wilder nodded as he followed Eironn, sparing one last look at her sister, who was already sinking into weariness and slumber. He couldn’t blame her, especially after that tough conversation.
While sorting through gear and other belongings, his thoughts drifted back to Lyca’s concerns.
When Bryon found out —because he would— what would he say then?
A rueful snicker escaped him. As if he hadn’t questioned it himself countless times already.
The day of Lorsan’s leaving, Lyca made her best attempt in not looking upset, hiding the ghost of tears beneath a worried smile. She advised him, once again, not to get into unnecessary trouble if it could be prevented —despite it being her mischievous brother she was talking about. Eironn comforted her in silence, a reassuring hand placed on her shoulder from time to time.
The stag-wilder remained composed when addressing him, wishing Lorsan a safe journey whenever he chose to travel. His words of encouragement and quiet reassurance gave the young mage the confidence needed to continue with the farewell.
Granny Dahnie had also managed to arrive on time too, her limp not stopping her from giving Lorsan the tightest of hugs —probably the tightest he’d ever experienced.
Before she could say anything, Lorsan promised to bring her some spices from outside the gates as a gift once he was back, only if she promised not to burn everyone’s tongue with it. She bursted in hearty laughter before embracing him again, raising Lorsan above the ground before releasing him with a warm grin.
For a fleeting moment, Lorsan let his gaze wander at the familiar room, the cloudy light filtering through the windows and spreading across the small comforts of home he already knew he’d miss. He had dreamed of leaving many times before, imagining adventures beyond the limits of the Forest —and he was still looking forward to it! However, now that the time had come, it felt all too sudden.
Lunadorf was slowly waking up, and the young mage had to fight the urge of saying goodbye properly to everyone in town. It was impossible for him to do so without feeling the need to simply… Stay a little longer.
He mustn’t. Lorsan picked up his bag, his staff, and went on without thinking about it anymore.
Morning dew was in full bloom when he approached the outskirts of the village, the faint smell of hexaflowers fading as he got further away from home.
Now a decent distance into the road, a sudden movement of bushes startled him. The young mage stumbled only to quickly regain his footing, bracing himself onto his staff and preparing for fight right away. Then, he remembered he was still on safe territory: it was a well-traveled area, safe from real danger, and the gates were still far away from his location.
He blinked at the sight of a recognizable attire: green all over and crowned by a distinctive blindfold, its ends swaying as the wilder made himself visible for Lorsan’s view.
His posture relaxed. But at better judgement, the mage glared at the wilder in front of him immediately after, a hand resting on his hip.
“Bryon?!” he questioned. “What’s the purpose of scaring me like that?”
“It was not my intention,” Bryon replied.
The sentinel kept his hands behind his back, a small smirk on his lips. He dusted off his plume cloak as he approached, his chest heaving slightly, his blonde hair unusually tousled with small leaves caught in it.
Lorsan blinked in interest, a strange relief settling in his chest; it was a sight of Bryon he’d grown fond of, but rarely witnessed.
“Where’s Elona?” he asked clumsily, his eyes scanning the empty spot over his friend’s gauntlet, where the falcon liked to perch.
“She had something else to do,” Bryon replied, clearing his throat all while trying to catch his breath in the most discreet way possible.
“I see. And, what brings you here?” Lorsan asked, his hand lifting to rub at his neck in a nervous gesture.
“I simply wished to confirm what I was able to hear,” Bryon said with a sigh. “It’s true, I suppose. You're really leaving the Forest.”
Lorsan’s lips parted in surprise, rendered speechless. He looked around him, as if searching for a place to hide. He was glad to see Bryon despite everything, but to have this kind of conversation with him of all people, whose sharp words could make anyone doubt their intentions, was a really bad idea.
He found himself in the exact situation he’d wanted to avoid all this time.
“You have mentioned it so many times throughout the years…” Bryon continued, “I honestly thought I'd never see the day; I’m quite impressed.”
The sentinel’s words caught Lorsan off guard, giving him a puzzled expression. He expected to be met with a cold shoulder, yet he found the complete opposite. He huffed a laugh, a teasing smile appearing as he leaned in on Heedwind.
“Want me to leave you alone that badly?” he quipped.
“You’re rather noisy, so…” Bryon teased back with a small shrug.
“Too afraid to say you’ll miss me, aren’t you?” Lorsan inquired.
A quiet snicker was Bryon’s response, uncrossing his arms only to wave his hand in a dismissive gesture. Beneath it all, a genuine smile wanted to show up, only for Lorsan to see. Would Bryon’s eyes be smiling too? he wondered, Lorsan’s whole face lightening up at the thought.
But he sobered up quickly, gathering the courage to continue. When he spoke, he found himself unable to conceal the wryness of his voice.
“Quite impressive, am I right?” he said with irony, shifting his weight on his staff as his expression softened. “On a more serious note, I get you all see me only as a troublemaker that won’t get his head straight, but I—”
“Is that what you think?” Bryon interrupted.
