Climbing on the back of an ancient divine beast is probably not the best position to be in, especially with nothing keeping the thing from flying at any moment. Luckily for Zarius, Cyran was more than pulling his own weight in this fight. The hunter’s efforts help keep the Ur-beast distracted but also mar the scaly hide of the creature with nicks and cuts.

Zarius uses that opportunity to jam the tip of his knuckle knife into one of the cuts and starts prying the tough scales away from its tender flesh underneath.

The Ur-beast writhes from the attacks it takes from Cyran, then its attention returns to the ant on its back. It rears back suddenly in an attempt to throw Zarius off of it. The fellblood digs his fingers into the gaping wound, throwing his weight back to pull it open more with the momentum.^[1]

Hissing, the Ur-beast switches tactics. It coils its body around itself, balling up around the fellblood in an attempt to crush him. 

Zarius grits his teeth and bears with the pressure. Escaping isn't an option right now when he's so close to figuring out how to take the creature down for good.^[2]

Indra roars from overhead as she circles around. Her throat lights up and the crackle of electricity fills the air until she unleashes another lightning bolt at the knotted-up Ur-beast. 

The Ur-beast turns its eyes to the sky as the lightning rains down and opens its mouth as if to cast something to protect itself, but the magic fizzles as Cyran's earlier interference blocks its spellcasting temporarily. The enraged creature tries to roll out of the way but it can't avoid taking a few hits.

Its attention snaps back to Cyran. These two mere mortals couldn't stop it. It's an untamable force of nature. How dare they continue to harass it. They should be cowering in fear, accepting their fates, and not pushing against the natural order. 

Too bad for this Ur-beast, neither man has much tolerance for pretension. 

---

[1] Iron Grip
[2] Heart stopper (⅔ post lead up)

Not long now.

Cyran’s attempts to hold the Ur Beast’s attention only lasted seconds; of course, it was only natural that it would be more focused on the thing doing more damage to it, ripping through thick scales to tender flesh below. It attempted to lock Zarius in its grip, a constricting move Cyran was familiar with. He’d nearly been crushed by a similar tactic months ago, in the depths of a dungeon.

Thankfully, Cyran was not the only one there to hold the beast’s attention. Indra’s roar split the air with a sickening CRACK, the beast’s divine magic sealed with blood. It had no choice but to shoulder some of the blow, lest it dodge and wind up on the receiving end of a blow from one of the foolish mortals it so despised. The air crackled with ozone, the sky’s wrath leaving its mark in the form of wicked, jagged scars along the snake’s face and vulnerable underbelly.

But it wasn’t done yet.

Spotting Cyran, it lunged - but the assassin was ready, and in a blink, the snake’s jaws snapped around thin air while Cyran disappeared from the spot he’d been standing…^[1]

Only to appear above its neck.

At that moment Spell Slicer completed its boomerang arc, snapping right back into Cyran’s waiting palm. He plunged, though by now, Cyran was quite used to the sensation. It was less an uncontrolled act and more a dance slicing through the air, as he brought Spell Slicer and Cold Steel down like a guillotine in an attempt to behead the bastard all at once.^[2]

The Ur Beast would not be made a fool of that easily. It rolled out of the way - Cyran hit the grass, one blade barely nicking the monster’s hide before both embedded in the dirt - He pried them out and straightened, but not before a supernaturally powerful tail spun around and knocked him in the back.

Cyran would not give it the satisfaction of knowing that it had caused pain.

He hit the ground and rolled; the tail swung around again, ready to knock him prone once more. Cyran clicked his heels together, hit the ground, and sliced directly upwards.^[3,4] This time, he managed to draw blood. The tip of the Ur Beast’s tail came clean off, the beast growling in shock, indignation, and pain. A spray of godly ichor hit him in the front, divine blood drawn by his hands. At least it had finally- finally - drawn the Ur Beast’s attention off of Zarius… at the expense of drawing the Ur Beast’s attention. Its forked tongue darted from its mouth, an enraged hiss.

