[Infinity's End] The Break of Day 01-06

[n_wilkinson]

a/n: I'm throwing this up here before I have to be a work all day, so I do hope everyone enjoys! Happy April Fool's Day!

Title: The Break of Day
Series: Infinity's End, Prequel
Summary: A friendship that takes everyone by surprise slowly evolves into a deeper bond as Azriel, illegitimate son of the house Celestine, and Kieran, heir to the house Azura, throw themselves into the heart of a building altercation that explodes into an all out revolution.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20)

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Part One: Chapter Six
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November 14th, 1978

They didn't share any classes. That didn't stop Kieran from finding Azriel in between them or whenever he had a free moment. Nor did it keep Kieran from walking Azriel to his next lecture after lunch or meeting up with him after his last one for the day. In fact, the only time Kieran seemed interested in halting his still stalker-like behavior was when he was distracted by Souya.

Azriel was used to it by now. Now was no exception. He stepped out of his last class for the day – Mathematical Theory, the one where he had to ask a first year for help embarrassingly enough. And there Kieran was, leaning against the wall as he chatted with Isley. All thoughts of slipping to the side, perhaps making a quiet escape, fell by the wayside as Kieran's stalker-senses started tingling and his gaze immediately swung Azriel's direction. His eyes lit up, proverbial puppy tail wagging behind him as he grinned.

Honestly, how could anyone resist someone who was generally pleased to see them every time? Azriel wasn't sure he wanted to meet someone whose heart was cold enough to completely ignore a person like Kieran. They’d probably steal candy from a child and kick small animals. It was all about the same level of evil.

“Azriel!”

A cheerful wave, a brighter smile. Kieran didn't seem to care that other students were spilling into the hallway because he fought his way through the crowd to latch himself to Azriel's side.

“You waited for me again, I see,” the brunet commented, but it was with good humor. He inclined his head at Harper Isley. “Good afternoon.”

She lifted a hand. “Afternoon. I was just keeping Kieran company while he waited, but I'm going now.”

Azriel blinked at that for a second.

“See you later then,” he replied.

But Harper had already turned away, merging into the crowd of students eagerly fleeing toward the massive double doors. Fridays always invited that response.

“Of course I waited,” Kieran said then. He steered him toward the opposite end of the hall where it was less crowded and they wouldn't have to fight for freedom.

Azriel also strongly suspected that Kieran wanted another trip to Shian and his favorite bakery; that was probably why he wanted to leave from the east end instead of the west. As unpredictable as Kieran could be, it was occasionally easy to guess his intentions. And well, by now Azriel had come to learn his addictions as well. Cinnamon was one of many.

“You don't have to work today, do you?” the blond questioned with a glance Azriel’s direction.

“No.” He felt his lips twitch toward a smile. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”

Kieran laughed in a far too mischievous manner. “Perhaps. How’d you feel about a little trip into Stonewall?”

Stonewall.

The very thought of it made Azriel's gut churn. He'd never stepped foot in that region of Grayshire, where only the highest and wealthiest resided. Asher and Adair, his uncles, had a mansion in there. So did Azriel’s father for that matter. It was a place that Azriel himself didn't belong, never wanted to belong, and saw no reason to ever visit.

Until now, of course. Trust Kieran to be the one to turn things on their head.

“To do what?” he asked, hoping that the uneasiness he felt didn't come through in his voice. He didn't want to be so transparent, but something about Kieran invited honesty.

“What do you think?” the younger teen said and nudged him with his shoulder, schoolbag swinging from his other arm. “To meet my mother! It's only fair, right?”

Azura manor in the middle of Stonewall. It didn't sound inviting at all, but Kieran seemed so damned eager, so hopeful that Azriel couldn’t say no. He wondered if Kieran even understood how much of a bad idea this was, if he even realized the consequences. But then, if Kieran didn't care about the whispers and the rumors their friendship invoked now, perhaps he wouldn't worry about the inevitable backlash.

“I suppose.”

Azriel pushed open the double doors, and he and Kieran stepped into a brisk afternoon. One that nipped at every inch of exposed skin with a stern reminder that a snow-covered winter was soon to come.

“So?” Kieran posed.

“So what?”

“Will you come or not?”

The blond sounded eager, excited even. Like he didn’t care at all what this meant or what it to lead to. But Azriel hesitated.

