Archive of Our Own

The confines of the classroom were dimly lit despite its tall windows. The rain was only a fine drizzle dripping in the interior garden of the Academy. 

Lorsan was tired of looking at it for the eleventh time, and having nothing else to do. 

For Arden’s students, being left alone in the middle of their lessons was part of their new routine by now, and Lorsan always had extra time to wander around the room, or stir some havoc out of pure curiosity.

Today was not one of those days —he felt quite sleepy.

He nodded off a couple times as he stared at the window. That day was slightly clearer, not as cloudy… almost too calm, too perfect. Like it needed something to wake him up from the seemingly eternal boredom, or he’d die right on the spot.

His gaze wandered from the garden back to Bryon, who was seated at a distance across the broad table, focused on his own training. 

Bryon was as quiet and diligent as ever —to the point of Lorsan's mild frustration. He considered prodding at him with a clever remark or a sly suggestion, just to see if he could stir any kind of emotion out of him, but he lacked the energy to do so at the moment.

It was for the best, he supposed. 

Staying on good terms with Bryon —despite his unnerving personality— was the best thing he could do, especially since he was the only person who could talk to while Arden was away… The old geezer always had something else to attend to.

Lorsan’s eyes dropped back at his heavy textbook, showing the boredom he felt at the surface, and masking the latent anxiety he felt deep down. 

He didn’t want to think about it at all, but there he was back at it again. 

Arden had decided it was time to choose a heir… or something along those lines —truth be told, he didn’t pay enough attention until the time Arden got really serious, almost scolding him.

The mere thought of the responsibility such a title brought upon his shoulders made him feel nauseous. But the decision was already taken, so he tried to aim for success. Demonstrate that he could be, at the very least, suitable for the role. Show he was capable of transforming the burden into something that could benefit everyone in the Dark Forest. 

Staying in the Forest, learning to behave and be wise, eventually becoming a sage, was the conclusion that would make everyone at peace, right?

He was not so sure about it. 

It was foolish to question Arden's decisions —he was the Sage, after all— but… How could Lorsan ever be seen as wise , of all things? Trouble and mishaps always followed him, and he enjoyed the chaos it brought despite his long, overdramatic complaints. 

He wasn’t the type to step up with the resolve or wisdom expected from a sage, let alone face whatever negative consequence his actions might bring… That was more of Lyca’s style. But she wasn’t a windwhisperer, was she?

Lorsan let out a defeated sigh. He was getting restless.

He never wasted time in comprehending Arden’s judgment. He was capable of flowing with events in his life with ease —when he was in the mood for it, of course. 

But if he had to be honest, there was one thing he'd like to understand better.

He constantly wondered why, out of all the wilders available, Bryon had to be the one chosen to be Grandpa’s apprentice alongside him. 

His eyes drifted back to Bryon, who barely moved from the last time he saw him.

There was no doubt he was a talented student —he had noticed that in class— but why together? It felt like a cruel joke from fate.

He noticed how Bryon was now skimming through his things, sliding his hands across the table slightly to find something. He quickly found what he was looking for, it seemed, resuming his practice in utter silence and not leaving space for Lorsan to press a small talk about it, no matter how fast he reacted.   

The words died in his throat before he could even ignite a sound. 

Lorsan’s gaze narrowed in frustration for a moment, leading to a slow blink of resignation right before going back to the book , passing through the pages while he feigned to be focused on his assignment, already solved a while ago.

If it wasn’t for the barely audible pace of Bryon’s breathing, Lorsan couldn’t even notice his presence, sometimes… He found it oddly annoying, but with time, he learned to not pay so much mind to it.

Even so, he couldn’t help but to feel curious about what Bryon was up to, in class and outside of it, even to that day. He still wondered about that day at Moongloss, and about those fleeting meetings at Lunnos, too. Those experiences felt almost like a product of his imagination by now; he preferred to think of them as fever dreams his head had made up. 

Everytime he was at the verge of forgetting, Bryon showed some glimpse of that more loosened-up side of himself, stirring all the memories back to the surface.  

