Chapter Text
⸻⸻⸻
Riddle Rosehearts was born with a blessing. That was what his mother had told him, in the nights spent brushing his hair as he read diction from the copious diaries and dictionaries that lined thickly on the shelf that spans the curved walls of his room. Magic runs through him, tingles his very being, coats his words and touches with the ability to conjure miracles. The very same magic that pulses through her burning brighter in her most precious treasure. It colours the luxurious length of his hair that falls in spurns across the floorboards; crimson flames brilliant and fair, glittering soft like the sunset; an extension of that gift, the fruition of her efforts.
Thus, he owe not to waste it. Mother tells him that to be born with magic is already a rare thing, let alone possess a healing prowess that might be powerful enough to surpass hers. It’s all the more reason Riddle should take his training seriously. To hone his magic and become a strong and capable adult that she can be proud of, one that can keep them safe and defend the sanctity of their home. For Riddle had been taught that the outside world was a dangerous place, one where others would gladly steal this gift, his gift, for human greed craved miracles they could not produce and covet what they lack. And they would stop at nothing to get their hands on it, even if it meant hurting him and the scant few people he cares about. That is why he must stay here, in this tower hidden by forest and the alcoves of old caves, train every day to grow a little better, a little wiser. Let no one know he exists, his world comprised of circular walls and security as Mother becomes his only window to the outside world, until the day he can leave himself.
At least, that was what he used to envision. As a child, Riddle had always thought leaving the tower with his mother and friend a guarantee in the far future. A future so out of reach, but nevertheless a future attainable, possible, his.
Riddle does not ask when that day will come now. He has not asked in a long time, not since the last time his mother had fixed the heavy gaze of disappointment on him, one that made dread pool heavy in his stomach and had him practise arithmetic and corking the spare herbs in their storage until his fingers ache long after his mother had gone to bed. Unasked penance for being a foolish child and asking foolish things. He has all he could ever need here, even as Kalim says it sounds like a lonely existence, holds his palms with warm hands and tugs him away towards the window so they could look at the stars together in the scant hours of night he has. The word sad hangs on his tongue, clumsily held back. Kalim has always been considerate like that, through the years they knew each other, but he could also never lie. Perhaps it was the weariness that drags at his chest that grows heavier after every argument, but the burn of Mother’s glare fades as he lets himself graze against shoulders slightly bigger than his, scoffs and say something they both know he doesn’t mean as Kalim points to the moon and rambles about the constellations he read in one of Riddle’s old books last night. All things he cannot indulge in anymore, but Kalim had always been a temptation, and Kalim was also Riddle’s only friend, the one request he had demanded of his mother so many years ago on one of his birthdays, and the one concession she had made. (His surprised delight had quickly turned to horror when he found the truth; Mother tightlipped but relenting for once as the children consoled each other tearfully with the heavy realisation of the weight of a curse for minds still too young for such a burden. And yet Riddle had been happy, because then he wasn’t alone.) This is why Riddle lets Kalim whisper and coax him into a smile, allows his conspicuous grins and softened sunset eyes to turn him back and stare at the starry sky for a while longer.
“If you don't want to sleep, then I can help you sort those herbs. Oh! Or we could stay up and paint like last week. Or read! I found a picture book of fairy tales on the top shelf, the dusty one–”
“Fairy tales? We are both too old for that, Kalim. Besides, it's quite a bit past bedtime. We should be going to sleep.”
“But I’m not sleepy, and you don’t want to sleep either, do you? So let’s do something fun without waking Ms Rosehearts.”
It was an old book, one Riddle had stowed away and forgotten about. Inside, yellowed pages depict images of a hero travelling across a vast land, regaling tales of adventure and swashbuckling romance. Inadvertently, Riddle finds his gaze drifting towards the door of his bedroom; the window that lies beyond. Kalim’s voice peters off halfway through a line about a brave princess, and Riddle glances back to see him looking at him while scratching his neck, tiny braids messy on his mussed head as he lies half curled above the covers.
“What are you thinking about, Riddle?”
The wisp of an answer vanishes as soon as he thinks it. Riddle purses his lips, undone hair spilling over his shoulders as he settles into the sheets and stares at the wooden canopy. “Nothing. Goodnight Kalim.”
In the faint darkness, patches of moonlight spill through the cracks of the old tower like natural luminescence. Kalim’s smile can be heard as he whispers it back. It is easy for Riddle to imagine his eyes crinkling and softening as he does, easier still for the tightness of his throat to loosen into some semblance of fondness, like a flower unfurling its petals at the thought. The guilt comes later, when Riddle stirs to birdsong and a weight on the pillow next to him. Blearily he blinks, careful to rise as he catches sight of the small chameleon curled up asleep beside his head, the silent rise and fall of its chest a quiet balm. Not for the first time Riddle wishes he had more time to dawdle, but Mother would be awake at this hour and be expecting them.
A soft squeak and bounce on the sheets alerts him as he makes himself presentable; Riddle cannot help the burst of warmth when dotted eyes blink up at him from the mussed covers, the chameleon’s verdant scales gleaming iridescent under a patch of sunlight as it crawls out of the mess and perks up at him.
“Good morning Kalim.”
Kalim chirps in response, crawls and hops over to the dresser to nudge at his comb, blinks misty eyes and makes a noise when Riddle smooths and braids his dragging hair back with magic. If they had not danced the same routine for the last few years, Riddle would not have thought Kalim complaining. His smugness recedes however, when he picks Kalim up and he curls into the cupped palms of his hands. Small. Still droopy, still sleepy. His heart prickles.
“Mother will make a face if you doze off and fall onto the table again.” He warns with no bite as he coaxes Kalim gently onto his shoulder, partially hidden and shaded by his braid.
Helpless. Maybe if he looks out for Kalim enough, it could make up for the guilt he feels. Maybe if he works harder, gets Mother’s approval faster, one day that dream of leaving the tower can become true. Because Kalim doesn’t deserve to stay in here with him even with a curse over his head. Because Riddle knows he can help–for what use is his gift if it cannot lift his friend’s curse that his mother had deemed beyond her capabilities if he was special. And because Riddle–
Maybe he doubts, has harboured hesitations for a while of his gift. For what good is a blessing if he feels so limited by his own boundaries, increasingly suffocated under the weight of being good enough for approval. As quickly as he thinks it, the treacherous thoughts are locked away tight. No, he should take comfort in Mother’s words–she would know when he is ready. Riddle only need to wait.
Besides, life is peaceful like this, safe. What else can Riddle yearn for when he has nothing to compare to? There is nothing to want; not when the stars in the sky will remain the same distant lights from afar anywhere else in the world. He clenches his teeth in conviction, an unconscious motion, convinced. The morning passes by slowly. His mother leaves for a nearby town to get supplies and Riddle watches her go as he gathers his hair back up the window. Kalim peeks out over the edge even after her silhouette disappears past the trees, but Riddle turns away before he catches his gaze, stomps resolutely to another stack of books and does not look over again, pretends he is content.