“I--”

“Hadley!”

He whirled as his name was bellowed across the empty courtyard, smaller than the main one in front of building but still an open space that the students enjoyed. Azriel recognized the voice. Hard not to considering how often it had growled one admonition or another at him. But seeing the confirmation was even worse. Instructor Holmes stepped out of a smaller building of classrooms and stormed their direction with an intent scowl on his lined face that never boded well for Azriel's health or mental wellbeing.

He would be aching tonight. Something he didn’t doubt at all.

“Yes, sir?” Azriel said, perfectly polite, perfectly subservient, as served his station.

It never worked with Holmes though. The old man looked right past Azriel's behavior with a sneer and a well of hatred that had no rational explanation. Nonetheless, Azriel preferred not to take chances when he already knew the inevitable outcome.

Nothing he ever did would please Holmes, so Azriel didn't bother to try. It wasn’t worth the effort

Angry eyes flashed at Azriel without a hint of mercy. “Your performance in my class today was pathetic as well as sloppy.”

Azriel fought not to twitch as Holmes moved into touching range. But somehow, he kept his body under control.

“I apologize, sir.” He tipped his head in a shallow bow, one meant to accord respect but only as much as was required. “I shall practice more in the future.”

“You'll practice now,” Holmes retorted, voice edging towards a growl. “I expect to see you in the field in five minutes. Don’t make me wait.” He turned away, words command more than suggestion as though fully expecting to be obeyed.

Azriel's head snapped up, and outrage flashed through him that Holmes thankfully couldn’t see.

“Sir--”

“No arguments, Hadley,” Holmes retorted, flipping a hand over his shoulder as he didn't bother to look back. “You should consider yourself lucky that I'm spending my free time tutoring such a useless boy.”

He could read between the lines. Technically, a teacher couldn't force a student to attend extra lessons, but the rules never really applied to Azriel. Except when they did. Holmes could do pretty much anything he wanted, and no one would say anything. He could get Azriel expelled with only the shadow of a legitimate reason. Azriel knew that his uncles would stand up for him, would fight it, but he was loathe to place that on their shoulders.

Azriel had to take care of things himself.

He bit back a sigh and several nasty mutterings. He bowed shallowly again.

“Yes, sir. I'll be there shortly.”

Holmes response came in the form of a dissatisfied grunt, but at least he kept any further comments to himself. Which only meant he was saving them to belittle Azriel later, once his special “tutoring” began. Which was essentially an excuse for Holmes to bat Azriel around under the guise of teaching.

“Hmph.” Kieran’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Holmes' back. “Well, that kills my plans.” He tilted his head, glancing over at Azriel. “You're not that bad at combat. What's his issue?”

This time, Azriel allowed himself to sigh but only once the old teacher was out of earshot. “I don't meet his exacting standards for attending this institution.” He gave Kieran an apologetic look. “I'm sorry. It seems I'm going to be otherwise occupied after all.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kieran teased, but there was an edge to his voice, as though he were working something out internally. “That's fine. A little patience never killed anyone. I'll see you Monday.”

Knowing Kieran, it was going to be a lot sooner than that, but Azriel kept his comment to himself. The brunet just nodded and watched Kieran leave with a disappointed frown. More than anything, Azriel preferred to be heading into Stonewall. He'd take that over one of Holmes' special training sessions any day.

Turning opposite from Kieran, Azriel headed deeper into the campus. Holmes was the only physical combat teacher in the Conservatory, and Azriel strongly wished the old goat would retire and let someone else take over. He suspected that Holmes enjoyed harassing the students too much. The codger insisted that teaching was the best way to scout for future members of the Brigade and Special Ops.

The field used for hand-to-hand combat training was on the southern side. Little more than a wide, flat expanse of grass that was already brown and crunchy by the season’s quick slide into winter. It was muddy in some places from a recent rainfall, and Azriel just knew he'd end up walking home bruised, sore and covered in grime.

Joy.

Holmes waited for him with no visible patience, arms crossed over his barrel-sized chest and one bushy white eyebrow twitching. If he had any less self-control, he'd be tapping his foot. But Azriel could give the man credit for that at least.

“You're late,” he growled as Azriel set his bag on one of the many benches scattered around the perimeter. It landed with a dull thud, drawing attention to the half-dozen books that took up most of the space inside.