It always went the same way: at first, Lorsan would get startled, his words would stammer for a brief moment —a moment long enough to take notice of, especially due to their own hearing abilities— followed by a witty quip from his part in an attempt to hide his reaction.

Whenever Bryon spoke to Arden in long murmurs, asking questions or corroborating information, Lorsan's ears would instinctively stand up, utterly betraying him and his seemingly indifferent stance.

In the start of their shared time, he tried to be polite and detached, showing proper manners and a respectful distance, but eventually the curiosity became too strong. He found himself seeking every opportunity to chime in, just like in the past. 

And those instances were more than a few; it was embarrassing to admit that managing his impulses was harder than he ever expected.

Still, Bryon remained mostly silent and avoided conversation —or anything that had to do with him— which was uncomfortable in its own way.

Lorsan was alright with that, though. 

He had settled with the idea that simply existing around Bryon was good enough. He was not scared to start from scratch, and certainly not threatened by Bryon’s remarks about how loud he was —it was obvious, and he stood proud by it.

The day Lorsan wholeheartedly agreed with him in a slightly sarcastic, even defiant demeanor, Bryon refrained from saying it as much, which was a positive sign. A silent permission to do as he pleased; to not walk around eggshells around Bryon and show himself as he truly was —a free-spirited, loud wilder.

Bryon still reminded him sometimes, but it didn’t carry the same bite as before.

Despite the lack of engagement, it felt better than it did before, Lorsan thought. There was the occasional word directed at him… and he was not yearning for a voice without a face attached anymore.

That being said, Bryon wore a huge blindfold practically glued to half of his face; a very small detail he got used to forgetting.

Lorsan laughed at himself with a wry smile. He couldn't quite attach a face to those memories after all, even if Bryon was fully present in front of his eyes.

On the other hand, the fact he couldn't get a confirmation for the identity of the wilder behind the whistling still irked him to that day. But what was he truly expecting? It’s elusive Bryon we’re speaking of.

When he decided to glance at Bryon again, he was facing right in his direction.

Lorsan froze for a moment, blinking a few times. It was probably not Bryon’s intention; he was simply following the sound of the passing of pages, but it still looked as if…   

Then, Bryon tilted his head at him in a silent question; a soft chiming of metal followed suit. 

Was Lorsan thinking too loud again? That was probably it —he had stopped speaking for a while by now…

He shook his head profusely, averting his gaze from Bryon’s, hidden beneath the blindfold, and distracted himself with the tall shelves of the room, full of plants and magic potions.

"It's nothing." Lorsan said quickly, moving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Bryon’s lips tensed more than usual, which made Lorsan quirk an eyebrow. But instead of speaking, he simply nodded once instead, and lowered his head back to his conjuring.

Some time passed, and Lorsan was idly casting and dispersing that day’s spell in his own hand out of boredom, all while he flipped through passages and verses of the book, searching for something to read. 

Until he noticed Bryon facing his direction again. 

It was Lorsan's turn to tilt his head now, losing focus of the spell as his curious eyes studied his classmate.

“What is it?” he asked. 

An awkward silence formed, and Bryon’s lips parted.

"...I need help," he replied. 

Bryon's voice came out strained, as if he had been trying to force out those words for a long time.

The plea caught Lorsan off guard —Bryon had never turned to him for help before. Or for anything, really. Had he ever asked for it so directly? He was quite certain he never had.

Lorsan crossed both his legs in his seat, pursing his lips for a moment before uncrossing them and sliding across the bench to sit closer to Bryon, maintaining a comfortable distance.

"Sure, what do you need?" he asked in a low voice as he scratched one of his ears, his full attention on his classmate despite his effort to sound casual.

"I can't get the spell to work right," was Bryon’s flat response.  

“That’s obvious, Bryon,” Lorsan said, rolling his eyes. “Can’t you be a little more specific?” 

“If I could tell, your assistance wouldn’t be needed, don’t you think?” Bryon murmured under his breath.

“Ah, I heard that,” Lorsan mused with mock offense, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “But I suppose you’re not wrong.” 