⸻⸻⸻
For –in Riddle’s words, approximately– three days a year, Ms Rosehearts leaves the tower to travel to a distant fair on the outskirts of the forest. There she gathers rare books and grimoires of interest to aid in her research and Riddle’s education, stacked so high on a rickety cart she buries under the bricks for the rest of the year, heavy enough that she has to make multiple trips up Riddle’s hair to bring the books in while Kalim makes space for those bounded leather stacks across the carpets under the light of night. It is the only time Kalim and Riddle are left alone to maintain the care of their living space, to breach the rules where the stifled pressure of a strict parent is absent. A little more sugar snuck in during meal times, crafting and painting something other than idle perfection, reading children’s tales instead of thick medical dictionaries and formulaic lists. But far more importantly, for one night in the absence of summer heat and cloudy humidity strange floating lights would fill the sky. Beautiful distant lanterns that look like flickering stars he and Riddle could marvel at and watch from their vantage point. They had made a ritual together through the years, a shared secret; one night where they’d stay up and watch the lanterns join the stars in the night, telling stories and dancing and making mischief in their shared tower until the dawn stole his visage. Only then would Riddle crawl into bed with him cradled in his hands carefully, and they’d sleep the whole day away, heedless of responsibility, unbeknownst to any mother’s disappointment.
Riddle always seemed lighter then, less burdened by a weight only he can feel. His smiles come easier. Laughter too. Kalim likes it when Riddle laughs, a boyish thing that has become increasingly rare the more they grew up. He wishes Riddle would be happier, but recently he always seemed to wilt under the scrutiny of his mother’s gaze, falling short no matter how much he goes beyond his readings and practicals. Kalim wishes often for many things; for his voice and his body at every instance of beratement he was left to the wayside of, that he could ease the tension between mother and son were it not his predicament, for time and attention. It was strange; how Ms Rosehearts would take him in as a child but then ignore him, leave him to his devices often as her vision tunnels on her son.
While Riddle balks under the weight of expectation, Kalim is left in the shadows to pick at the remnants. It makes sense; Kalim’s curse might be magical, but none of that miracle flows in his veins. But all the same, he cannot find it in himself to feel lonely or resentful. Not when Ms Rosehearts cloths and feeds him, looks after him with a sense of reluctant responsibility that Kalim can pretend in the rarest and softest of moments to be like love. Not when Riddle tugs him shyly under the covers to read fairy tales when they were younger, warm and earnest. Not when he gets out of bed to sit beside him into the blue hour when Kalim finds the nights too restless to dream even if it meant nodding off during his morning readings. Not when Kalim had convinced him to sneak extra for supper once, and in the morning Ms Rosehearts had pursed her lips in disapproval but said nothing of the sticky jam stains under Riddle’s lip. Kalim has long learnt to take his concessions when it comes to her, pity or otherwise, his small want from her folded neatly into a square packet and slipped into the recesses of his heart, as her expectation on him might be lighter than the one she directs to her son, but it’s a silent pressure that holds his tongue, gratitude tethering him down on chains.
“My powers cannot lift your curse, but I can keep you safe from the outside world, shelter you if you remain a companion to my son. That said, I would appreciate you learning manners befitting your company.”
Perhaps those words might have been a curse themselves, because it has kept him resigned and content. Even so, Kalim can’t help but long and wonder, in the quiet of night when Riddle’s head rests heavily on his shoulder in dreams as he stares out of the tower’s open window, strains to hear the crickets as the moon looks back unblinkingly.
Where did he come from? What was out there?
A life he does not know apart from a name. The only gift Ms Rosehearts had found left behind for him. The outside world is cruel and merciless, she had said when Kalim had pressed at the tender age of eight, more naive than he was now. It was why his parents must have left him at the sight of his curse. More than animal, more than scales, perhaps he was just unlucky. Curses do not discriminate, and neither does disgust at the sight of something hideous.
But Riddle had braided the messy curls of his grey-pearled hair by hand and called him pretty with a satisfied huff when Kalim had pointed out how lovely the soft blush of his red hair was one night away from the sight of his mother’s gaze, looked at him as if he was someone precious and to be proud of, held his hand without his typical embarrassed expression as though determined to prove him right. A memory that Kalim holds so dearly to his heart. It is why he had asked only once, swallowed the meekness in his voice as he smiled and asked if Riddle ever thought to leave the tower. Just for a bit, premature it may be, to see a whole new world with him, and touch the rivers and walk the earth the characters of their fairy tales do.
It was the first and last time they ever fought so bitterly in that summer haze.
He aches to think about it even now; Riddle’s indignation as piercing as his mother’s, face flushed in both rage and hurt, fear. Maybe Kalim had been a little afraid too, and sought confidence in his friend who could not give it to him. Selfish. They had made up quickly once Kalim had crawled out from under the layers of pillows in his own mourning and found Riddle’s hands blistering from overexertion as the clouds hid the last rays of dusk after a day spent alone. Kalim had held and cried for him then. Riddle had held him back too, let Kalim fetch his untouched food from the kitchens to his bed so they could share, and then afterwards pressed his glowing hair against Kalim’s swollen and blotchy cheeks and uttered that healing incantation, unshed tears in his own wobble, blisters unfading. Kalim could only hug him when it was over, more desires he folds and keeps close to his chest as he continues to watch the outside over Riddle’s shoulder.
It was a perfectly sunny day when Ms Rosehearts leaves the tower for her annual trip to the fair. Kalim watches her disappear into the undergrowth, curled up comfortably on the window’s edge and soaking in the sunshine, chameleon legs sprawled out. He can hear Riddle busying himself in the background, footsteps sounding closer before a shadow lands short over his sprawled form.
“I will make sure to perfect this before Mother returns home.” The soft thunk of a potted daisy's shadow bounces along the ledge as Kalim tilts his head up, stirred from his idle basking. Riddle huffs through his nose, catches his eye. “No, I will get this spell right before the lanterns fly up tomorrow.”
Kalim chirps, projects an encouraging smile. His reptilian form was always a little harder to emote in, but whatever expressions he mustered must have been skewed, because it has Riddle raising his brows, a soft quirk on his lips. He always did loosened more in the absence of his mother.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
A litany of squeaks blows out of his small body.
“How conceited? You wound me, Kalim!”
Kalim blows a raspberry, mockingly ignores Riddle’s huffs as he hops his way to his hand and rests his front legs over the curve of his thumb, lets out a sniff as Riddle presses back in play-apology.
“I know. I was merely teasing. But I have you know; one day less is nothing short for my abilities!”