Azriel was not late as parting with Kieran and walking the length of the campus had taken less than three minutes, but he wouldn't argue on such a tiny point. It was only a prelude to the annoyance that was soon to come.

“I apologize, sir,” he said again, words tasting bitter like ash in his mouth as he pulled off his overrobe. Cold air instantly swept through his thinner tunic and nipped at his skin, but exertion would warm him soon enough. “It won't happen again.”

“Make sure that it doesn't,” Holmes sneered, and then, his eyes flicked over Azriel from top to bottom, appraising and dismissing all in one short glance. “I expect better from you, Hadley. Your heritage demands it.”

Azriel bit his tongue. An insult disguised as a compliment, Holmes was certainly expanding his repertoire.

Flexing his fingers, Azriel obediently walked onto the field until he stood roughly ten feet away from Holmes. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his body for the hour – or three if Holmes were feeling particularly sadistic– of sparring that his teacher intended to inflict on him. Azriel wasn't a physical fighter and never planned to be one, but it was part of the Conservatory's curriculum. Part of their program that the upper echelon said strengthened a person's inner magic, their mana.

Che. What did they know?

Grayshire pretended that real, core magic didn't exist. They ignored the presence of the forest spirits, calling them demons. How would they know the best way to study?

“I understand,” Azriel responded, as respectful as he could force himself to be.

“No, you don't. Not yet.”

Holmes’ lip curled with derision as he dropped into a battle stance. One palm pushed toward Azriel before he twisted his wrist and flicked his fingers.

“Begin.”

Aether rose around him, a wave of power like a heat mirage. But cold instead. Like a fog of ice.

Clenching his jaw, Azriel fell into his own stance, one foot braced behind him. His own aether shimmered around him. It cloaked his body, certain to cushion any blows the old man landed. There were sure to be many. Holmes was a master, and Azriel had never been physically inclined.

Today was officially a bad day.

o0o0o

He ached.

There really was no better word to describe the world of soreness that had taken over Azriel's body. Tomorrow, he would be a mess of bruises, and he was not looking forward to waking up tender and covered in unsightly splotches. Worse that when his mother came home, she’d fuss over the visible injuries and heal them with that look in her eyes. The one that accompanied a tightening of her lips, a pinching of her forehead, and a set to her shoulders that all spoke of guilt and helplessness.

It wasn't her fault. She'd never understand that no matter how many times Azriel told her. It had been his choice to enter the Conservatory and his decision to put himself on this path. He could have taken a much easier route, but Azriel had insisted on the hard road. Neorah couldn't take the blame for that, but she tried every time.

Clenching his teeth, Azriel wiped at the gash on his cheek and left a smear of blood in the wake of his fingers. The cut wasn't bad, but it still bled freely. Damn Holmes. He hadn't turned fast enough, couldn't avoid the solid clip of the man’s fist completely. The blow had been enough to make his ears ring.

“Azriel!”

Oh, no. More than his mother seeing him like this, Kieran was the last person Azriel wanted to see right now.

He put a faster clip in his step, hurrying with his head down, hoping that he could pretend he hadn't heard. Why wasn't he at home anyway? Kieran wasn't supposed to hang around after they’d parted? Why did he have to wait?

“Azriel! Wait up!”

There was no fleeing from him; Azriel should have known better. He chewed on his bottom lip and drew to a halt, waiting for the blond to catch up. He knew his shoulders were hunched, but standing up straight and proud wasn’t an option. Holmes had got in a solid blow to his lower back that ached and throbbed in time with the rest of him.

His only consolation was that Holmes would be heading home with a split lip and a bruised tailbone. He might not be able to give as good as he got, but Azriel wasn't a helpless victim either.

“Didn't you hear me the first time?” Kieran demanded breathlessly as he drew up even and all but danced in front of him, far too energetic.

Of course, that gave him the perfect opportunity to see Azriel's face. He sucked in a horrified breath.

“What the hell happened?”

One hand lifted, reaching for Azriel's face. He took an unconscious step backward.

“I was too slow,” Azriel answered succinctly and felt the slow trickle of another drop of blood sliding down his cheek. “I didn't avoid him fast enough. I'm fine.”

Grey-green eyes narrowed.

“Liar,” Kieran accused and ignored the attempts to evade him as he latched onto Azriel’s arm and started to pull him along.