Observing Bryon’s hands, he noticed the faint glow they emitted —the spell had been cast with the right intent. Yet, it lacked the intensity or power to work properly. 

Lorsan rested his elbows on the table, crossing his arms as a puzzled frown settled in his face. A soft hum filled the silence as he tried to think of possible solutions, but he came up empty-handed.

“It’s strange… I've seen you do it before in class, don’t you remember?”

His eyes lingered on Bryon's golden gauntlet, reflecting the light; his wrist were stiffened from the effort.

“It’s not the first time we’ve studied this charm…” he continued in a light complaint. 

It was only a fleeting moment, but Lorsan could have sworn he heard Bryon laugh —just a dry, ironic scoff, but he’d take it regardless. 

Bryon cleared his throat before speaking.

“Perhaps it occurs to you,” he said in a calm, polite voice, tilting his head at Lorsan, “that, unlike past attempts, this is not the simplified version designed for children to learn… Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Despite the subtle mirth perceived in his tone, his serious expression remained in place. The sarcasm in his words was evident, and Lorsan couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, an amused grin tugging at his lips at the sharp response. 

"You're right, you’re right…” he conceded, raising both hands in surrender. “No need to get angry, you know?"

As he gave Bryon’s words more thought, he conceded that the spell had, in fact, increased in complexity –but not much so. At least, not in his eyes.

Bryon continued with his assignment, and little by little, the faint crackle of storm and electricity gathering in his hand became oddly distracting. Lorsan found himself unable to look away, especially when he noticed how  his classmate’s dominant hand was slightly trembling from exertion now. 

He pondered the idea of stepping in, but making things easier for Bryon wouldn’t do him any favors. In fact, he’d probably hate it if Lorsan took over… the mere thought of intervening was definitely out of the question. 

So he kept his distance, his gaze drifting to Bryon's face instead. 

His hair flowed softly upward at the same pace as his earrings, clinking gently as they moved. His lips were pressed into a thin line in concentration —Lorsan could easily picture the deep frown hidden beneath the blindfold. 

The light from the spell shifted shadows across his features, giving him a clearer glimpse of his profile. 

What kind of nose or eyes did Bryon have? He couldn't remember.

Lorsan leaned on the broad table, resting his head on his hands as he observed Bryon with intent. 

And the spell too. Still unstable and wavering, though brighter than before.

"I'll tell you, it's hard to believe you are struggling with a spell like this…” he commented with a slight pout, “You’ve always been good at magic, right? You seem very skillful, so…”

Lorsan trailed off and a brief silence fell upon them, interrupted by the sound of flowing sparks in the air every so often. The spell was still glowing; his classmate’s hands weren’t quivering as much.

Bryon adjusted his hold on the spell, exhaling softly before he spoke.

"So is that your perception of me." he concluded in a whisper, not facing his classmate. 

The candid, almost curious tone in Bryon’s implied question rang in Lorsan’s ears.

He rested his body on the table, hiding the small, fond smile behind his arms. 

His expression became thoughtful for a moment. Reminiscing of the past wouldn’t be a good idea, but he was thankful Bryon was opening up in his own, convoluted ways. It was his turn to give back. 

But oh, he’d have his fun with it.

“You’re asking me what I think of you? If you really wish to know, I could tell you… Do you have a couple hours to spend?” Lorsan teased him. “If you don’t, maybe I could send you a full fledged message later? We’re still learning, but I think I could manage.” 

With eyes half-lidded and a wicked smile, Lorsan leaned in slightly, his voice full of mischief.

“I know, I’ll message you right when you’re almost asleep!”

At the sight of Bryon’s facade fading into utter regret and tragedy, he burst out in lighthearted laughter. When Bryon’s ears drooped because of the sound, he snorted, laughing even more at the funny sight. 

“I’ll keep it brief, don’t worry,” Lorsan assured him, sighing softly as he wiped a happy tear. “Let’s see...”

As Lorsan thought about how to answer, Bryon’s ears slowly went back to his usual position, perhaps a little more perked up than usual. One of them flickered, making Lorsan’s expression soften ever so slightly. 

