The dark of the night is pierced by a single flickering lantern, the orange hues wrapping around dark tree trunks and sending the shadows into a panicked frenzy. With the dim light guiding their path, Atol and Ephorae trek through the forest, both clad in attire that did not seem to belong to this world, yet strangely seems to suit them. The long, flowing cloaks, and simple tunics put them in an era that had long since passed away. However, the richness of the cloth, woven together with iridescent threads, gives off an aura of royalty.

Stumbling slightly, Ephorae quickly catches himself by latching onto Atol’s arm for support. A short-lived scream fills the air before Ephorae laughs, the sound quickly joined by Atol’s baritone chuckle.

“How in the world did you miss that branch?” Atol asks, amused. “Sleeping for a century really didn’t do you any good.”

“In my defense, it’s dark.”

“Uh huh.”

Ephorae rolls his eyes and gently pushes Atol away. “Are you sure we’re even going the right way?”

“Of course I am,” Atol replies in a mock offended voice, making Ephorae laugh. “There’s going to be a house coming up any minute now.”

“Whatever you say.”

In response, Atol pulls his cloak closer around himself and proceeds to ignore his companion. Ephorae hides a smile at Atol’s antics. He’s long used to the other’s joking reactions, and lets the silence that has washed over them settle. After living and ruling with Atol for millenia, he knows that Atol can’t stay silent for too long.

Sure enough, Atol begins mumbling things under his breath, his passive-aggressive comments just loud enough to send Ephorae into another fit of giggles. He welcomes the feeling of breathlessness that overwhelms him. It is a sensation that he has missed.

Atol suddenly comes to an abrupt stop, throwing an arm out to keep Ephorae from moving forward. A slow smile spreads across his face. “I told you! The house is right there.”

“Where?” Ephorae swings around, his gaze flitting everywhere at once trying to catch sight of what Atol saw. “There’s no house.”

With a sigh, Atol picks his friend up and manually turns him before he points in the direction of the tiniest spot of light in the distance. How he had caught that, Ephorae has no clue. “There.”

“Gods, why is your eyesight always so much better than mine,” Ephorae grumbles.

Atol grins. He looks so incredibly smug, and Ephorae almost gives into the urge of pushing him into the snow. The only thing keeping him from doing so is the reminder that Atol probably earned the moment. After all, Ephorae did start it.

Letting himself get dragged after Atol, Ephorae nearly falls several times as he tries to keep up. It isn’t exactly easy trying to speed walk through several inches of snow, even for an immortal. Although that is probably undermined by Atol, who is perfectly walking without any effort at all.

As he has many times in his long life, Ephorae finds himself questioning how the hell Atol is able to do things so skillfully. He truly is a different breed.

The light in the distance slowly grows stronger, and as they get closer, Ephorae can see the silhouette of a cabin emerge. A tendril of smoke escapes from the makeshift chimney and wafts into the otherwise clear sky. The sight fills Ephorae with a sense of warmth and sadness, an emotion that he can only categorize as nostalgia.

He can remember the days when it was just him and Atol in a place much like this one. In fact, it was there that he had met Atol.

Those were the times when it felt like they could do anything. It was a place where there was no one watching their every move, taking notes of each misstep. When they were there, their actions had no consequences.

Ephorae can still recall the laughter and playful teasing, a gentleness that he longs to see once more. But the world has changed, and so have they. Perhaps now that they were forgotten once more, they could live a peaceful life.

Atol pulls them to a stop a short distance away from the cabin with a frown. “Something’s wrong.”

“Hm?” Ephorae stares up at him, trying to clear his mind of the clouds of the past. “What is it?”

His companion simply shakes his head, brows furrowed in deep concentration before slowly moving them forward again.

“Atol?”

“It was probably nothing,” Atol assures him.

Ephorae, although unconvinced, doesn’t bring it up again. After all, Atol isn’t the type to put him in any sort of danger that they couldn’t handle.

Within moments, the wood cabin is in front of them, the light at the door flaring up invitingly as the two approach it. Atol looks over at Ephorae who is staring right back, the two caught in a silent debate over who should knock. As though tired of their nonsense, the door creaks open on its own accord, making Ephorae jump.

Atol immediately pulls Ephorae close and moves in front of him. The action, although heartwarming, makes Ephorae roll his eyes. He is more than capable of defending himself.

Gently shoving Atol inside, Ephorae peers around, taking in the small, crackling fire that danced on its bed in the corner of the room. Other than that, there is no sign that anyone inhabited the place. There are no decorations, the only furniture being a wooden table at the center of the area, and a thin layer of dust lay over nearly everything. To the side, Ephorae can see the beginnings of a staircase, the rest of it hidden in the shadows.

Atol walks over to the table and runs a hand along the surface. “Huh.”

“Does anyone live here?” Ephorae asks.

For once, Atol seems equally confused. “I can’t sense anyone at the moment,” he says. “That’s what felt off when I stopped back there. I felt someone’s presence for a moment, but it’s gone now.”