Azriel hissed as Kieran's grip landed on a sore spot. He hated himself for betraying that weakness when Kieran tossed him a knowing look.

“Holmes isn't nearly that hard on anyone else,” the younger teen said, proving he was more than just a pretty face and a spoiled heir. “He's doing this on purpose.” Disgust radiated in his voice as he shifted his grip to a place less bruised.

Azriel wasn't sure how to respond to that. Agree and sound like he was complaining? Or disagree and pretend he was a martyr? Neither option was appealing.

“It was training,” Azriel settled on being vague. “These things happen.”

Kieran made a disgusted face, aether tickling at Azriel's senses and vibrating with anger. “Not like this.” He visibly seethed before looking at Azriel with a softened expression. “Is Neorah home?”

“Not for a few hours yet,” Azriel answered honestly enough but felt something like suspicion then. “Why?”

The Azura heir tugged him along on a route that Azriel knew by heart and Kieran must’ve memorized. He'd only been to Azriel's house a few times, but despite the twists and turns, he seemed to find it just fine. Azriel was surprised by Kieran's reaction though. He was only a bit sore, and the cut on his cheek was the worst of it. And it hadn’t even been the worst that Holmes had ever done to him, though that had admittedly been before he’d known Kieran.

“Since someone needs to tend to you, and in lieu of Miss Neorah, I'll be happy to volunteer,” Kieran put in, his words light but something in his tone implying otherwise.

Azriel's brow wrinkled. “It's nothing serious,” he protested, uncomfortable with the idea of someone fussing over him. Even his mother had surrendered years ago when he made it a goal to take care of himself.

“I won't know that for sure until I see for myself,” Kieran shot back with the same stubborn determination that had ensured their friendship in the first place.

There'd be no reasoning with him now. Kieran would see this to the end.

Azriel sighed. “I didn't know you had abilities in healing.” In fact, Azriel distinctly remembered Kieran mentioning his lack thereof.

“I don't,” the blond said, and the tips of his ears turned red, a classic sign of embarrassment. “But when you spend a good deal of time blowing yourself up, some basic first aid is important. Besides, even I know how to apply a bandage.”

Despite himself, Azriel chuckled. Kieran made a very good point. He couldn't count the number of times the boy had cheerfully shown up with some array of bandages on his face or arms or whatever happened to be visible. They were always the result of some experiment gone awry, but he seemed happy with whatever results had been borne from said explosion.

“Then I should consider myself grateful for your expertise.”

To his amusement, Kieran flushed at that. “You don't have to go that far.” But he seemed relieved when Azriel's house came into view. “Unlock the door for me?”

In much better spirits, Azriel did, letting them both into the house. He barely had a moment to remove his shoes and set down his bag before Kieran shooed him into his bedroom and made him sit on his bed. Like Azriel was deathly injured and in need of rest or something.

“Stay here,” Kieran ordered in an attempt to sound stern. “I'm going to make some tea.”

He promptly disappeared. Azriel was concerned for the safety of his kitchen. He distinctly remembered both Tegan and Miss Dryden bemoaning the unpalatable nature of Kieran's tea.

Sighing, Azriel listened for sounds of destruction and/or imminent explosion and rose from his bed to strip out of his overrobe. On the outside, it was untouched, but where he'd thrown it over his soiled clothing, the inside was spattered with mud. Just as Azriel suspected would happen. Holmes certainly never bothered to pull his punches, the bastard.

Figuring that Kieran would be occupied for several minutes as he made himself at home in their kitchen, Azriel stripped out of his soiled clothing and dressed in a simple thick robe. It was chilly in the house, so he reminded himself to light the hearths before his mother came home and stepped into the bathroom to wash the worst of the mud splotches off.

Underneath the thin layer of dust and dirt, Azriel could already see where bruises were going to form. He sighed. At least it was winter, and they’d be easily concealed under his clothes. The last thing he needed was for Uncle Adair to see and start nosing about as to their origin.

The sound of a tea kettle whistling then nearly made Azriel jump. Kieran would be returning to soon and would probably throw a fit if he saw that Azriel was up and moving. Azriel still couldn't decide if his insistence on caring was annoying or adorable. Manah would find it very amusing. He could just imagine the crane's graceful laugh.

