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It was a cooler night for once and a nice break from Shimmerene’s recent humidity. Vanus took advantage of the occasion for fresh air in the new courtyard. He walked through the gardened area, realizing he’d yet to even see it himself, much less appreciate it. This was his new Mages Guild’s first hall— first of many, he’d hoped— and as excited as he was for this monumental step, he’d just buried himself in the work of it all. It was a shame, he thought. This courtyard reminded him of the free nature of Artaeum. He’d taken for granted how much easier it was to exist outdoors somewhere where the climate and fauna weren’t so unforgiving.
The longer he’d stood on the path of stones, the more uncomfortable he felt. There was something acrid in the air and goosebumps sprouted up his back. He whipped around and held up his staff as he was sure he could feel eyes stinging into his back.
Vanus was caught speechless as the smiling face of an old friend looked back at him.
“I’d wondered when you’d notice. Really, someone in your position has really ought to be more aware of his surroundings.”
“Mannimarco.” His name was the only word Vanus could form, his mouth dry and eyes disbelieving.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, am I really that unexpected?” The mer stepped forward and Vanus overcame his shock to hold his staff up again, aiming the head forward.
Mannimarco’s hand raised to push the staff aside. There was no real force behind the action, but Vanus’s arm moved anyway. With just that action alone the determined anger across his face simply washed away, leaving bare and vulnerable yearning. So palpable, Mannimarco knew he wasn’t imagining it. It seeped into every crevice of Vanus’ face: pure want.
That was enough invitation for Mannimarco to step closer again then once more. Closing in, the necromancer brought his hands up to cup Vanus’s face. Mannimarco’s fingers were calloused; his skin was papery and wrinkled. And he was so cold. Vanus’ skin tingled uncomfortably at the icy sensation, but he sank into it anyway as if it was the first warmth he’d felt in days.
It was a familiar enough sight, to see the mage in his hands. Mannimarco was reminded of afternoons on an island far, far away at a school he’d long grown past. But it wasn’t the same. Now the face in his hands was sharper. Vanus was still young for an altmer, but his experiences had clearly aged him. It was to be expected for a scholar who’d abandoned his protected studies for the harsh world of Tamriel.
Wrinkles carved into his golden skin, mostly his forehead from what Mannimarco simply knew must be his near-constant furrowed brow. He even felt the prickling of unshaven hair on his palms and he wondered if Vanus had the time to care for his appearance anymore. The innocence that had once both allured and disgusted Mannimarco was disappeared.
Mannimarco looked the same. Maybe sharper, maybe gaunter, but Vanus was unsure as he’d allowed his eyes to flutter shut, as if the visage before him was simply too much.
“You look so much older, Vanus,” Mannimarco finally spoke and Vanus’s eyebrows drew further in. “Perhaps that’s to be expected. You know, i didn’t expect you to follow me here. I had believed you’d live out your days with those myopic monks, reading old books and studying old magic.”
Vanus exhaled, tired and bitter.
“You’d stay and bask in the glory of being the best apprentice,” he went on and his hands seemed stiffer. “The glory that was supposed to be mine—” His fingers curled a bit and sharp fingernails dug into Vanus’s cheeks, “— the glory that you took from me.”
Vanus’s free hand flew up to grasp Mannimarco’s wrist and wrench himself out of the necromancer’s grasp just as skin broke just under his eye. A single rivulet of blood bubbled from the mark as Vanus finally looked at Mannimarco’s face again. His smile from before had vanished, not that it was ever particularly inviting. His bright eyes stood out against his dark expression and it scared Vanus that they were just as captivating as when he met the mer so many years ago: when he didn’t understand just what Mannimarco really was.
“I knew it,” Vanus’ heart pounded and it felt as if his breath wasn’t reaching his lungs, “You haven’t changed a bit, Mannimarco.”
“And why would I?” His voice was like a hiss. “I am still the superior mage. I am making strides in my studies The Psijics could only dream of.”
“You haven’t stopped then.” Vanus’s grip on his staff tightened. “Your sick practice.”
“Necromancy? The name won’t hurt you, Vanus.” A smile spread back across Mannimarco’s face, amused and mocking. “Of course I haven’t. I even have plenty of skilled followers.”