“Well, I know for a fact you’d win me in a fight,” Lorsan remarked with an easygoing smile. “And that you hate standing out.”

With a teasing smile, he added. "You still did, though! We're the only ones here, after all."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Bryon's lips, and Lorsan looked in awe — it was probably the first smile Lorsan had seen from him in a long time. Yet, it was hard to tell what he meant with the gesture.

The glow in Bryon’s hands, as well the sound of storm, faded in the air as he decided to rest, lightly massaging his wrists and fingers to relax them. 

The air grew thicker with silence, only interrupted by the faint rain outside.

Bryon's expression slowly turned serious —not the usual kind, Lorsan thought. His fingers lingered on his palm for a moment. 

“I wonder why, sometimes,” Bryon murmured with an unusual hesitation,  turning towards the wide window that softly illuminated the room.

Lorsan slowly moved closer to him, making his presence known by the purposeful rustling of clothes and the creaking of the bench, intrigued and concerned all the same by the sudden quiver in his voice.

"Why’d you stand out? Why did Grandpa choose you? Why do I think you’re skillful…?" Lorsan asked all at once, his brow furrowing in an evident confusion that grew stronger as he tried to understand what he meant.

Bryon's soft laugh echoed in the room, and Lorsan’s ears stretched up in a tremble. His classmate turned his focus back to him; the smile replacing his previously stern expression was unmistakable. 

“All of the above.” He said in an airy voice, his posture relaxing, his thumb running at his sore wrist almost as if fidgeting.

Was Bryon seriously prompting him to continue speaking? Let alone about topics like these? Lorsan blinked in bewilderment, suddenly feeling pushed back into a corner. 

“...Did you get hit on the head or something?” he asked, half joking.

“No,” was Bryon’s simple reply.

Lorsan needed to gather his thoughts. How much was he allowed to say? How could he find the correct words to continue the conversation without letting his feelings run too deep? 

He ran a hand through his hair as an uncertain sound left his body without realizing.

“Why do you stand out…” he repeated, his tone thoughtful. “I guess you come across as calm and collected… mysterious to others, maybe? Can’t really say. But you are surprisingly quick-witted despite how little you speak —that’s cool.”

Taking Bryon’s silence as a cue to continue, Lorsan steeled himself to answer the next question. 

“I didn't see you struggle much in class either, and you even got your weapon way before most of us… So, in my mind, that makes you pretty skilled,” he added.

At the lack of response, Lorsan scratched his cheek in a sheepish gesture.

“So yeah,” he said, his words stumbling slightly. “With that and this… aloof, stiff —whatever it is you’ve got going on— it’s only natural people wonder about you.”

Perhaps he had said too much; speaking from an experience so close to home, it made his heart ache a little. He couldn’t help but pout in frustration, biting back the loud including me that nearly slipped out. He needed to backtrack, quickly.

“But,” Lorsan cooed, forcing nonchalance as he playfully raised his hand, “after getting to know you better, I’d say you’re almost as unapproachable and inexpressive as you look.”

His voice didn’t waver, but his words felt too forced, coming out louder than expected. Perhaps a subconscious attempt to drown out his own thoughts and stop Bryon from putting two and two together. 

The moment he sensed Bryon’s infuriating smirk threatening to show, he slightly panicked, forcing himself to keep talking.

“And about the last question, well…”

Lorsan shrugged at Bryon, who tilted his head at the faint sound. 

“I have the same exact doubts about myself,” Lorsan said with a huff, stretching his legs as he gazed forward, back to the shelves, “Why did Grandpa choose me , clueless as I am.”

He let out a wry laugh and then paused, slightly losing track of what he was saying.

Bryon listened intently, turning his body in Lorsan’s direction, his knee resting on the bench. Lorsan didn’t notice. Instead, he went on.

“But you have to trust in Master Arden ,” he said with mock reverence, only to turn softer at the end, adding a low, “He probably saw something in you.”

His words came out far more heartfelt than what he was going for, but he wouldn’t backtrack this time. 