He hurried back to his room and managed to make himself comfortable just before Kieran reappeared. The younger boy was carefully balancing a tray with cups of tea and what looked to be his mother’s favorite cookies.

Kieran studied his friend suspiciously. “You changed.”

“I thought it’d be better if I wasn't drenched in mud,” Azriel replied with an arched brow. The scent of tea wafted toward him, and he couldn't decide if it was palatable or not. Only his tongue could tell.

Kieran handed him a cup of tea. “You're humoring me,” he accused. He turned to dig into his bag and pulled out a cloth-wrapped package that once opened revealed several medical supplies including bandages and antiseptic.

“Perhaps a little,” Azriel said and glanced skeptically into his cup. It seemed the right color for tea, but there were suspicious things floating around. He couldn't in good conscience refuse to drink it, however.

The bed dipped as Kieran sat on his right side, closest to the injured cheek, and tipped a lemony scented liquid onto a small cloth. He dabbed on the wound that was already starting to seal, and to Azriel's surprise, it didn't sting.

“What is that?”

“Something my father created a years ago,” Kieran answered, sounding focused as he cleaned the cut but uncomfortably close to Azriel in the process. “It numbs and cleans.”

“How convenient.”

Kieran snorted. “Isn't it though? Drink your tea.”

He wasn't sure it was safe to do so. Azriel cast another glance at the questionable floating objects and then steeled himself. Kieran wouldn't try to poison him on purpose, would he?

Lifting the cup to his lips, Azriel took the smallest possible sip in order to save himself. The moment the warm tea touched his tongue, however, Azriel had to bite back a groan. It was absolutely terrible. Quite possibly the bitterest tea he had ever tasted, somehow managing to carry the awful flavor of charring as well. Azriel swallowed, an act which took more courage than he knew he had.

Kieran drew back to look at him expectantly, eyes big and hopeful. “Well?”

“It's...”

Here Azriel hesitated. Did he tell the truth and possibly hurt Kieran's feelings? Or did he lie and subject himself to more years of forcing down Kieran's tea?

And had he really just thought of them as being friends for years to come?

Kieran exhaled. “Awful, isn't it?”

The brunet took another dutiful sip and prided himself on not letting his reaction show on his face. But it was a near thing.

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Always.” Surprisingly skilled hands dabbed at his cheek and then applied a small bandage.

“Well then yes, it's terrible,” Azriel replied and forced down another huge gulp. It was easier to take once he could steel himself for the utter bitterness. “One almost thinks you're trying to poison me.”

“Ha, ha,” Kieran retorted, pushing aside Azriel's collar to examine his shoulder. “You're still drinking it though.”

“Because you made it for me. It's only polite.”

Kieran paused. A strange look flitted over his face before he grabbed the cup from Azriel and returned it to the tray.

“You're too polite for your own good,” he grumbled and shoved a cookie into Azriel's hand instead. “You don't have to humor me.”

Azriel fought not to shove the cookie into his mouth to take away the aftertaste. Somehow, it was worse than the tea itself, and was it wrong of him to be grateful that he didn't have to drink anymore?

“You didn't explode my kitchen, did you?” Azriel asked instead,

“Again with the jokes.” Kieran rolled his eyes, but the humor left just as quickly when he frowned at the bruise developing on Azriel's forearm. Fingers tracked over it before he sat back on his heels. “Why did you let him do that? Why do you put up with it?”

Azriel tilted his head to the side. “Why else? So I can remain in the Conservatory.”

“It's overrated. You won't really learn anything there,” Kieran countered. “You're smart enough you could do something else. You don't have to cater to those prats.”

Sometimes, Azriel wondered if Kieran forgot just where he'd been born.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frowning at the bits of leaf and mud that he pulled out. He’d definitely have to bathe before his mother came home. She’d have a fit if she could see him. Well, as close to one as Neorah ever got.

“It's the only way to get what I want,” Azriel admitted with a shrug. “Besides, if I quit now, then I'll have let them win, and that I refuse to do above all else.”

Kieran studied his face for a moment. His eyes were dark and serious and not at all like himself. Weighing and measuring and somehow very sad while also very angry.

Then, he looked away. “And you accuse me of being stubborn.”

“I'm stubborn where it counts. You're stubborn just to be ornery,” Azriel said and was glad when Kieran realized it for the teasing it was.