If Kalim could cackle, he would. A chirp leaves his mouth though, the vibrant neon of his scaly skin shimmering back to its usual green as he settles back on the windowsill to watch Riddle perform his miracle. Riddle does not use his hair this time, mouth pursed as he mutters a series of spells in a language Kalim fails to grasp. He watches as the daisy glows briefly but remains drooping through multiple incantations, the furrow in Riddle’s brows deepening.
“Mother says my hair won’t work on non-living things. I guess plants don’t count? I never tried though. It feels silly.”
A glance towards him.
“What do you think?”
Kalim squeaks, mimics a shrug. Riddle frowns, straightening his shoulders and makes to touch the loose hair over his shoulder. Another glance at him.
“…Kalim.”
He stares back earnestly until Riddle squirms.
“Fine, fine, I will attempt it. If, if it looks weird, you better not make fun of me tonight!”
The afternoon stretches, and Kalim is pleased to see Riddle did not need the use of his magic hair after all–that said, after being privy to the admittedly silly imagery of his red locks wrapped around the stem and petals of the wilting daisy. The poor flower had almost lost several more petals when Riddle had attempted subconsciously to untangle his hair after several failed tries of stuttering through his lines. Kalim had tried not to laugh, but Riddle must have noticed, for the flush on his face had only deepened with his focused pout. In the end, bruteforcing through sheer stubbornness to get it right was the tried and true method after all; so typical for Riddle that Kalim cannot help but feel fond. The daisy, once drooping, now stands upright as if renewed with vigor, stretches towards the late afternoon sun. A delighted laugh has Kalim smiling back, chirping in happiness as Riddle grins and wipes the cold sweat from his face.
“I did it! Kalim, did you see–Mother would be so happy. I just, just need to get this right agai–”
A cacophony of noises from the distant below cuts their attention short. Instinctively, Kalim jumps with a squeak, head bowed low as he flattens himself to peek over the ledge. Ms Rosehearts should not be back so soon.
Below, someone had emerged from the undergrowth of forest, a silhouette neither of them recognised. Of the years Kalim has spent with Riddle and his mother in this tower, he had seen no other soul come through the thicket. No one was supposed to. Ms Rosehearts had said so. No one was supposed to know–
Panicked, Kalim jumps from the ledge and lands on Riddle’s chest with a litany of squeaks as the latter ducks from the open window. Riddle hushes him instinctively, but Kalim can hear his heartbeat thundering loud from under his chest.
“W-What do we do? They didn’t see us, did they? Kalim–” The frightened face of his friend stares at him, bewildered and vaguely panicked. Somehow, the sight of it shakes Kalim into clarity. Riddle is in danger, not him. Chameleons can hide, but whoever it is might be here for him; Riddle with his blessing who has nowhere to hide in this tower without doors, and that realization makes Kalim’s heart lurch and boil.
Ignoring Riddle’s whispered cry he hops and climbs back up the side of the window's ledge, steals another peek. The intruder had moved further into the clearing in that span of time, a swath of black drifting in the breeze. They were walking directly towards the tower. Panic stirs inside him, has Kalim slinking deeper into the shadows of the open window. The muffled sounds of a ruckus behind almost distracts him, but the intruder was hurrying now, glancing back once before sprinting towards the stone walls. Kalim barely has time to squeak a warning before they reach the foot of the tower and the sounds of scrapping boots upon stone brings to light the worst case scenario.
The intruder was climbing the walls. Kalim barely has time to grasp that thought before Riddle is shimmying up the wall on the opposite side of the window, knuckle-white hands grasping a frying pan with so much force it trembles. They lock eyes, and Kalim gestures to the weapon of choice with confused incredulity. Riddle glares back in a grimace and silently mouths what he could only guess was a reassurance. Kalim can only nod, adrenaline keeping him tense as he crouches low and waits to spring, claws unconsciously digging hard into the wood.
It feels like an eternity as the scraping sounds get closer. Kalim finds himself holding his breath, belly low. The late afternoon sun casts longer lingering shadows, shrouds them better in the dark, but it does nothing to disguise the hulking shadow of a man breaching the windowsill and coming into view. It stills, wobbling in shape and flickering between lithe and bulky. Kalim doesn’t dare turn to look, but he cannot help but notice the pair of ears on its head. Pointed, like a cat.
The stranger vaults over. Riddle’s frying pan follows in a hard swing down at his head seconds after.
The harsh slam doesn’t come.
“Grk!” Kalim cannot muffle his cry when a hand darts out to catch the offending weapon inches from the intruder’s head. Riddle squawks, equally shellshocked, voice cutting off as he struggles with exertion to pry the pan away. The intruder resists, keeps his grip firm. His hands are dark, his face darker when he turns around and makes Riddle stumble back, bravado fading.
“Brat,” his voice is low, gravelly like a growl. “You gotta be a lot faster to ever land a hit with thi–”
Kalim doesn’t think when he springs into a run and leaps for the intruder’s exposed face, squeaking a battle cry as he lands squarely over his forehead. He almost regrets it when his front feet slip and lurches him forward into a faceful of brown hair. Desperately gripping for purchase, Kalim pulls at it with his toes, dangles over his face as he cries in both rage and the very real fear of falling as the man makes an undignified noise and flails. He does not make it far before he is trapped, a hand enclosing his body into a fist as the intruder growls, only to double over as Riddle delivers a kick to the back of his knee.
“You take your hands off him right now!” Another kick, harder, before Kalim squeaks in alarm as Riddle throws his whole weight over and sends the man sprawling to the floor in a noisy clatter. The grip on him loosens, and Kalim quickly wriggles free, thinks for one dangerously tempting moment to stick his tongue into the man’s eye before catching sight of the frying pan. He bounds toward it, tumbling clumsily off a sprawled chest, and pushes it away with enough force with his own body weight before the man could recover and reach for it. Stumbling with stars in his eyes, he leaps up towards Riddle’s awaiting palm and crawls up his arm, tucks himself into his shoulder safely as the latter chants a quick incantation. Immediately, the ropes hanging by the kitchen doorway spring to life, glowing golden as they wrap around the man and tie him to a chair.
It is over in an instant. Riddle breathes heavily, tension taut through his shoulders as the man blinks back his stunned eyes to glare at him. He spares a look at Kalim, nose wrinkling. Kalim narrows his eyes back, his scaly skin shifting to a vibrant red, although he keeps himself glued to Riddle’s neck.
“Who the hell are you?”
“We should be the one asking you that.” Riddle lifts his nose at him, suspicion lacing his voice as he assesses the situation. “You don’t seem surprised about my use of magic.”
“Tsk, it's not as rare as you think.” The man does not struggle against his restraints as they thought he would, keeping his eyes on them. They were slitted, a brilliant green like the grass outside the tower. The pricked ears on top of his head remained still. For some reason, Kalim does not feel as assured as he should with their intruder restrained.