Turning his head to seek Bryon, he found him right at his side, their faces meeting. Lorsan wondered if he was even aware of it. If so, he didn’t seem to mind. 

He gazed elsewhere anyway, merely out of respect. 

Then, Bryon crossed an arm in a serene gesture, leaning slightly towards him, closer to his ear.

“You’re not clueless,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Also, I’m not as good of a mage or windwhisperer as you might think.”

A small smile hovered on Bryon’s lips again when he sensed Lorsan leaning in even closer, as if afraid the words might slip away.

"You, on the other hand,” he continued, “have an extraordinary talent for it. You should take pride in it."

A sudden shiver ran down Lorsan's spine; he didn't dare look at Bryon, even with his mask on. 

Was it foolish to feel so flustered by such a simple statement? He was at a loss for words and felt hot around his collar, his thoughts getting all tangled.

“Come on, you don't need to say such nice things,” he blurted out, his hand impatiently rubbing his neck despite his efforts to keep still. “I wasn’t expecting a compliment back or—”

"I mean it."

Bryon's voice was so heartfelt that Lorsan's throat felt like closing. 

He stood still, unsure how to react or what to say. An honest response? A silly one? A smug one? What would be best? 

The answer wasn’t needed,  as Bryon added a teasing, even playful, remark.

"However, you still have a lot to improve on, in a lot of different areas."

Lorsan opened his mouth in indignation, immediately seeking to retort, but it didn’t last for long. The offense died on his tongue as soon as he caught Bryon's smirk, giving him mixed signals again.

He opted to hold back the speech he had already prepared in his head, and instead leaned on the table with an elbow, rested his face in the back of his hand and gave Bryon a cheeky smile in response. 

His eyes narrowed, glinting with a mix of mirth and irritation. Sometimes Bryon would surprise him with that bold attitude of his, especially at unexpected moments. 

But Lorsan wouldn't let him get into his skin that easily.

"You have a weird way of praising people, Bryon,” he concluded with a teasing smile and a sarcastic tone. “Pretty endearing , I must say.”

“Credit where credit’s due,” Bryon replied, his smile widening ever so slightly.

Lorsan couldn’t help but let out an airy chuckle that filled the space around them.  

“I'll take it, I suppose…” he said with a low sigh, “Now let's get back to the spell, shall we?"

Bryon nodded and corrected his posture, focusing on his hands again. 

He recited the spell again in an almost inaudible voice, and wind and lightning would gather in his hands again. The short rest had helped him –the conjuring began to glow in full force— but the enchantment soon faded back to its previous form. 

A muffled groan escaped Bryon’s lips, clearly frustrated but trying to maintain his composure. Lorsan couldn’t help but snicker at his reaction. 

Soon after, Lorsan’s body straightened as well, his gaze drifting to the textbook beside them —opened right where the instructions for the magic at work were described. He pulled the book closer to him and leaned it, grazing his finger through the verses as he absentmindedly read them aloud. 

He hummed with curiosity, his eyes still on the book. 

“First of all, are you even reciting the spell properly?” Lorsan commented, turning to see Bryon. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

Lorsan’s hand reached out to lightly tap at Bryon’s blindfold; a hollow, wood-like sound echoed in the room. 

Bryon flinched slightly, losing his focus and raising his hand up his face, wary fingers rubbing where Lorsan had touched. The spell vanished in a warm breeze, mingling with the air between them as some strands of their hair raised and fell slowly. 

When Bryon opened his mouth to speak, Lorsan was taken aback for a moment.

“I learned it from memory, Lorsan,” he said in an unusual, bothered tone as he adjusted his blindfold in place. “Master Arden's words are enough.”

“Is that so?” Lorsan replied, mock disbelief lacing his words. 

His hand moved to his chin, fingers grazing his lips while he watched Bryon, his own laughter barely contained.

All of these new glimpses of Bryon’s character felt like an ache in his chest —close to longing, perhaps. One that he had sworn not to chase again. But he was having so much fun with it!

He felt tempted to keep crossing boundaries, to close the gaps between them... 

But as he grew older, he became increasingly afraid of ruining things. Especially good, fragile ones, like this one —he should know better by now and not repeat the same mistakes. 