Ephorae hums thoughtfully. “So someone was here?”

“I don’t—” Atol freezes before he whips around, a hand reaching for a weapon as he faces the staircase. The movement makes whatever he was threatening squeak and Ephorae hears small, pattering footsteps as the entity moves to scamper away.

Something causes Ephorae to step forward and stop Atol before he can do anything more. “Wait. Let’s talk first. We did just burst into their house unannounced.”

Atol frowns, reluctantly putting his sword away.

“Hello?” Ephorae calls out. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to talk.”

He is met with silence, but Ephorae can feel them creeping closer. A small niggling thought in the back of his mind tells him that whoever was there is hungry. The sensation of that hunger grows and Ephorae quickly tries to block it out. “We have food,” he says.

“Food?” The voice that rings out from the darkness is quiet and catches both Atol and Ephorae off guard. It was clear and high-pitched, like a child’s.

“Mhm.”

There is a soft rustling before a small figure can be seen. Half hidden in the shadows, Ephorae can see that the person in front of him is indeed a child. A mortal boy, to be precise.

Ephorae stoops down and reaches out to him. “Hello.”

The boy looks up at him with wide eyes. “Food?” he repeats hopefully.

Atol silently tosses the child a parcel, which he easily catches and begins tearing into.

“What’s your name?”

The boy mumbles something through a mouthful of bread.

“Pardon?”

“Malakai,” he says again, a bit louder this time.

Ephorae glances up at Atol a bit helplessly. He isn’t quite sure what to do, and from the looks of it, Atol has no clue either.

“Where are your parents?”

Malakai freezes mid-bite, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Wait, no, don’t cry,” Atol says quickly, panic evident in his voice. He runs a hand through his hair. “Ephorae, what do I do?”

“I don’t know.” Hesitating, Ephorae steps forward and wraps Malakai in a hug. The moment he touches the boy, he is overwhelmed with the feeling of sorrow, so strong and deep he’s shaken to the core. Never in his life has Ephorae felt the need to protect someone more than now. “You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs.

Malakai lets out a shuddering sob, and buries his head in Ephorae’s tunic. The sound is heart-wrenching. Running his hand through the boy’s tangled hair, Ephorae awkwardly soothes him as best he can.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Malakai begs. “Please.”

“You’re not alone,” Ephorae reassures him.

Atol coughs pointedly and Ephorae shoots him a glare, quickly shutting him up.

Ephorae isn’t sure when the boy falls asleep. Long after the tears had abated, Malakai had clung onto the immortal, as though he would disappear if he let go for even for a moment.

Maneuvering his clothing from Malakai’s grasp, Ephorae picks up the child and puts him in a bed that he had found upstairs before returning to Atol who sat waiting at the table where they had first entered.

“Atol,” Ephorae begins.

“You want to keep him.”

The statement lingers in the air, with Ephorae making no move to deny it.

“He’s a random kid,” Atol says with a sigh.

Ephorae frowns. “He deserves to have someone.”

“Yeah, someone who can provide for him,” Atol replies. He stands to look his friend in the eyes. “We’re not like him.”

Closing his eyes, Ephorae lets the disappointment sink within him, resting heavily in his stomach. He knows that he shouldn’t get attached so easily, but his power makes it difficult not to. To feel everything another feels is both a gift as well as curse. It is what made him a good leader in the past, but without Atol at his side, he doubts he would ever have been able to make any rational decision. “I know. We should probably bring him to a village. But he might end up being alone, Atol. What if no one will take him? He’s just a kid.”

Atol arches an eyebrow before sighing. They both know exactly what game Ephorae is playing at, and it’s working.

“Ephorae,” Atol says softly, glancing towards the stairs. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. Immortals can’t care for mortals. One of them is bound to get hurt.”

Ephorae shrugs. “I’m willing to take the risk,” he replied truthfully. He isn’t sure why he cares so much for the boy. It was a strange sort of connection. For some reason, Ephorae finds himself understanding the child. In a way, Malakai reminds him of someone.

“You’re not going to give up, huh?” Atol asks.

“No.”

Running a hand through his hair, Atol finally concedes. “Fine. We can give this thing a test trial.”

“A test trial?”

Atol nods. “I mean, if we’re going to spend that much time with him, we might as well figure out what he’s like first.”

A smile spreads across Ephorae’s face before he hugs Atol tightly. Although the other had said, “test trial,” Ephorae already knows he’s won. “Thank you.”

“Whatever.” The smile is clearly visible in his voice as he ruffles Ephorae’s hair.

A wave of warmth washes over Ephorae, a tingling feeling that spreads all over. For so long, he has simply been content, lying still in his extensive life. He’s forgotten what it felt like to be excited about something. To want something. To look forward to the new day.

Yawning, he pulls away from Atol. He’s much too comfortable now, and it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Go sleep,” Atol says. “You need it.”

Ephorae makes a small noise of assent, and with some guidance from Atol, finds a place to sleep. In his dreams, he’s back in his old life, and for once, when he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t miss it.