It is the first time either of them have ever seen a beastman in the flesh before, or any human outside their home. The stories Kalim read had glossed over much of the physical features that made them other to humans, preferring to focus on internal animalistic traits within fables and other folklore. Ms Rosehearts had waved away any curious thoughts, saying they were no different from humans, sharper in rooted instincts perhaps, but still far beneath the prowess of a mage. Looking at him now, Kalim can’t help but be curious. Braids frame his face, brown locks messy like a mane. The tips of it shine a rusty gold under the light of the setting sun. A thin line cuts through his left eye, barely noticeable in the waning light. He looked just like them otherwise. The man grimaces, and Kalim spies fangs. He tilts his head to the side, still plastered against Riddle’s neck, but his friend remains tense.
“What do you mean magic isn’t as rare?” Riddle’s voice does not waver, his eyes hiding hesitation well, but Kalim can feel a nervous energy thrumming through him. “I demand your answer.”
“It means exactly that.” A sneer as the man curls his lip at them. “Brat.”
That sets Riddle off, and Kalim squeaks in alarm as he grows flushed with rage, face red as his hair puffs up. His body flashes colours rapidly as he tries to steady his grip on Riddle’s shoulder, not noticing the intruder’s cursory glance on him.
“I’m eighteen. Not that it concerns you, burglar.” Riddle hisses and reaches for the frying pan, brandishes it at the man’s face with a glare. He stares at the curve edge of it, nonchalant. “Coming here unwelcomed, what is your agenda? My mother’s grimoires? Spells? Me?”
“Why the hell would I want you for, brat?” He snorts, and they are taken aback enough to pause and show visible confusion, sharing a glance. The man’s eyes narrow further, as if finally taking Riddle in fully for the first time, the long hair trailing behind him and draping in thick locks over the floor, and Kalim feels like they may have made a mistake when his green slitted eyes narrow further. Thinking, connecting dots. Riddle must have realised too, but his sudden silence and nervous shift does not go unnoticed.
The man finally huffs a laugh, breaking the stillness, but there was no mirth in his eyes as he stares them over.
“The witch huh? So she's still alive.”
“Who are you calling a witch!?”
“I know of only one person who has bright red hair like yours in this kingdom, and unless she found a way to curse herself under a regression or de-aging disguise the answer should be obvious. To think she was scuttling right under the kingdom’s nose all these years.” The man clicks his tongue. “Pathetic.”
“Who are you calling pathetic–!” Kalim’s squeaks fall on deaf ears as Riddle seethes, face fully red and a vein popping over his forehead. It was the first time Kalim had ever seen him so angry, like he was about to blow. His teeth gashed hard enough for Kalim to hear, and the force of his jerk forward to lean over at their captive sends him stumbling off his shoulder with a startled squeak. The man, to his credit, remains unperturbed.
“This kingdom’s guards for one. Though your mother… heh. She's been brewing some real schemes huh?”
“What nonsense are you talking about?” Riddle’s eyes burn. “A kingdom? Mother is a witch? I have had about enough of your ludicrousy! Take it back right now!”
“You really don't know anything do you? Well too bad.” the man sneers, raises two fingers and gestures to the rope around him in a circular motion. A grainy light springs forth from his fingertips, circles in a golden vortex as it picks up speed. Even from the ground, Kalim can feel the force of it, the slight breeze produced as air is pulled towards the channel. His stomach drops in disbelief as the man tests his binds, and the rope trapping him to the chair starts disintegrating into fine grains of sand. A faint shimmer of gold, like the transient wave of a sun’s ray, before a pool of sand and a dirtied floor was all the evidence the rope ever existed. “I don't have time nor sympathy to waste on pompous brats. Now get out of my way.”
Riddle had gone very still, but he stutters in protest as the man stands up, dusts his hands and glances boredly at him before scanning the expanse of the homely attic, makes to look around before stepping further into the tower. The long swish of a tail follows him, sways in idle relaxation. It did not look like the tail of any cat Kalim had ever seen.
“You… That’s, you can use magic too?”
The man snorts again and raises his palms as he turns, as though regaling Riddle with mockery the miracle he had oh so casually performed. “That’s my curse.”
He walks past the carpet and scattered sand grains towards the curved shelves of books before Riddle can respond, an inherent arrogance in his gait. Riddle blinks, as though temporarily stupified at his silent dismissal, before anger coats the stiffness of his shoulders and he stomps after him.
“You! How dare you..! Stop there right now! This is our home, you can’t just barge in; I forbid it! Mother won't let you get away that easily.”
“Who's going to tell? You?” The man smirks lazily, glancing from the stacks of grimoires Riddle runs over to obstruct his view of. Their height difference makes him tower over him, but Riddle stares back resolutely without cowering. “I wonder what she will think, once she realizes that you met someone from the outside, let them enter your home, let them talk to you. I can't imagine she would be pleased.”
When Riddle flinches and splutters, the man takes advantage of that opening to stride towards the closed door. “This here’s that witch’s room? Might as well–”
“Hey! You can't just-”
A flash of light interrupts their argument, and they both turn sharply to the sight of Kalim picking himself up from the floor with wobbly legs. Beyond him the skies outside the window had dimmed into a deep shade of cerulean, the sun having dipped under the horizon. But that was the least of his worries. Shaking the lingering wooziness of his transformation, Kalim fixes his gaze on the intruder and stomps his way over, ignorant of Riddle’s warning calls and said intruder’s surprised stare to jab a finger at his chest.
“You,” he pants, shaking away the visages of wooziness and adrenaline as he glares and tries not to stumble, “are, an awfully mean person!”
“...Hah?”
The man looks at him, nonplussed, but Kalim is not finished. Nevermind that the man also towered over him and he has to crane his neck up to meet his eyes. Nevermind that he probably looked the furthest thing from threatening. Indignation makes Kalim clench his fist and poke the leather of his clothes deeper.
“Ignoring Riddle, making a mess, and threatening us in our home after breaking in and saying those awful things, that’s horrible! Say you’re sorry right now!”
“Quit your badgering.” The man wrinkles his nose and grimaces, ears twitching. “You are like a yappy little chipmunk.”
“Chameleon! Did you not see what I transformed from? At least call me a lizard!”
“You are so annoyingly noisy. Ugh, whatever.” The man scratches his head and glares at Kalim, narrowing his eyes when Kalim puffs his cheeks back, undeterred. He always did look fiercer as a chameleon with it. “If it will shut you up, ‘m avoiding those pests.”
“What do you mean?”