Hopefully.

He decided to set his thoughts aside and continue voicing his insights about Bryon’s spellcasting.

“If that is the case, and you’re pronouncing and pacing your words correctly,” Lorsan said, slowly using his hands to articulate, “I’d say enunciation, fluency, modulation… All of that is important. We’ve talked about it in class before, I’m pretty sure.” 

Bryon couldn’t really see his gestures, but they helped him feel more at ease. Soon enough, his hands moved their own, delving about every kind of rhetoric and oratory technique that could be applied, emphasizing the details with great intent, wondering aloud if Bryon was perhaps overlooking something important. 

Surprisingly, Bryon seemed attentive and didn’t complain once. His ears were even perked in Lorsan’s direction. He wasn’t moving a muscle —only nodding from time to time. He looked… focused? Overwhelmed? 

“Sorry, am I going too fast?” Lorsan asked, interrupting himself.

“Yes,” Bryon replied. “But I can manage; go on.” 

Lorsan complied with a thoughtful nod, resuming his explanation. His thoughts drifted to anecdotes here and there, yet the small lecture slowly began wrapping up into a conclusion.

"To sum it up, we should skip the details! Forget I said anything; the most important thing is this,” he stated, pausing for dramatic effect. “You have to declare it with purpose !”

Of course, this wasn’t actually the most important thing for windwhispering —but Lorsan thought it wouldn’t hurt to tease Bryon a bit.

“It’s an absolute necessity! To proclaim every word for all the world to hear,” he went on, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. 

Then, with a defiant smirk, he slowly added,  “Loud and clear; no muttering allowed.”  

Bryon’s lips pressed into a thin line, disbelief flickering across his face. At the sight, Lorsan nodded, adding a playful ‘Mhm’ to confirm Bryon’s suspicions.

For Lorsan, however, it was only a silly excuse to hear Bryon’s version of shouting. 

He wanted to push him into a corner as well, and he didn’t care if it was obvious anymore. He was far more interested in seeing how Bryon would react. 

His classmate shifted slightly in his seat, probably thinking of a clever way to excuse himself. But given how dutiful Bryon was, he wouldn’t abandon Arden’s assignment that easily.

To Lorsan’s surprise, Bryon shook his head lightly, corrected his posture and raised his hands in a sharp, deliberate motion… Much more purposeful than previous attempts.

That’s when it hit him: Bryon was actually going to do it.

Did he really take the bait? Was he seriously going to attempt yelling?!

Bryon cleared his throat, as if steeling himself, and guilt suddenly creeped into his Lorsan’s chest. He tried to speak against it, but words refused to come.

The moment Bryon inhaled —right at the brink of pronouncing his spell again— Lorsan lunged forward. 

His chest hit the table as his hand reached out, clasping Bryon’s in a wobbly grip. Both flinched from the surge of faint shocks across their skin from the spell interrupting, but Lorsan held on, regardless.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" He blurted in a hasty tumble of words, squeezing Bryon's hands tightly.

Bryon startled, his body freezing in place. A few more 'waits' escaped Lorsan’s lips, almost as if he had run out of other words. His forehead hovered just above their clasped hands as he scrambled for what to say next.

The tension on Bryon’s fingers eased slowly; his hands almost yielding against Lorsan’s lingering hold, if only for a moment.

A sheepish smile spread on Lorsan's face, his tone apologetic. 

"...I was just messing with you," he said with a nervous laugh, followed by a quiet, “Sorry about that.”

Releasing his classmate’s hands, he sat back and held to the bench instead, consciously putting more space between them. 

For a brief moment, one of Bryon's hands twitched forward in a reflex —almost as if reaching out— but they immediately curled into loose fists instead, resting them on his knees instead.

The silence fell between them, filled only by the sound of fading raindrops in the distance.

Bryon’s head tilted slightly, and in a self-soothing gesture, his fingers grazed over his temple, adjusting his blindfold into place. 

A blush crept beneath it, the faint sunlight making the warmth in his face more visible.

