“Here’s how you remove the thorns. Try not to get pierced by it or you might find your finger growing into a balloon.” Syryn cautioned the redhead who was helping him with the preparations of a thorny Cuscuta plant. It was a holiday as well as a time of bonding with Lucien.

“Like this?”

“Yes but don’t hurry so much. You have enough time to get through that pile.”

“Ok, this is fun.” Luci smiled up at Syryn and it was as sweet as the cherry-flavoured candies that Magnus often carried around.

Syryn busied himself with extracting the juice out of a white fruit that gave off a rancid stench. Rotgut – it was called. It smelled like rotting garbage but if one could ignore the offensive odour, rotgut was very beneficial for the treatment of a wide range of respiratory diseases.

The brothers had been working in harmony and silence when the sound of a door slamming and then laughter reached their ears.

“Drake, you have no taste in women at all. Linnetia has a pretty face but have you seen how flat she is? Kestra has the most amazing body in the city and that counts more than a slightly above average face!” Syryn could hear Corvus in their hallway expounding on the virtues of womanly figures.

“Why don’t you just go date an ogre then? Have you seen the size of their-“

“No!” It almost sounded like a screech. “Magnus, how dare you suggest that Kestra is anything like an ogre?”

The voices were getting closer to the workroom, disrupting the bubble of peace that surrounded Syryn and Luci.

“Oh hey, that’s the cutest kid I’ve ever seen.” Corvus was at the doorway looking at Lucien with faint surprise on his face. Lucien was adorable. Most people were not immune to his cuteness, including the babysitters and professors at King Hill. Luckily, Lucien’s classes were segregated from the main body of the institution so he remained safe from unnecessary attention.

“Don’t even think about getting your ogre loving paws on him cause this kid is mine,” Magnus hugged Lucien from the back and squeezed the boy, “isn’t that right Luci?”

Thunk! Syryn brought a heavy knife down on the chopping board with a force that startled all the occupants of the room.

“We’re busy working here.” Syryn silkily told them, a storm brewing in his eyes.

“Oh God! what is that smell?!” Drake hastily backed away from the work table.

“Rotgut! Isn’t it? I had to drink that when I ended up sniffing the wrong end of a- never mind.” Corvus clammed up when he realised he was giving too much information about an embarrassing situation that his friends could potentially use as ammo.

“Why are you people here?” Syryn asked irritably.

“We decided to come to visit you for pointers,” Drake answered, silver eyes smiling at the impatient alchemist. “So far, none of us have been able to beat you in a spar. So Corvus and I figured you could teach us a thing or two.”

“Stop that.” Syryn raised his knife at Corvus who was busy prodding Lucien’s soft cheek with a curious finger.

“There’s no shortcut or secret to resisting an anti mage field,” Syryn began after Corvus backed away, “but, there is a technique that makes it easier to push back the suppression. Your outward flow of magic has to be released in uniform waves. Erratic mana output only serves to strengthen the enemy’s assault.”

“That doesn’t help me at all,” Corvus replied, his shoulders drooping. “I’m terrible at micro-control of my magic.”

“And that’s nothing to be ashamed about. All young mages initially suck at it. When you’re more experienced, you’ll find that you get better at it.” Syryn assured the boy.

“Except you Syryn, you’re just an inexplicable genius, aren’t you?” Drake said quietly.

“He’s not human,” Magnus added.

A few days later, Syryn was summoned by Lord Peltner. Lucien had apparently gotten into a bullying situation that ended with a broken femur.

“They called me a dirty orphan, and that nobody wanted me, not even my brothers.” The redhead unemotionally narrated in front of the two. “If they’re allowed to break my heart, aren’t I allowed to break their leg?”

Syryn had screamed internally at Lucien’s logic. He was aware whose words those really were and yet Syryn was more proud than cross. Even Lord Peltner had been shocked into silence by the child’s words.

“Children are cruel.” He sighed and made eye contact with Syryn. “This time, young Lucien was pushed into a corner by them. But It so happens that the child he hurt is the nephew of a prominent nobleman which makes the situation more complicated.”

Turning back to the redhead, Lord Peltner softened his tone. “Lucien, you cannot just break your classmate’s legs. Next time, restrain your strength and leave them with a black eye.”

Syryn turned his neck so fast he almost got whiplash. What was the head magister saying?!

“Yes sir, I’ll remember that.” He obediently replied.

“That’s a good boy Lucien.” A big hand ruffled his red hair.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Alka was fussing over the ‘bullied’ redhead while Syryn narrated the events.

“He did what?” Magnus grinned as his birthday had come early. “That little shit deserved it.”

Syryn had his arms folded and lips pressed into a thin line. Wasn’t this just encouraging Luci to act with violence?

“Luci, was it Red who did it? I know you’re not capable of beating someone let alone breaking their bone.”

The redhead refused to rat out the person who had protected him. Wearing a dejected expression, Luci hung his head down and stood in front of Syryn like a wilting sunflower.

“Really Luci?” Syryn was disappointed. Where did the boy’s loyalty really lie?

“Luci, I’m asking you a question. Answer me.” Syryn knelt and forced the boy to look at him. This was a crisis that Syryn wanted to deal with immediately.

It didn’t take long for Luci to break. The child’s lips wobbled and he nodded. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you Syryn.” The red head’s voice shook like a leaf. Seeing his distress, Syryn pulled Lucien into a fierce hug, relief and satisfaction sweeping through him.