The man clicks his tongue. “I’m avoiding those pesky royal guards. They just don't know when to quit.” His tail whips erratically, as though expressing frustration. Kalim is quick to shake that distraction away, but when he looks up again for some reason the man had averted his eyes, staring at some corner of the room. “That's all. Gonna let things die down a little before I get out of your hair. You being quieter will help much faster.”
“So, you are a wanted man?” Kalim’s mouth moves as quickly as his train of thought, defensive ire dropping for curiosity.
The man bares his teeth and growls warningly, but Kalim spears on, unconscious of his faux pas. Maybe he knew, deep inside. But Kalim finds he does not care. He was always tactless enough when Riddle could not, and the man had yet to push his finger away. Concern laces his words unwittingly. “Are you in trouble?”
“Kalim! Shhh.” A hand grasps his elbow and tugs him back away from the beastman. Riddle glances at him with a pointed purse of lips, but his touch was gentle, face pinched in worry. But whatever he might have wanted to say he swallows as he turns his gaze back to the latter. “That's it? You will leave in a while after bidding your time?”
“There’s nothing valuable here otherwise.” He shrugs. “Your mother’s research doesn’t interest me anyway. Not that I care.”
Riddle glares, but holds his tongue, no doubt thinking about what he had tried to do prior to Kalim’s interruption. “And you won’t tell anyone about this place? How can we trust you?”
The man looks at them as if they were stupid. “What use will that do for me?”
An uneasy shift permeates the air between them as they size the other up. But Riddle’s face had lost his angry flush, and the man, for as strange as he is, had dropped all hackles and looked more interested in admiring the decor. There was something disconcerting about that still; a stranger looking in, Riddle’s defensiveness and protectiveness of their space. More importantly, it made Kalim feel out of place in his messy braids and mussed hair, like he was not privy to the animosity between them, yet equally caught by the wayside. There was a steadily-building awkward air.
Just like before, his body moves as quickly as his thoughts–too quickly, faster before he could think it through. Kalim claps his hands, tries for a tentative smile as Riddle and the stranger turn his way, breaking their silent showdown. Satisfied with their attention, Kalim attempts icebreaking.
“Ah then, there's no need for any more disagreements. So if we can all get along until–”
“No.” Their decisive replies overlap. As one, Riddle and the stranger glance at each other. They scowl in offense at the synchronicity.
Kalim sighs.
“Kalim,” Riddle says, softer after pointedly turning his nose from the man. “Come here. You are bruised.”
“Oh? I never noticed!” Kalim dares laugh as he drifts into Riddle’s touch, lets him tug him closer again to his side and walk a distance away from the man. Still within their line of sight, but far enough that Riddle finally relaxes and deigns to look away to prod at his arm. A sheepish thing. The bruise was big and across his arm, an ugly patch of discolouration. It looked worse than it felt though, and Kalim told Riddle so, even pressing the skin to find it didn’t hurt much. He must have gotten it during the scrabble with the stranger’s trespass after tumbling all over.
“Still, you need to be more careful.” Then softer, so that only Kalim could hear; “around him too. He could have hurt you just now.”
They glance discreetly at the stranger, who had deigned to take a seat by the dining table as if he owned the place, picking at the stacks of books. Most were Riddle’s study materials and non-important grimoires. He did not seem to be looking their way. Riddle takes the opportunity to glare at him.
“It’s okay!” Kalim squeezes his hands, willing Riddle’s frown to go away. “I just need to find the ointment box.”
“No, this is faster.” Riddle grabs a lock of his hair and presses it against Kalim’s arm, gathers more length to twine it around his skin for good measure. He closes his eyes and sings a few of those familiar verses under his breath. The portion of his hair wrapped over Kalim’s arm starts to glow, a gentle soothing sensation, but discreet enough that their bodies could hide it. Kalim hadn’t known Riddle could do that. He must have gotten better under his nose. Pride warms his skin at the thought as Riddle pulls away his hair and humphs in satisfaction at the spotless blemish.
“Nifty little trick you have there.”
They both turn sharply to the sight of Leona watching them, leaning over the top rails of the chair that once bounded him. His green eyes were intent under the dim lanterns that illuminate the room and the soft moonlight filtering through the window–more animal-like and piercing than any of Ms Roseheart’s heavy looks. They had not heard him move at all. Kalim can feel Riddle tensing through their jointed hands; he squeezes it before facing Leona with a huff.
“It’s not a trick.” Kalim can’t help but puff out his chest. “Riddle worked hard and practised every day. Isn't he amazing?”
“Eh. And what else can he do?” The stranger yawns, seemingly disinterested. It made Kalim frown, has him gesticulate with his arms wide. How could he not see? Riddle wasn’t just a mage that could do wonderful things with magic. He’s also the coolest, kindest, most wonderful person he knows..!
“All sorts of things!” Kalim huffs again, not noticing Riddle’s unconscious flush. “Potions and spells. Even miracles! He can do things his mother can't and she says he will surpass her one day. Riddle’s amazing!”
“Miracles, huh?” The man smiles mirthlessly, cocks his head as his tail swishes, pondering. He straightens from the chair, interest piqued, and Kalim realises too late that the air has changed again. Him and his blabbermouth. He must have said something important out loud.
“Change of plans, brat. I want to make a deal.” The man looks straight at Riddle as he says it.
This time, the direct threat was unmistakable. Kalim feels himself tense, but Riddle’s presence was a solid rock, his sneer an anchor as his shoulders brush his.
“I think not. You are forgetting who has the leverage here.”
“Am I?” The man grins, fangs glinting. “What’s stopping me from disposing of you both and lying in wait for that witch to return? Or taking you out of this tower right now? I'm not picky.”
“Mother will stop you.” Riddle retorts, but now a tinge of uncertainty echoes in the words unsaid.
The man laughs, a deprecating thing. Stepping over the chair, he picks up one of the many books from the stacks scattered over the carpet. He holds it carelessly in his hands, heedless of its title as he regards them. “Have you forgotten,”–the book in his outstretched hand shudders before folding into itself, disintegrating into sand and making the two of them jump–“this power I have?” His smirk deepens at their unsettled expressions. “Ah, but maybe,” slitted eyes settle on Riddle’s hair. “Something simpler will suffice.”
It hits Kalim like a thunderclap. Riddle must have realised it too, because his kneejerk reaction is to gather his hair protectively and back away, trepidation growing into fear as the man stalks his way over.
“Stop, get away from me..!”
It was the first time Kalim had ever heard Riddle sound so frightened. Anger, shame, guilt, regret. Kalim had always been privy to it in the aftermath of night through the years of Riddle’s studies. But never this, never like this. He doesn’t think when he moves forward, moving forward and standing in front of him to shield him from the stranger. All those times Kalim felt helpless in the light of day as Riddle wilts and cowers under his mother’s sharp tongue. At least now, Kalim can do what he always wished he could.