Lorsan raised an eyebrow in evident confusion at his friend’s cryptic question. His thoughts were probably too loud —maybe he had spoken without realizing— because Bryon made the conscious effort of clarifying his words, a quieter volume this time:
“That’s not precisely how you’re perceived. At least, not from my perspective.”
Lorsan’s eyes widened for a moment, standing up straight again and tilting his head with a curious glint.
“Oh really? How so?” he asked, a playful smirk forming in his lips.
He stuck Heedwind to the ground and took a step forward, his eyes drifting to the leaves tangled on Bryon’s head.
“You can't just leave in suspense,” he mused, half-teasing.
Without expecting his friend to reply, the hare-wilder’s hand reached for each leaf to take them out. A subtle flinch and a quiet “thank you” was Bryon’s only answer.
“Anyway,” Lorsan went on, “I have great reasons to do this. Real ones, beyond my will.”
The sentinel listened intently, taking every word Lorsan said, before finally asking:
“Other reasons?”
“Well, we need help from outside, if that’s not obvious enough to you,” Lorsan explained, scanning through Bryon’s hair in search of more stray leaves, storing the rest in his pockets. “I’ll go get the help we need.”
Bryon’s lips tensed, and Lorsan —afraid of his reaction, or the waver of his own resolve— pressed on.
“I’ll make sure to accomplish it, and come back in one piece,” he swore to Bryon with a jerky nod. “I won't fail this time around.”
The sentinel fixed his mask for a second with a barely perceptible sigh.
“That simple, hm?” he said dryly.
The young mage ears drooped in reaction, faltering a bit on top of his head.
“You don’t trust my words, do you?” he assumed with a wistful smile.
Bryon smirked at him, his face lowering subtly with a small shake of his head.
“Far from the truth,” he reassured. “We both know, one must honor the vows spoken to the wind.”
When Bryon turned his head to the side, a lone grass blade attached at the back of his hair caught Lorsan’s attention.
He knew he should not, that it was the worst time to do so… yet, as his hand reached up for the last time, he felt unable to resist the urge to run his clothed fingers through the blonde hair. As soon as Bryon’s ear twitched —probably because of the rustle of fabric so close to his ears— Lorsan hesitated, replacing the gesture and ruffling his friend’s waves all the more.
“You’re gonna hear from me again, alright,” he said, leaving no room for doubt.
Bryon scoffed and pushed him half-heartedly, his hand reacting as if wanting to return the gesture, yet refraining from it at the last moment, fixing his own hair instead.
“Come to think of it,” he mused, an amused tilt in his voice. “Did you really plan on leaving without telling me?”
“No, I mean —I mean…” Lorsan mumbled, color spreading across his face as his voice lowered to a murmur. “Would that make you mad?”
“No,” Bryon replied.
“You’re not angry, then?!” Lorsan asked, his ears twitching back into place, standing tall as his tail did the same, only to squint his eyes at Bryon in suspicion. “Not even a little? Don’t tell me you’re playing the tough guy, now.”
“I’m not,” was Bryon’s answer, shaking his head to emphasize his point.
Lorsan pursed his lips, genuinely taken aback by Bryon’s reply. Was he expecting a different outcome, perhaps?
Something akin to disappointment settled in his gut.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me off?” he asked, a playful yet sheepish smile spread across his face. “For the sake of it, at the very least? I’d say you should definitely take the chance while I’m offering it so freely.”
Bryon tilted his head, his earrings chiming softly.
“Since when have I been known to scold you?” he murmured with a small shrug. “It doesn’t surprise me, is all.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lorsan said with a chuckle. “I’m relieved and all, but I somehow thought you’d feel something else, besides acceptance.”
The sentinel huffed through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Bold of you to assume, considering,”
The unusual touch of ruefulness in his friend’s teasing murmur made Lorsan’s chest tighten, taking half a step closer as his lips parted to speak.
“Sorry I kept quiet. I didn’t want to make a fuss about it, and I thought you’d understand,” he whispered back.
Silence spoke for them as Lorsan slowly twirled the grass leaf on his fingers, averting Bryon’s gaze despite the blindfold.
“You and I… We get each other, right?” he mused low, a quiet hope behind his question.
Bryon’s lips parted, but did not make a sound. His hand twitched, curling inwards into a soft fist as he nodded with a purposeful “yes”, almost like a vow into the breeze.
Lorsan’s ears trembled from a different feeling altogether, his expression turning into a small, warm grin.
“You know, if I’m being completely honest,” he said, tapping the grass blade over his lips before looking up, his gaze earnest. “I like this outcome. Feels like you’d have caught on, whispers or not.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Bryon asked.
The question lingered in the air, but Lorsan didn’t make an effort to reply right away. He stretched with a sound as he hoisted Heedwind on his hand, lifting it from the ground. With lazy steps, he walked towards the road, taking the lead once more.
“That you have eyes on your back, maybe? That I can’t hide from you? Whatever you want it to mean, really” Lorsan teased, looking over his shoulder with a wink and a flare of his hand, only to look forward once more. “So, who did you overhear, this time?”
Bryon took a moment to follow, but he eventually did.
“Overhearing ? You offend me,” he said, though his dignified tone betrayed a timid amusement.
