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A student being entirely stripped of their magical aptitude by a mysterious illness, the sudden death of the Lyceum's headmaster, and the immediate suspension of the Court Mage Selection Exam. All of this weighed heavily on the minds of those who attended, putting an abrupt and indefinite pause to all that they had been working towards.
Gervan, though adept at maintaining his composure, was not exempt from this circumstance. It had been hours since all of these unfortunate events unfolded, with the day even nearing its end. And yet, the gruesome scenery continued to replay within his mind, looping with no less detail than the experience itself—transporting him back to the day it actually happened.
He had promised Silven space. It was unlike him to crave solitude, but his role in the chain of events that unfolded today was prominent. He was distressed. They all were. But even so, he was not the one to blame—this much Gervan would swear by. This much he knew. More than anyone else, he knew Silven was innocent. He knew that he was, because he himself wasn't.
It felt as if his mistakes were haunting him. The universe was mocking him for his crimes and testing his resolve, projecting the guilt of his sins onto someone he cared about.
Gervan was unable to get the sentiment of innocence through Silven's head earlier without revealing his own involvement, but after seeking some insight from the new transfer student, he was willing to give it another try.
Or, perhaps if he was fortunate enough, he wouldn't have to try at all. Maybe the time Silven had spent alone was enough for him to reflect on what happened and realize his own purity. His spirit was not easily broken, so seeing him as shaken up as he was had Gervan worried.
He told him that he'd meet up with him at dinner time. It was a bit earlier than that by the time Gervan found himself back at the dorms, but he had run out of distractions to provide himself. Idle chatter in the gallery could only carry him so far—especially when everyone could only talk about the obvious. And though he could always just retreat into his own room for a while, checking in on Silven was at the forefront of his thoughts. He wanted to make sure he was alright, and reassure him that he didn't have to work through this grief alone if he didn't want to. Gervan certainly didn't, but he wasn't going to force his company onto Silven if he didn't want it.
He leaned forward to knock on the door. “Silven?” he called out, lowering his hand back onto his chair's armrest as he waited for a response.
Under normal circumstances, a reply would be immediate. Silven would open the door with a smile, telling him that he didn't need to knock and that he was allowed to just come right in whenever he wanted to. Gervan would argue that it's the polite thing to do, and Silven would refute with a claim that if he didn't want company, the door would be locked.
But tonight, circumstances were far from normal, so Gervan could forgive the long, almost worrying pause that followed his knock. Part of him wondered if Silven would answer at all, and his gaze had lowered in thought by the time he heard the sound of the doorknob twisting on the other side. Once the door was finally opened, he raised his head in attention.
On the other side, Silven looked at him with a tired smile, an uncharacteristic air of melancholy surrounding him. He was no longer wearing his academy robe, likely a sign that he intended to stay in for the night. Interestingly enough, he didn't have his monocle on either. However, the reason why became immediate to Gervan as he realized the complexion of his face was flushed, with reddened eyes and cheeks that glistened under the light suggesting recent tears.
He'd been crying.
Gervan offered him a kind, familiar smile in response to his own. There was no point in bringing attention to the obvious. He'd tread carefully.
“Hello,” he greeted. “I hope you don't mind me stopping by a bit earlier than I said I would.”
“Oh—no, not at all,” Silven assured him, first with an expressive shake of his head, then a nod, taking a step to the side to reveal his room. “Come in, Gervan.”
“Thank you,” he replied with a nod of his own, moving forward.
Once inside, Silven shut the door behind him. “Honestly, you could've come sooner if you wanted to. I didn't mean to be so reclusive earlier,” he started, walking over to a nearby desk. Gervan watched as he picked up the monocle that was missing from his person, placing it back in front of his right eye. He blinked a few times to adjust before turning his attention back to him. “Being alone at a time like this probably wasn't the smartest move anyway, so I'm sorry for that.”
Gervan shook his head, but a part of him was relieved by the sentiment that his presence was an anticipated one. “I told you, you don't have to apologize for that. You're allowed to be left alone if that's what you want,” he insisted. As he spoke, he moved further into the room, positioning his chair beside a small, ornate sofa that Silven kept in his dorm—a silent invitation to sit beside him, if he so pleased.