To his surprise, the man stops too. Stares at him in a way Kalim cannot read as his heart races and pounds hard in his chest.
“Step aside.”
“I won’t.” Kalim shakes his head, spreads his arms wide and looks him in the eye. “No matter what happens, I will protect Riddle.”
“A commendable effort. It's a shame you are as cursed as me.”
The words cut deep into the crevasses of Kalim’s heart enough for him to flinch. A reminder of his helplessness despite his efforts. It hurt.
“That, may be true…but I can still do something to protect my precious friend!”
“Don’t be foolish.” The man stops in front of him. “You’d only get hurt. And for what? Making that brat worry.”
“Better than doing nothing.” Kalim glares up at him, wondering what his problem was. All bark and no bite. Mr Beastman was an awful person through and through, but he had for all his talk and warnings he had yet to strike. Not that Kalim would want him too–he has to protect Riddle, keep him and his blessed hair safe, and he can’t act as a roadblock if he gets knocked out. If it's just to buy him more time–
The man bares his fangs, sharp even in shadow. “You are a stubborn piece of shit aren’t y–”
“Stop!” Riddle’s shout silences their debate, cuts through the tension that swirls. No magic yet, but Kalim couldn’t be sure. His heart was beating too quickly to tell if he had imagined it.
“Stop. That’s enough. It’s okay, Kalim. I, I will agree to it. The terms.”
“Riddle…!” Kalim spins around, wanting to protest, but one look at Riddle’s expression and he defers reluctantly. In the end, he holds no magic, no cards. He bites the little sting of helplessness, but refuses to move away. He won’t be afraid of this man.
Riddle glances at him, a little assuring look, before he lifts his chin and stares at the man. A haughty look, a confident front. “Well? Let’s hear it.”
The man smiles, pleased, but even in the dim light they can tell it comes out more of a grimace. His tail swishes; a restless thing as he considers the red hair boy in front of him. Finally, as though it pains him physically to say it; “make a potion, cast a spell. I don't care. Do anything you need to lift this curse off me.”
Kalim blinks, surprised. Riddle must have been surprised too, because his response comes a beat too slow, too puzzled that it melts away his hardened exterior.
“Curse?”
“This.” Sand trickles down his palm as the man raises his hand. It is only now that Kalim realises he was sucking air inward into the glowing core of his palm, that the grainy light was turning the surrounding air into sand. “This destructive power of annihilation. I want you to get rid of it for me.”
“I…That’s impossible. I don't–" Riddle clenches his jaw, keeps his eyes level when he spies another flex of the man’s fists. “There exists potions to cure ailments, but I have never read of one that removes innate magical ability permanently from a user.”
“You are a miracle child.” The man smiles. “You can do it, can't you?”
“But it's magic, your magic. Why would you ever–”
“None of your business, brat.”
Riddle glares at him, not bothering to hide his disdain, but his head tilts, curiosity and the allure of a challenge glinting through his eyes.
“I want something in return.”
Kalim snaps to attention, swallowing his breath to hide a gasp. Riddle never asked for anything; Kalim knows this, knows he has learnt not to under the tutelage of his mother. Even now he always had to guess and coax it out of him; for Riddle has desires too, underneath the contentment he holds for their current lives, but never says them verbally. That said, to leverage a deal with a stranger, this man who had climbed into their home and disrupted their lives… Kalim does not doubt he had a plan. Riddle was always so smart after all.
The stranger’s ears twitch, but he says nothing. Riddle takes it as permission to continue.
“Tomorrow, there's going to be an event in a nearby town within this kingdom where they release lanterns into the sky. Do you know about it?” He should. Riddle suspects he does, from his versed familiarity with the way he talks about the apparent royal guards. He must know the immediate lands well.
“...Depends.” There is a pause before he replies, voice painfully neutral.
Riddle glances at Kalim, notes the way he presses his lips together. Flicks his gaze back to his opponent. “Take us to see it. Ensure our safety, and escort us back here by sunset on the third day before my mother finds out we were ever gone. You will get your potion. I swear on it.”
A blanketed silence, before it is broken by a loud guffaw. The man laughs, a lightness detached from his previous threats and prickly demeanour as he cradles his head with one hand. It catches them by surprise, and Riddle would think he was being mocked if not for the lack of a sneer on his face. His tail swishes, his grin full of teeth.
“Going under your old folks’ nose huh. Can’t say I don't like it. You got yourself a deal, redhead. We leave in fifteen.”
The night unfurls as the beastman saunters away, and Kalim runs over to Riddle as soon as he gives them space. “Riddle?” His eyes shine with worry, uncertain. That was not what he had thought Riddle would say at all.
“We need to pack, Kalim.” His friend smiles weakly, but this close Kalim can see his minute trembling, the shakiness of his clammy palms. He resists the urge to grab at it, doesn’t know if Riddle would like this touch while still reeling from his standoff.
“Riddle, are you okay?”
“I apologise. I'm acting rather unlike myself aren't I? It's okay, Kalim. I'm glad you were here in this form.” Riddle inhales, breathes out and looks at him with an expression Kalim cannot decipher. “I just, had an epiphany. Mother omitted a lot of things in our studies, didn't she?”
Kalim had always known, sometime between past eight years old and tonight, kept that small seed of realisation tucked in the back of his mind like all the small desires he had culminated in his chest. But Ms Rosehearts was kind to him, protected them, taught Riddle to be strong. It could have been enough, despite the limited books and his badgering of questions of why the world outside the window was the way it was, of why beastmen were beastmen at all, the existence of magic and others that could use them. He hadn’t dared ask despite looking out at the sky all these many years.
“It's okay, because we can learn about them now, together, outside.” Kalim smiles in disbelief, tries to be brave. Tentative excitement and hesitation wars inside him, speared by the echoes of a childhood fight.
“Outside.” Riddle nods. “A little premature, but it’d be just like the quests we read about.”
“Mhm!” Kalim nods back eagerly. ”An adventure!”
“I, I hope this can make up for… thank you for waiting; for me.”
Kalim’s eyes shine as he embraces Riddle, wraps his arms around him tight. He can’t seem to stop shaking and smiling, even as Riddle grunts in a way Ms Rosehearts would call unbecoming and giggles a bit while hugging back. Pulling away, he adjusts Kalim’s hair and rebraids it for him, uses magic to tie a headscarf comfortably over his head so it looks less messy. He steps back with a self-satisfied hum, admiring his work. “Perfect for the road. Come, we mustn't keep that brute of our escort waiting.”
There is little to pack, but at the end of it Riddle stands at the edge of the tower’s window, a little satchel over his shoulder and cloaks snug over their shoulders. Ones he had to sneak from his mother’s closet. Another line crossed in the sand. The man had already descended after a brief backward glance at them, a black shadow that blends easily into the night. His careful strides down looked easy from above; Kalim wonders if he’d be surprised at how Riddle intends to do it.