“Come on! Just humor me,” Lorsan nudged with a grin as he fidgeted with the belts of his bag.
Lorsan swore he heard Bryon’s jaw clench, eliciting a self-satisfied smirk out of him.
He looked over his shoulder again, seeing how his friend's lips were sealed into a tight line. If it weren't for the shadow cast in every corner they passed, Lorsan might have believed the faint color rising on Bryon’s face was real, and not a product of wishful thinking.
And then it happened: Bryon’s face tilted down, shrugging in a pleasant break from his rigid demeanor.
“...Your neighbors. And Master Dahnie too,” he admitted in a reluctant murmur, only to add quieter, even hesitant, “Dare I say, you and Eironn as well, a few days back?”
Lorsan blinked in realization. So Bryon had heard of that conversation. A hum of acknowledgement escaped him as he considered what to say, using the dramatic pause to appreciate the sentinel’s features. What would Bryon be thinking after his confession —a prison of Bryon’s own making?
“Tell me more,” he encouraged with a teasing smile, “Nothing escapes you, see?”
Bryon shook his head as a soft, frustrated sigh escaped him. Lorsan snickered and laughed loud, but was interrupted by his friend’s query, changing the topic altogether.
“Speaking of, Lorsan. Do you need any assistance on your way to the gates?”
“No? Why do you ask,” Lorsan said, gazing at Bryon from head to toe, a confused —and slightly offended— look on his face.
“Since you’re still following me, I thought I’d made sure that was not the case,” was the sentinel’s dry bicker.
Puzzlement quickly turned into defensiveness, feeling heat from his neck up to his ears, visibly shaking up the top.
“It’s you who's following me around! Don’t get it twisted,” he retorted.
The crack in Lorsan’s voice echoed for the entire forest to listen, making Bryon's mocking smirk spread a touch wider.
“No need to get this worked up, it was simply an innocent question,” Bryon snickered, hiding his sly smile behind his hand, placing it on his chest a moment after while offering a courteous headbow.
The unreadable gesture made Lorsan unsure whether he was more angry or embarrassed now —and he knew for sure, Bryon was enjoying every second of it.
With narrowed eyes, the young mage brought his staff up to his shoulder and turned around, walking backwards to face Bryon directly.
“In case you don’t remember, this route only leads to the outside,” he said nonchalantly, a playful lilt in his tone as he asked, “Why are you going there of all places then, hm? Care to explain?”
The question seemed to catch Bryon off guard, who slowed down and focused on their surroundings. The orchids around them glowing blue, their soft light reflected back at them as their steps dragged on. When his friend finally spoke, his face was half-hidden from Lorsan’s angle, the ends of the blindfold never ceasing on its gentle swaying.
“I do have some business to attend to. Near the riverbank,” he murmured. His tone was flat, yet bashful underneath.
A hum of gentle disbelief from Lorsan’s part filled the space between them.
“Is that so,” he mused, his expression softening. “Important sentinel duties, I presume?”
“Precisely,” Bryon muttered.
Lorsan’s smile turned mischievous as he slowed to a taunting halt, letting Bryon close the distance until they brushed shoulders. With a lazy grin, he leaned in to rest his head against him, hooking a hand into the sentinel’s cloak, their strides matching if only for a few steps.
“If you wanted to tag along so badly, you could’ve just said so,” he teased in a low murmur, reluctantly straightening and letting go before Bryon could flee —or worse.
The risk he took felt worth it, as Lorsan was able to see Bryon’s expression up close: his self-controlled poise yielding for a moment as if caught in the act. As though secretly longing for the faint pressure now gone from his side.
Despite their circumstances, Lorsan considered it a victory in its own right.
With measured pace, the sentinel went ahead, leading the walk in the looming, dimly lit road. He blatantly ignored the self-sufficient smile Lorsan wore, seeking shelter from the unexpected exchange like a clumsy bird.
“Shall I escort you, then?” he offered at last, his voice coming out genuinely polite. Perhaps hopeful.
The hare-wilder picked up the pace, catching up to Bryon in an instant.
“If you’re so worried, I might as well grant your wish,” he said as he dusted off his fluffy robes in a nonchalant gesture.
His voice, however, betrayed a sudden excitement at the thought.
And Bryon didn't miss the chance to pester him a little, of course.
“It is only for your safety, my lord; thank you for the great kindness you are displaying at letting me stay by your side during this fleeting moment,” he teased, disguising his banter with a courteous tone.
The young mage gasped, opening his mouth to protest as he pressed his ears closed, his thoughts scrambled while Bryon went on. Mortified at the sound of his title on his friend’s lips —and that pompous, playful demeanor…
“Quit it with the names!” he complained, utterly embarrassed. “And with that tone too.”
But Bryon went on, his hand resting on his chest in mock solemnity.
“I’ll make sure we arrive at your desired destination, promptly and securely. It is the least you deserve, oh my gracious—”
Lorsan smacked Bryon lightly on his shoulder, knocking him off balance for an instant. He could have sworn he heard his friend laugh, joining in with his own in the light-hearted exchange, lazily heading forward.