As if he had the same idea, Silven immediately walked over, seating himself on the cushion directly next to him. “Oh, I can move this if you want to sit here too,” he was quick to offer, picking up and raising his discarded robe from the other side. “I can help you up.”
Honestly, Gervan hadn't even noticed that it was there. “Thank you, but I'm fine like this for now,” he said with a smile, watching as Silven set it back down.
“Alright, suit yourself.”
His legs ached, but this wasn't any sort of revelation. With severe nerve damage and the absence of any motor function, this had been his reality far longer than it wasn't. But having recently gotten a taste of a life where he didn't have to feel like this constantly, the contrast he experienced between the two states was stark. However, the treatment he had accepted was fickle. Dangerous. Corrupting. And with that dark magic not currently in use and lying dormant, begging for him to embrace what it could do, he felt an almost constant pull towards it. It taunted him, offering a relief that would never permanently be his, and that had already come with irreversible consequences.
Headmaster Leymar was perhaps one of the last people who deserved death. Guilt surrounding this tragedy ate away at Gervan's core, but what was done was done. It was even finalized now, thanks to Silven's little disruptor mishap, but he still wasn't sure how the body had even been reanimated in the first place. His connections in the Syndicate purposely kept him in the dark about this. When he saw Leymar again after his death, upright and speaking, a part of him had hoped it was all just a bad dream.
“By the way, how are you feeling now?” Gervan questioned softly, his thoughts returning to Silven's misplaced guilt. “If you don't mind me asking, that is,” he was quick to add.
Silven forced out a chuckle, adjusting his position so that he was facing Gervan, leaning his side against the sofa's back. Nothing about it looked comfortable. “Still terrible,” he admitted with fabricated casualness. “Um—I really don't think I'll be able to eat anything tonight.” He blinked, his gaze lowering briefly in thought. “I've still got that… scene in my head.”
Gervan nodded. He could practically feel another apology hanging in the air. Unspoken, yet present through tone and body language. “I understand, Silven. If it makes you feel any better, I don't think we can go to Holt Street right now anyway,” he pointed out, hoping to ease his mind a bit with this information.
“Oh, right,” Silven whispered in realization, grimacing at the idea of having to settle for cafeteria food while they were restricted to Lyceum boundaries.
It wasn't the worst food by any means, but Gervan hailed from a background that resulted in pickier, more exorbitant preferences. Holt Street was a bazaar, with food stalls that allowed them to indulge in their more expensive tastes. And being that dinner together was an almost nightly ritual of theirs, Silven had grown accustomed to this habit alongside him. It worked out.
Just not tonight.
“It's fine. I don't have much of an appetite myself,” Gervan added.
Silven's gaze quickly snapped back up to meet his own. “You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?” he accused.
Gervan shrugged. “Can't two things be true at the same time?”
Silven huffed out a chuckle. “Well, I guess. What about your mana though?” he interrogated. “You were caught in the… the disruptor. Eating something would help with that.”
The realization that Silven was plagued about far more than just the headmaster's death dawned on Gervan. This was the most obvious of his woes, but having time to be alone in his head probably gave him a whole load of connections to worry over.
“That was hours ago, Silven. I'm fine.”
Silven nodded. “I know it was—I know you are. It's just…” His gaze fell once more as he trailed off, his tone losing its trained confidence, and his cadence quivering. “If it was enough to… hurt the headmaster, then…”
The idea of a confession was briefly entertained, even if just for the sake of convincing Silven of his own innocence. But the conflict this would create in turn would be troublesome, and Gervan was in no position to challenge the plans of those who had offered him his treatment. He already messed that up enough by panicking at the headmaster’s confrontation. If there was any way he could see this whole thing through to the end, he had to.
But he didn’t want it to affect Silven. And already, it was.
“Hey,” Gervan interrupted, demanding Silven's attention and lifting his gaze with a stern tone. “Whatever that was—it wasn't you. You know this.”
Another nod, followed by a beat of silence. “Okay,” he quietly acknowledged. It didn't seem like agreement. It felt like appeasement. “And you…”
Gervan let out a soft sigh. “Are fine,” he insisted. He even gave him a smile. “The arcane disruptor was a bit disorienting, that's all. You don't need to add worrying about me to the list of things going on right now.”
Silven didn't look convinced.