A look of fake outrage poured into Kieran's expression, chasing away the sobriety, and he broke into a predictable rebuttal. Ah, normality. Azriel welcomed it. Strange how his life had become this. Strange how Kieran had invited himself into it.

Even stranger that he was no longer sore.

o0o0o

December 3rd, 1978

Kieran shouted as he tripped over a rise in the floor and struggled to catch himself, only to have his free foot land on a piece of paper sitting on the stone and slide out from under him. He pinwheeled his arms in a very humiliating manner, and if not for a helpful shove from Gwydion, he would’ve landed flat on his ass. His tailbone would not have appreciated the hard and cold meeting with the stone floor.

“Thanks,” he said a bit breathlessly, trying to stop his heart from pounding.

He really needed to clean up his lab. This much disorder would give Marduk an apoplectic fit, if he ever deigned to set foot in his son’s sanctum. But like most scientists – most Azura – he stayed away from Kieran's lab, just as Kieran kept out of everyone else's. It was an unspoken rule one could say.

Never bother, touch, disturb, or interrupt another person's lab or experiment. That was the height of rudeness. And though Kieran and polite manners were only casual acquaintances, this unspoken principle was one he actually obeyed.

There was a ruffle of feathers above him.

“You should be more careful,” Gwydion chastised and cocked her head. It was always an odd motion to Kieran, a rolling of her neck that seemed physically impossible.

But then, Gwydion was an owl. So he supposed it was only natural for her.

“It might also help if you cleaned things up a bit,” Gwydion added with a hint of smugness to her voice.

Kieran righted himself. He shook off his indignity as though it were water off a duck's back and shot a look Gwydion's direction. “Pot calling a kettle black, my sweet?” he asked and gave a pointed eyebrow raise at the neat piles of shredded paper that surrounded Gwydion's usual perch.

The little owl ruffed her brown feathers, head again cocking in that odd manner she used. “This and that are too different things.” And had she a nose, Kieran was sure Gwydion would have turned it up at him.

Chuckling, he stepped fully into his laboratory and pulled the door shut behind him, hearing the lock click and vibrate closed. It was safe for Gwydion to come here because only Kieran was capable of opening that door. Kieran loved his mother, but he didn't even trust Aislin with Gwydion's existence. He told no one about the tiny owl. She was his secret, his precious friend, his slide into treason.

“So you say, but I think you're just messy,” Kieran retorted, pausing to survey his lab. Which to be honest was no cleaner than the space under Gwydion's perch.

Kieran preferred an eclectic style of arrangement. Which was to say, none at all. He had papers and design specs piled in various locations, spilling out of shelves that should be enough to hold them but somehow weren't. Half-finished projects covered every inch of available counter space, and the walls were plastered in more ideas, scribbled and sketched out for Kieran's own convenience. Even the floor itself, much to his detriment, had been papered. The only clear spot to be found was the single skylight in the roof – letting in copious light thanks to the artful arrangement of mirrors – and the counter of his main desk.

Scratching his chin, Kieran went for his desk and gingerly crossed the floor, unwilling to take another tumble. Gwydion took that chance to alight from her perch and settle on his shoulder, nuzzling against his ear.

“Hmm,” she said, her voice vibrating in his head. “You smell like tea and rain and something else, something I can't quite put my finger on.”

“You don't have fingers,” Kieran retorted with a chuckle. He pulled out his chair and fell down into it with a relieved sigh. “Also, it's raining outside. Don't tell me you didn't notice.”

“I don't have a nose either, but I can still smell,” Gwydion replied, and were she a human, Kieran imagined her shoulders would’ve squared with indignation. “I did notice, but this is a different sort of rain. Not real rain. Magic rain.”

Kieran pondered. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“What do you know?” Gwydion whapped his ear with her wing. “You've not even tried to master your core magic.”

“Later, dear. Later. I've better things on my mind,” Kieran retorted and leaned his chin on his knuckles, pondering the many half-finished projects scattered around. “The tea’s probably because I was at Azriel's again. After last time, he refuses to even let me touch the pot.”

“From what I recall, you nearly melted it.”

Kieran's gaze shifted to the side. “This and that are two different things,” he argued and snagged one of his designs, pulling it closer.