“I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to defend you when those kids said those awful words to you. You’re allowed to break their bones again.” Syryn rubbed the child’s back and assured him the only way he knew how to.

Magnus raised his brows and tutted at Syryn. He did not desire the role of serious elder, the one to instil discipline into the kid, but if the older brother wasn’t doing his job, Magnus had to step in.

When the day was done, Syryn tiredly slipped into bed early but the universe had conspired to slap him with another problem. The boy was woken up from sleep by a distraught Alka.

“What? Artemus is injured?” Syryn threw his covers off and sprinted to the workroom forgetting to even wear his slippers.

When he slammed the workroom door open, the anti mage was seated by the table – a bandage around his neck stained crimson.

“Alka, go wait in your room please, I’ll take care of this.” Syryn calmly instructed his worried friend. With a jerky nod, the green-eyed mage looked at his older brother once more and then turned away.

Syryn was seated in front of Artemus. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage and saw that it was just as bad as it appeared. Someone had tried to slit the professor’s throat and had partially succeeded. A terrible cut extended from one side of the neck, then curved and slashed downwards towards the clavicle. Still, Syryn was relieved to find that the carotid artery wasn’t nicked by the cut.

“What the hell happened?” He hissed at the stoic young man. The wound had started gushing again. Syryn grabbed the nearest hemostatic potion and applied it liberally over the bleeding neck. Mouth set in a tight line, he estimated just how much potion he would need.

Like all anti mages, Artemus was more resistant to the magic in potions because of his innate Constitution. Healing magic worked even less on his wounds. As powerful as anti mages were, their powers made them more vulnerable than mages.

“Artemus, what happened?” Syryn glanced up at the anti mage and back down to the cut that was showing signs of decreasing haemorrhage.

“I had a run in with some crazy mages,” Artemus replied quietly.

“Yes? Go on.” Syryn prodded after waiting expectantly for the anti mage to continue.

“The cult of Love – they were the ones behind those murders I told you about. It was supposed to be a routine infiltration but then some fool had forgotten to inform me that it was banquet night.”

Syryn almost gasped at that. The cult of love wasn’t as loving as their name suggested. An edge of humour was laced in his reply to Artemus.

“You don’t fancy cannibalism?”

The anti mage’s pensive gaze turned to Syryn. “I’m surprised you know about that.”

Syryn wasn’t supposed to know. The cult was fairly new and low key enough that the public wasn’t aware of their existence.

“They started passing around a freshly cut out human heart on a silver platter. Everyone was taking a bite out of it like it was some kind of grotesque fruit.” Artemus grimly narrated.

“Unhygienic.” Syryn made a face.

“That’s your main concern?” Artemus asked, brows raised. Syryn wisely kept his mouth shut and focused on his task.

A few seconds later, the alchemist opened his mouth again. “Why didn’t you just go to a healer?”

Finding some sort of humour in it that Syryn did not get, Artemus answered – “I did. You’re an unofficial healer, the best one I know,” and it was said so matter-of-factly that Syryn knew it wasn’t meant to come off as flattery.

The younger boy bit the inside of his cheek and reached out for more medicine. With the health emergency under control, he couldn’t help but think about what he shouldn’t have thought about because after he thought about it, he was made painfully aware of how proximate they were. Syryn’s eyes quickly flitted over to the man’s very symmetrical and well used lips.

And just like that, his mind began obsessing about it. Flaming cheeks followed the runaway thoughts.

“Syryn.”

The younger boy’s hand shook and a few drops of the potion were spilt down Artemus’s shirt. Onyx eyes met Syryn’s own with a question swimming in them.

“I’m making you uncomfortable,” Artemus observed.

“No, I just remembered something important I forgot to do,” You.

A hysterical bubble of laughter was trapped inside his chest. Syryn was his comedian.

The anti mage was silent after their uncomfortable exchange. Syryn’s paper-thin excuse held no water but Artemus had let it pass without comment, an occurrence that seemed to happen more often than not.

The younger boy roughly uncorked a bottle of green liquid and tipped it over a clean cotton ball, bouncing off a few drops in his attempt. Just as he was about to press it to the wound, Artemus grabbed his wrist.

“You’re distracted.” The anti mage pinned Syryn with a look, head tilted curiously.

“What? No, I’m not!” Syryn hotly replied. It was that damn smooch haunting Syryn like a malicious spirit.

Artemus narrowed his eyes at Syryn in silent contemplation. And without warning, he leaned into Syryn’s space. It was sudden enough that the alchemist froze like a rabbit. The anti mage just stopped short of bumping into Syryn and faintly inhaled near the boy’s neck.

What the hell? Syryn thought, a hot flush creeping up his cheeks.

Artemus slowly drew back and blinked down at the shocked alchemist, “I have a good memory for smells.”

Just like Alka, Syryn’s stressed out mind supplied.

“Why are you telling me this?” Syryn asked. His mouth had gone dry.

The anti mage then tilted his neck and motioned for Syryn to continue treating him. “Just confirming a guess.” He replied lightly.

He knew.

Syryn did not rise to the bait as much as he wanted to. Do you think I’m a fool Artemus? You expect me to ask you what you’re confirming? You think I’ll open that door and let you walk in all over me? Syryn thundered in his heart while rubbing the green liquid on the anti mage’s skin. Only a pale silver scar was left when he was done with it.