They peek over the precipice. Many times Kalim has looked over and beyond, but tonight his feet will be going over. Unbidden, his hand twitches, bumps into the back of a softer palm seeking his. Riddle’s fingers tangle with his easily; an instinctual thing, and squeeze. Kalim squeezes back, restless energy thrumming through him. Like this, it was easy to feel brave.
As he did so many times for his mother before him, Riddle secures his hair via the pulley above the window, lets it drop down the tower like a makeshift rope. Kalim holds its softness in his grip, as he did so many times in both his cursed form and otherwise, blessed hair strong enough to carry him.
“You won’t hurt me.” Riddle smiles as Kalim clutches the thick locks together. “Just be careful to hold tight and not fall.”
Kalim can do that. It’d be just like the times when they climbed the tallest shelves to pick at dusty books, carve secret flowers in the stone they have yet to paint. Besides, he is a chameleon.
The cold breeze stings his face as Kalim slides down the tower into the abyss below. It was exhilarating and much faster than he thought. The end of Riddle’s hair stops a foot from the ground; Kalim stumbles off it, nervous eagerness tipping his bare feet onto the hard earth, cold and hard and different and new. The sensations feel like soft ticklish pinpricks into his skin, but he does not have the chance to marvel at it before he totters facefully into a black cloak. Hands grip his shoulders quickly; Kalim freezes mid-topple, legs askew, but their now-escort only glances at him and rights him up properly, tells him to straighten his cloak before walking away. In the darkness, his pupils had dilated; his eyes had looked softer, more human. To think this was the same hands that meant to strike him aside just before. Kalim does not understand this man, but he might need to.
The weight of the cloak over his shoulders grounds him to the new sensations away from distraction. This close, the grass looked a lot greener while standing on the ground, felt a lot taller too, despite the growing shadows and apparent darkness. Kalim gives into his curiosity and touches them; they feel less dry somehow than the herbs he helps Riddle handle, bending easily other his touch, wetting his hands with dew.
The air echoes with a rush of wind as Riddle slides from the tower. Unlike him, he halts inches from the earth at the end of his hair, almost hesitant and legs curled. Kalim bounds up to him, waits for Riddle to tentatively touch the ground before offering his hand to right him up. It is hard not to feel giddy, and his enthusiasm must be contagious because Riddle laughs too; a little shaky, a little breathless, the greys of his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he takes a look around. It makes Kalim’s stomach feel something funny. Squeezing his hand harder, he glances back once at the hulking silhouette of their home as they head towards their awaiting companion, taking their first steps on the earth together.
⸻⸻⸻
Life is unfair. Leona had come to realise this quickly–one of his earliest notions mixed together with half-faded memories of lonely halls and quiet corridors within a house that did not feel like home at all, drowning away the lingering bittersweetness of a time happier. It was knowledge that burdens and weighs heavier with each passing year, dragged him through the mud with a namesake that was a mockery of all he cannot become. Then his curse had awakened, and Leona was forever resigned into the darkness, cast aside for a perfect older brother with his perfect radiance and filialness, one that could take the role Leona had yearned for as long as he could remember. What could he have done then, purpose taken away from him, floundering like a useless cub?
How naively stupid.
Life is unfair, and that was just the truth of it. Never will his efforts mean anything to those who matter. And yet, it did not meant Leona wouldn’t take advantage of all it had for his own means, struggle and claw with every tooth and nail for what he covets with a selfish greed. He had to. His ambitions run deep and high after all, and there is much to do when it comes to brewing his plans, even with his limits. Stacks of books accumulated over years, overheard whispers through walls, an abandoned chessboard; this kingdom’s core had provided valuable information as much as it stifled. It was why he left as soon as he could, spite pushing him out of that window and the gates of his stifling home to travel the land and see its entirety. A runaway rebel, making a name for himself, avoiding pesky guards and profiteers as he schemes his way into notoriety. The irony does not escape him; the recognition he craved coming in other ways. He always did hate to concede, never claimed to be a good man.
There are places in this stagnating kingdom where light dims and does not reach. Leona wants to go there to see for himself, the slums and shadows that radiance cannot hide or enlighten, the impoverished and helpless, and sand away the poison at its sources. The one upside of his curse, a mark that brands this derelict lion.
He didn’t think one of his detours would lead him here though; a tower hidden away behind the dense forests and cliffs under the capital of the kingdom, the child of a court mage that had abandoned her station years ago–Leona had learnt, years later as a child posing naivete that her position remained empty, contributed to the crippling defense of this kingdom and its tensions with its neighbours, not that he cares–, a possible revenue to break his loathed curse, and them marching their way back towards the very place he had ran and avoided ever since leaving years ago.
Right into danger and the cavalry.
It might be a mistake, Leona thinks with every step through the undergrowth–unseen tracks away from the main road paths he had long memorised. His temple throbs, irritation lapping with impatience as the two behind him dither, voices piquing with hushed excitement much too loud for his ears even in the apparent darkness–too slow and absorbed with everything new, a whole new world to marvel at. Leona has no idea how they can even see with the heavy leafage blocking most of the moonlight, and he doesn’t care to find out. Stranger things have happened, considering how he found himself here, entertaining a notion so unlike himself. Him, escort to a couple of wide eyed naive cubs who had never seen the world. He must be growing soft.
“Sorry for getting off the wrong foot just now.” The taller of the two pipes up when Leona finally comes across a glade after some hours and deems it safe and timely enough for them to rest. Despite the dimmed moonlight, his grey hair sparkles under the shadows of branches, bouncing with too much energy as he smiles. “Let me make it up to you.”
“Do you forgive everyone you meet that easily?” Leona does not spare him a glance, parsing through his options as he looks at their meagre belongings. Inconspicuousness at the cost of scarcity. It will have to do. He has always been self-sufficient. These two on the other hand…
“Is that bad? I just think trusting someone and thinking they can do better is a kinder way to see the world.”
“Oh yeah?” He snorts. “Well, the world ain’t kind. Don't tempt me into exploiting that.”
“You won’t. You made a deal, remember?” The boy grins, as if Leona hadn’t threatened him with injury mere hours ago. How empty was that head? “Besides, since we will be traveling together for the next few days, it would be nice to get along!”
“With the brat. You, on the other hand, are free game.”
“Don't make fun of him, burglar.” Said brat glares at him, pulling Sunshine-for-brains to his side. His mass of coiled and braided hair sways heavily behind him, red tips grazing the forest floor. Leona vaguely wonders how he managed from tripping. “You better stay on your side of the grass.”
“Tch, like I care about that yappy cub.” Inadvertently, Leona clicks his tongue, annoyance bubbling over. Just his luck the redhead brat had a mouth on him.