“You—?!” Vanus reacted too fast for his breath to keep up. “You’re spreading that knowledge?! What if— they could be using it for dark, horrible things! You’d have no idea! It’s too dan—“
“And why should I care?” Mannimarco cut him off with a scoff. “Honestly, Vanus, what my followers do with my gifts is just beyond my concern.”
“You cannot be serious?!” Vanus’ voice cracked with indignation. He shouldn’t truly be surprised, he’d always known Mannimarco to be egotistical and uncaring. His utter lack of empathy for the world around them had always been the real driving wedge between the two. Vanus knew what kind of man he was facing, but he still found himself grasping for an understanding he knew was unachievable. “That should be your main concern, Mannimarco! The impact you leave on this world—”
“Will be far more than my teachings,” Mannimarco cut him off and turned to look out over the courtyard. No— Vanus watched his eyes skip right over the collection of herbs and flowers, beyond the architecture of his hall and straight up to the moons above. He wondered if the necromancer saw something he never could in the sky above. Could he read the stories the stars told?
A tense silence fell over them; Vanus flexed his fingers in the side of his robe as Mannimarco stood, unmoving.
“… Why now?” He finally broke the silence. “I left Artaeum years ago. My name has been spread. Surely you’ve known I was here. Why are you here now?”
Mannimarco’s eyes didn’t move away from the sky as he began, “Because I have plans. I’m finally going to move forward and assume my rightful place in this world.”
His head finally turned and now those bright eyes were on him again. Vanus shivered and his grip tightened again.
“And I want your power for it,” he continued. “Normally, I’d just take it, but…” Vanus swore up and down he saw those eyes soften just a bit. “For old times. I thought I’d offer you a place in my order.”
He reached out and Vanus stepped back, but he made no other movement. He just held his and out. For Vanus to take?
Was this… supposed to be a kind gesture? Did he truly expect Vanus to stoop to being an underling for some sort of evil cult? Vanus’ face burned from embarrassment and anger.
“Are you insane?!” With the back of his hand, Vanus slapped Mannimarco’s arm away. “Do you think I’m that weak? That stupid?!” Mannimarco’s nose scrunched into a disappointed frown— as if he’d possibly expected a different outcome. “Do you even know me?! Or are you that completely delusional you expected me to take your hand and join your dark schemes?”
“You’ve made a mistake,” the necromancer finally replied, answering no questions and Vanus scoffed.
He felt like such a fool, spending so long wondering if he could just speak to Mannimarco he could help his rotten soul. Like maybe if he just tried he could save the dark mage from himself and thus the world from the beast his masters had set loose. And here his old lover was finally before him, trying to recruit him.
He thought to attack Mannimarco here and now— destroy this evil before it would lay waste to Tamriel, but part of Vanus was paralyzed. It wasn’t at all like the great mage to hesitate or doubt his superiority in power. Mannimarco was from a time when he was young and still learning, and he’d always been ahead of Vanus in some way. Some feelings really did never go away.
“Leave,” he said instead. “Get out of here and never return. I will never join you and neither will any of my students.”
In truth, Vanus’ fist at his side shook. In both anger and fear of what Mannimarco was capable of doing to him and everything he’d built: of not knowing just what the unforgiving mer before him was capable of. He feared for his students if a battle broke out now.
“One day, Vanus, you will hear of me.” Mannimarco took a step back and Vanus held his breath. “You will hear of my Worm Cult and you will see me reach levels of power no mortal has ever known and you will regret this.”
“You’ve been blinded, Mannimarco,” he shook his head and went on despite the voice telling him to shut up and let this end. “You know nothing about me. I care not for power. I care for Nirn and her people— for the generations after us and their futures. You should too.”
It felt desperate and weak and completely futile. He knew the necromancer was far too gone for any of his words to reach him.
“It’s a pity, then.” Mannimarco sighed and turned around. “You would have made a powerful necromancer, Vanus.”
He didn’t say goodbye before opening a portal and disappearing into it. Vanus finally exhaled, shoulders slacked with relief. He stared at the stone and grass under his feet and Mannimarco’s bright eyes, impressed into his vision stared back. His head turned up to Secunda and that single rivulet of blood finally burst and rolled down his cheek.
He’d be back, the mage was sure. To take his power or his students or both. Or maybe to destroy the last echo of his life from when he’d retained any humanity. Vanus breathed the cold night air before turning to retire to his chambers.