Lorsan blinked, getting caught by surprise.

The gesture felt so personal, so unguarded… He couldn’t help but find it endearing.

But as soon the thought crossed his mind, his ears drooped with embarrassment –he was being nosy again. Worse yet, his heart was aching with remorse; his teasing had let him into uncharted territory, and now he wasn’t sure how to lighten up the mood.

Bryon still seemed stunned while his hands went to rest on his lap; his mouth sealed shut, not daring to say a word. 

Lorsan was getting restless just from the sight, feeling how his tail began to tremble from anxiety.

He desperately wanted to get closer and comfort Bryon, but he had already messed up big time –did Bryon even like to be touched in moments like these? Or at all? Maybe what had happened was already way past limits. 

With no better option, he clinged to his last resort: rambling and drowning in apologies.

“It’s totally my fault, not yours! I thought it’d be fun to… hear you speak louder, you know? Since I’ve never —I mean, I can’t even imagine how you sound when you shout! Do you even… know how?” 

At the realization his mumbled confession slowly turned into a conspiratorial murmur, Lorsan shook his head, correcting voice to normal volume.. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to speak louder to do magic —that doesn’t have anything to do with the force of the spell,” he admitted in an embarrassed flurry of words. “That's my way to make it work, and you know I can be quite dramatic…” 

Lorsan trailed off as a rueful smile spread across his face, warmth creeping into his neck. He was ashamed, yes, but this was not about him. He cut himself off before a self-deprecating monologue could take place, careful not to deflect.

Instead, his gaze dropped to his own hands, reaching for one of the last feathers in Bryon’s cyanplume cloak, grazing it with hesitant fingers.

“Everyone’s different,” he murmured gently, “And I like the differences.”

The words lingered in the air, drifting away through the room in an echo. 

Lorsan fell silent, unsure what else to say to lift the spirits. 

A soft clink of metal reached his ears. When he searched for his classmate's expression again, he was caught off guard —Bryon was smiling once more.

Faint, intriguing; perhaps to himself? He couldn’t keep guessing; in the next moment, the smile disappeared behind Bryon’s gauntlet, the blush slowly fading from his face.

With a gentle release of the cloak, Lorsan let out a quiet sigh of relief. Somehow, his rambling had worked.

“Your thoughts are so transparent…” Bryon mused, his voice laced with suppressed laughter.  “They are just like a brook.”

Lorsan quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Pardon? A brook ?” he repeated in a mock scoff, a playful smile on his lips.

Bryon gave him a nod as his posture relaxed.

“No pretense or hidden currents. Easy to follow.”

“What’s with that comparison?” Lorsan replied with a laugh, slowly shaking his head in disbelief.

He looked Bryon up and down, quickly delving in his mind to find the exact words to retort.

“If so, then yours are like morning dew! So hard to see —by the time you notice, they’re already gone.”

Lorsan paused, and then continued, as if reconsidering.

“No, wait—I stand corrected,” he said, reaching for the end of his staff and pulling it closer. “They’re more like meltwater … So refreshing and direct, yet impossible to grasp.”

A soft snicker filled Lorsan’s ears, making them perk up.  

“I can’t believe you’re making poetry out of this,” Bryon remarked, his words ending in a quiet sigh.

“Hey, you started it! Don’t blame me now.” Lorsan replied, shrugging with a self-satisfied smile.

“...An ever-flowing, constant stream,” Bryon mused again. “Do you even know where you’re going when speaking?”

A grin spread across Lorsan’s face, his eyes glinting with amusement. 

“See? Don’t tell me you’re not secretly enjoying it.”

The ghost of Bryon’s smile lingered, as his focus drifted back to his hands, his fingers gently rubbing together.

“Perhaps, you’re not entirely wrong,” Bryon conceded, his thumb running in his palm, his hand closing and opening into a soft fist, stretching his fingers with caution. 

Lorsan made a confused sound and paused.

"...About what, now?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in evident confusion —he couldn’t quite guess what Bryon was referring to.

"About trying to adjust my volume and improve my diction," Bryon explained in a flat voice, still focused on his hands. “I’ll take the recommendation.”