“Lizard!” Sunshine-for-brains glares, but from Leona’s place it looks more like a pout. “Are you blind or something?”
Instinctively, Leona narrows his eyes and bares his teeth, taking the slightest bit of satisfaction when the boy startles but recovers enough to huff up at him. Redhead-brat tugs him away with the smallest upward curl of his lips, but not fast enough before Leona catches a raspberry blown his way. How childish, and yet he can’t find it in him to bother when he sees familiar defiance reflected in himself, acknowledged within his exhaustion. Whatever. He was above this. (He had to be.)
There are things he has to do; already his heavy mind sifts through routes and alternatives the next day with familiar ease, the forested paths that would take them straight to cobblestones and a wide lake. It was a simple plan, and he had much to gain. If putting up with a couple of clumsy newborn brats for a few days can see the chance of ridding the rot inside him, then–
It has been a long time, Leona realises, since he had talked with anyone for so long. His throat felt dry. Curling up on the soft grass and against the solid weight of tree bark feels like second nature, but newer was the presences nearby, too known for him to ignore and drift into rest. The night breeze tickles his ears as he closes his eyes, opens them in thin slits as the sound of breathing levels out.
“…Are you still awake?”
Sunshine-for-brains smiles at him in the shadowed alcoves of leaves when Leona raises his chin and tilts his head to look at him; a thinner smile, quieter now with the absence of the waking hour. His tiny braids were mussed, a stray leaf tangled in his hair. Leona doesn’t think he notices when he lifts a hand to scratch at the soft hairs by the curve of his neck, his other arm curling into the grass next to his companion’s sleeping form. His eyes were a deep red, but nothing about him held the faintest trace of reptilian features. Leona himself could barely smell the curse off him. It would stir at his curiosity, were he not more wary.
“–to sleep, you know? I can keep watch.” His whisper was a little too loud, but the redhead next to him barely stirs, dead to the world. Magic exhaustion perhaps. Leona has had his fair share of deep naps despite his reluctance.
“–besides, thanks to this curse I’m usually more alert in the middle of the night.” Sunshine-for-brains laughs sheepishly. “I’m not really sure how lizards work, but I’m used to staying awake and sleeping after turning back during the day, so-”
“Idiot. Why do you pretend to be dumber than you are?” The words make the boy falter mid-mouthful.
“Eh..?”
“I’m not gonna bite you or that stuffy redhead, so sleep.” Leona is no fool, can see the telltale signs of nervous alacrity underneath that fake bravado. In any other circumstance, it would have been amusing were he in the mood. “Enough of that lizard talk while you are at it. It’s annoying.”
“Um.” Sunshine-for-brains blinks at him. “But I am a lizard.”
“You aren’t one now, yeah?.” Leona smirks, a bitter curl of lips. “So cut the crap about not being human or whatever.”
Left to flounder in this cruel world, how pathetic really. Unfortunately, Leona hates self-pity most, loathes it to the highest degree. For all that a lion cursed with inevitable destruction would hunger and seek to fill an emptiness that can never be sated, spite reigns above that disillusionment. His pride would not let him surrender, not when he has yet to prove a point.
Quiet laughter startles Leona from his thoughts, has him frown as the boy smiles up at him, softer than before. Somehow, Leona feels as if he’s been denied knowledge he should be privy to in the sparse moments he was lost in thought.
“What’s so funny?”
“Riddle isn’t stuffy…”
“Yeah? Those archaic spells sure match his temperament. Go to sleep.”
That smile only deepens, and Leona rolls his eyes as he yawns, pretends he doesn’t see Sunshine-for-brains brush Redhead-brat’s hair from his face fondly as he sleeps. How sentimental. A tranquility broken all too soon as Sunshine-for-brains perks up–more awake than ever– and extends his hand towards him in the darkness.
“I meant it, you know? We are going to be traveling together for a bit, so I really think we should get to know each other better.”
“That won't be unnecessary.”
Unfortunately for him, his airhead conversationalist seems to not get the hint, lips pursing into a pout as he rocks his body a little closer, careful not to disturb his sleeping companion.
“Oh pleaseeeee? At least tell me your name! It's only fair when you already know ours.” His whisper was barely one at all, earnestness chasing away the dregs of sleep. Unprompted, he gestures to himself and the sleeping mage, gaze a little too expectant; ”I’m Kalim, and this is Riddle.” He says as if Leona hadn’t already caught their names or agree to it. “What’s yours?”
Leona does not deign him an answer–he is not sure he can. The complications span multitudes. Yet he must admit continued presence would mean the two would find out sooner or later, knowing how conniving and nosy these two are. How wonderful that they complete each other; not that it mattered–if he wanted, he could run circles around these day-old cubs any day. He clicks his tongue, tail tapping the ground restlessly. This is why he doesn’t do company.
“Hey…” Kalim prods, a little gentler when he remains silent, “I promise not to laugh if it's silly. I'll make sure Riddle won’t too.”
“…Scar.”
“Hm?”
“They call me Scar around here.”
“Oh.” Kalim keeps staring. “Um, can I ask? If that was after your…” He gestures to the streak that halves his eye bluntly, startles and flinches when Leona growls. “Sorry!”
Leona eyes the look on his face, the furrows of his frown creasing slowly. Well, at least he isn’t so shameless as to not feel embarrassment. “Stop yapping and sleep.”
Kalim giggles, but finally lays down. The leaf in his hair dislodges as he curls into the soft grass, pearl grey locks messier than ever. He didn’t seem to mind, that soft smile still on his face as he twists to look at him. Leona scoffs under his breath, failing to see his amusement. What an odd guy.
“Thank you for taking us out of the tower.”
“What are you thanking me for?” It comes out softer than Leona would like. He blames it on his exhaustion and the stubborn continuance of their hushed voices, but the notion nags at him anyway. “Thank your stuffy redhead for that deal.”
“Even so… Goodnight Scar.”
Hah, now that’s a thought. When was the last time Leona heard that from someone else. His nights were always filled with dreamless sleep that begets him restless in the mornings. A better alternative to the haunting visages of gaunt commonfolk and festering rot in the shadowy streets where the kingdom’s policies cannot reach that drag at the bags under his eyes, turn him scornful and weary. Such a simple expression cannot disarm him.
Leona blinks, disgruntled. Across from him, Kalim burrows closer to Riddle’s shoulder, headscarf loosening as his hair tumbles next to Riddle’s neatly gathered pile. A splay of soft red and grey. Leona finds himself fixated upon it, recalling the events in the tower. He had never seen magic manifested like that before, much less heard such an occurrence of glowing, healing hair.
Something flutters inside him, the beginnings of a tentative thing with wings. He stifles it without remorse, closes his eyes to the hum of the lulling breeze.
⸻⸻⸻