Hmm, this one looked promising. It was an idea he'd had for creating light indoors, something smokeless and fuel-less as compared to torches. He'd come up with it after watching the fireflies over the pond in his mother's garden. If he could figure out how the bugs created their own glow and duplicate it, perhaps by magical means, that would be something to brag about.

Gwydion chirped a laugh. “That explains the tea then. And the rain.”

“How so?” Kieran asked, digging in his drawer for a pencil and an eraser. He never got his sketches right on the first try. He'd rubbed through many a paper in his brainstorming moments.

“You are water. He’s air. It's that simple really.” Gwydion sounded smug as she nudged at his ear with her wing again. “I don't mind. It's a pleasant smell. Your magic is very compatible.”

Kieran straightened. He turned his head so that he could look directly into Gwydion's golden eyes.

“You’ve never said anything like that before. And I'm around Souya a lot, too, but you never tell me I smell like mud or whatever.”

It made sense to Kieran. If water plus air equaled a rainstorm. Then of course, water plus earth equaled mud.

Gwydion laughed again. “It's not that simple, Kieran. If you'd just take my lessons in magic to heart, maybe you'd actually understand.”

His lips curled into something that was definitely not a pout. “I listened.”

“Not well enough.” She made a huffing sound that on a human would’ve been aggravation. “You know, I should like to meet this Azriel. He sounds like a very interesting human.”

Kieran turned his attention back to his schematics, doodling out the composition of what he suspected to be behind the fireflies’ glow. A phosphorous perhaps?

“You know why we can't.”

Gwydion shifted positions on his shoulder. Her talons pricked through his clothing but didn’t harm his skin.

“It doesn't make any sense if you ask me. So few of you humans embrace the old ways anymore. It's disappointing. Still... you said he celebrated Samhain, right?”

“He did, but...” Kieran exhaled, idly rubbing the eraser over a stray mark. “Is that indicative of his belief in spirits? I don't know. His aether does feel different sometimes, too. Like an echo of something familiar.”

Gwydion flitted from his shoulder back to the desk. “What do you mean?”

“I don't think I can describe it well. If you could sense it for yourself, maybe you could figure it out.” He shrugged and let his gaze roam over his schematics once again. “It's deeper somehow, better rooted and rounded. And he's definitely stronger than me.”

The last was accompanied by another not-pout.

It was a sore point for Kieran but not to the extent he resented Azriel for it. After all, Kieran was an Azura, and he'd always surpass Azriel when it came to science. He supposed Azriel couldn't help his Celestine heritage, as much as he loathed it. Though frankly, Kieran could also see the potential for Azriel being stronger than his father and maybe even his uncles. And that spoke of a different kind of magic. That same odd echo he couldn't put into words.

Perhaps it was because of his belief in the old gods? Or maybe it was something else entirely? Mixing of the common blood from his mother’s side with the Celestines perhaps. A hybrid being stronger than a purebred?

“But can you trust him?” Gwydion posed.

Kieran paused, tapping the end of his pencil thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said at length. “But with you... I'm not sure yet. I want to trust him that much, but I'm practical.”

He knew that a lot of people thought him flighty, which was fine with Kieran. Let them be led astray. But he couldn't risk Gwydion no matter how much he liked Azriel. Not until he was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Until then, he’d keep his secret.

Still... trust for trust. It seemed only fair. Azriel had dared show him Samhain, trusting that Kieran wouldn't throw him to the wolves for embracing the old ways. Kieran ought to repay that trust. Not with Gwydion. But perhaps he could show Azriel his laboratory. It was just as sacred to him.

“I know you are, Kieran,” Gwydion commented, and if she could smile, Kieran was sure one would curve her beak even now. Her head twitched, and then, she hopped around, looking down at his plans. “So what are we going to work on tonight?”

Glad for the change in topic, Kieran grinned.

“Lighting!” he exclaimed and pointed to one of his chemical equations. “Like a firefly or something similar. I've still got to figure out the chemical composition though.”

“Shall I ask a firefly? I think I had one for breakfast,” Gwydion said mischievously.

Kieran laughed. “No, I'll figure it out on my own. But thanks for the offer.”

“Happy to help, dear.”

He let out another laugh and then got to work. Soon all thoughts beyond the papers in front of him had flitted away to nothingness.

*****

a/n: Soooo... Kieran has a familiar, too. Did anyone else see this coming? *grins*

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.