Lorsan raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

Was Bryon really considering his advice? He searched for something grateful to say, but his throat felt dry. 

Behind his initial intent to provoke Bryon, there had been truth in his words: believing in what you say with intent truly helped in the summoning process. It wasn’t something you could rationalize—you had to just feel it . 

He had tried countless times to convey this to others, but more often than not, he failed in doing so. Without intending, his explanations always sounded like relentless blabbering —mostly because of his tendency to delve too deep and drift away while speaking, he supposed.

 After enough times, he had simply made a habit out of brushing off his own long-winded speeches with superficial chatter. 

Lorsan didn't want to feel so touched —or flustered— that his suggestion was actually being taken seriously. He certainly wasn't used to it, let alone from Bryon, of all wilders.

One hand reached for the wooden staff beside him, idly playing with its leaves.

"It's not about yelling or being pompous with your words," Lorsan reassured in a sheepish murmur. 

He plucked the floating sphere of the staff from its orbit, and let the faint jolts of electricity dance across his skin, adding with a confident voice:

"Just ask with kindness at a proper volume, and the wind will probably listen to you."

Bryon’s lips relaxed, even parting for a moment. Lorsan waited for him to speak, but his lips closed just as quickly without a word slipping. With a small smile, Lorsan rested his free arm on the table again, his eyes glinting playfully at Bryon. 

Seizing the opportunity, he chimed in.

“Besides,” he told him with a carefree tone surrounding his voice, “the echoes in this place are so loud, I’d welcome hearing something other than my own voice for a change.”

A quiet laugh escaped Bryon, easing the tension.

“I see. Thank you,” he said in agreement.

The sound of Bryon's warm voice filled the room, a touch louder this time.

Lorsan felt a flutter in his chest, the exact words and tone spoken so reminiscent of stolen glimpses of lost, overheard conversations.

“No problem,” Lorsan replied, absentmindedly.

He didn't want to sound as moved as he did, though... 

In an effort to downplay his emotions, he forced an easygoing tone before commenting, “Consider it a favor; you owe me, now.”

Bryon played along, nodding slightly. The stretch of his hands eased, the touch lingering longer than ever. His fingers almost intertwined, as if deep in thought. 

Lorsan tilted his head closer, searching for Bryon’s face with curiosity —until a sound from outside startled them both. Lorsan instinctively held the sphere with both hands, afraid of dropping it, while Bryon’s head snapping toward the source of the noise. 

A falcon was patiently tapping at the window glass in a rhythmic pattern, asking permission to enter the room. 

"Elona?" Bryon said, standing up from his seat, “What are you doing here?”

Lorsan blinked at the shift in Bryon’s voice —warmer, softer; happier than he’d heard in a long time. Intrigued, he followed the other’s steps.

As Bryon got closer to the window, his hands slid through the seams of the window, unlatched them without hesitation, letting the bird inside. 

A crisp breeze of air flowed and clung to their skin, renewing Lorsan’s senses.

The wind went wild as the falcon spread her wings, circling the room before perching on Bryon’s gauntlet. She trilled once, and Bryon stroked her feathers with his free hand. 

Lorsan, who had begun to twisting around in the bench to stand, found himself sidetracked for a moment, his gaze locked onto something else entirely: the sight of Bryon’s open smile as he greeted Elona.

It felt like an unexpected gift, meant for his eyes only.

Lorsan got so distracted, he didn’t realize he was floating —just a few inches off his seat— until a sudden zap from the orb shocked him with electricity. He made a small sound of pain, and Bryon’s ears twitched as he turned slightly, tilting his head to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his lingering smile still welcoming; a hint of teeth still visible in that rare, genuine expression.

Lorsan wondered if his eyes were smiling, too. 

But he soon forced himself to speak, averting the awkward silence from forming.

“I… yeah!” he blurted, too nervous to think of a better answer. “Yeah…”

He remained suspended in the air, orb in hand, unable to look away. 

How much longer until the old geezer came back? Because right now, he had no idea how to get his feet back on the ground.