“Here,” Gervan continued, lifting his hands towards himself. Silven's gaze was locked on him as he removed a glove and reached out, offering him his bare hand. “Check for yourself.”
Silven glanced down at his palm. “I believe you,” he said quietly, shaking his head.
Gervan didn't move. “No, you don't.”
And even if he did, Gervan would still insist. If anything, it would be an opportunity to grant him some clarity and realize just how little damage the disruptor, and subsequently Silven himself, was truly responsible for.
A smile pulled at Silven's lips, amused by Gervan's insistence. Wordlessly, he removed one of his own gloves, setting it on his lap before reaching out and taking Gervan's hand in his own, closing his eyes. It wasn't necessary, but it helped with concentration.
An arcanic connection formed between them as Gervan allowed for his mana to be tapped into, feeling the pull of Silven's own magic against the warmth of his hand. The essence of it felt spunky and lively, much like the person it belonged to, and its presence washed over him like a blanket, bringing him a wave of comfort.
It was nice.
After a moment, Silven opened his eyes, a look of mild concern taking over his expression. Clearly his experience had been different than Gervan's. “You were right,” he mused hesitantly, meeting his gaze. With a squeeze of his hand, he added, “but it feels… different?”
Gervan blinked, giving him a quizzical look. Immediately, he suspected that he knew exactly why Silven felt that way, but he hadn't anticipated it to be noticeable. Still, he knew him well enough to assume that he wouldn't actively be searching for dark magic, so he didn't panic. He remained still. He would let him be the one to retreat when he was ready.
“What do you mean?” he simply asked. It hurt to feign ignorance like this.
“Your magic,” Silven started. “Mana levels are fine, like you said, but it feels kind of… cold?” he guessed, searching for a way to describe how this coalescence of their mana felt on his end. “Could that be an effect of the disruptor?” he mused, pulling his hand away and severing their connection.
Gervan shrugged, retreating his own hand in turn. “I'm not sure,” he replied, putting his glove back on. “Perhaps I'm getting sick, and you simply caught it early?” he offered, expanding the list of conclusions Silven could jump to. “I suppose I could check in with Professor Solise if that were the case, but I feel fine, and she's already got quite a lot on her plate after today's events.”
Silven nodded in agreement. “Yeah… Let's hope it's not that.” He looked down at his hand, still ungloved, and flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist.
“Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it will pass,” Gervan stated confidently, his attention falling to Silven's hand. “And Silven, I apologize if that was uncomfortable for you—I wasn't aware it would feel different.”
“Oh—no, it's okay!” Silven was quick to insist, immediately looking back up. “You said you feel fine, so you couldn't have known!” he exclaimed. “It was just—a bit strange, I guess,” he finished, finally putting his glove back on.
“Okay,” Gervan said quietly.
He kept his gaze trained on Silven's expression for a few brief moments. Under the guise of concern, he searched for signs of suspicion, but was presented with nothing but confusion. Silven was oblivious to the truth, and Gervan intended to keep it that way. Not out of malice, but out of fear. Fear of what he might think—fear of putting him in danger.
Fear of losing him.
“Hey,” Silven started, snapping Gervan out of his thoughts. “Do you maybe want to stay the night?” he asked, looking at him with an almost pleading expression. “I mean, I don't know about you, but I doubt I'm sleeping tonight, and with a murderer on the loose, maybe being alone isn't a good idea? I'm pretty sure Pippa and Cassadee are bunking up alr—”
“Silven,” Gervan interrupted softly, smiling in response to his ramble. “The academy is heavily guarded, now more than ever before. I promise that nothing will happen to us,” he explained calmly.
Silven nodded, his gaze lowering in perceived rejection.
Gervan wasn't blind to the irony of Silven's words either. Saying that the killer was still at large, and suggesting keeping each other company because of this. It was almost funny.
“But,” he continued, “I agree that company is better during a time like this. If not for safety, then for… companionship,” he settled on with a smile. Truthfully, he didn't want Silven alone with his thoughts, and he didn't want to be alone either.
Silven looked up at him with a much more in-character expression—hopeful eyes and a beaming smile. “So you'll stay?”
Gervan nodded. “I'll stay. We should at least try to get some rest though,” he advised. “Tomorrow could make for a long day otherwise.”
Silven laughed. “I think it's going to be a long day anyway.”