How DARE.

“If you take umbrage, come and restore your ruined pride.” Cyran commanded, voice even and cold. Any anxiety, any fear that he’d felt earlier had all run dry. Now was the time to put an end to this.

Whatever Zarius had up his sleeve, he’d better do it, fast.

---

1. Blink
2. Cyran’s Haunting Blade
3. Ice Skates
4. Gerhart’s Final Strike

Zarius manages to get his knee up between himself and the coils of the Ur-beast. He pushes his back against it to create a gap for him to breathe as it rolls around trying to avoid getting hit by Indra and Cyran. It's like being inside a hamster ball that a cat is playing with. He has a newfound sympathy for any mice unfortunate enough to be batted around by Ebony. 

Being stuck pressed against the Ur-beast's body is not ideal, but he does start to pick up on a noise. A heartbeat. He glances around the coils and tilts his head to try and pinpoint where it's coming from. He presses the palm of his hand against a few different coils until he thinks he has picked up the faintest rhythm through the layers of muscle.^[1]

Good enough. 

He feels the Ur-beast roll again and his world flips upside down. It's a good thing his father spent so much time throwing him and knocking him tumbling across the floor otherwise he might be more disoriented. The one problem he has now is that there isn't a lot of room for him to wind up a good hit even if he does know where to strike. 

Though that wouldn't be a problem for long as the Ur-beast unravels in an attempt to slam its tail into Cyran. Zarius slips between the coils and lands on his feet.^[2]

Shit. 

He glances up to try and find that spot again. He's pretty sure he finds it, but it would still be a bit of a gamble. It doesn't seem that the Ur-beast has noticed his escape yet, so it's now or never. 

Digging his heels into the ash, he gathers his strength in his legs before leaping up and slamming his fists into the creature's chest twice.^[3] Ribs snap under its scaled hide and the Ur-beasts gasps and coughs as the wind is knocked out of it. Its vision spirals as it slumps to the ground. The knock-out wouldn't stop it for good. But this at least gives Cyran a chance to finally land the killing strike. 

As Zarius steps back and turns to call to Cyran, he is suddenly blinded by a ball of black fur that latches onto his face. 

"MRPH!" 

Ebony digs her claws into his head and refuses to release her death grip as the fellblood struggles to pry her off his face. 

---

[1] Heartstopper (3/3 post lead up)
[2] Cats Grace
[3] Two Piece

The Ur Beast, unfortunately, decided to take him up on his challenge; Cyran braced himself, expecting a bite from the beast’s powerful fangs, but the serpent merely opened its mouth, heat licking at its forked tongue, and spat out a massive ball of fire right at the assassin.^[1]

Heat rippled in the air, scorching the rotting and gnarled branches of dead trees - Cyran hastily clenched his fist, drawing upon the shadows to dampen the formulae of the spell.^[2]

The fire extinguished like an exhale, a quiet sigh. He reached for his blade, shifting the momentum forward to make his counterattack - but the ground rushed up to meet him in a split second, a jagged shard shooting up with the speed of a crossbow bolt.^[3] Cyran gasped, flinching out of the way with a twist of his torso. Not fast enough. The shard sliced through his chest, ripping apart his cloak and part of his jacket, and slicing the skin from chest to shoulder.

Where did that come from? He’d been too distracted to notice the fireball from above was nothing more than a feint for the real spell from below. And as he recovered from the spell’s blow, the vengeful snake lunged - its jaws parted and the promise of blood in its eyes -

Fists struck its chest from below and sent the Ur Beast sprawling. It hit deadened ground with a mighty tremble that shook the earth from the weight of its fall, an impact that might have sent a lesser prepared adventurer sprawling. But Cyran was ready to act. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity Zarius gave him. Zarius didn’t even need to call out to him for Cyran to be on the same wavelength. The assassin charged, ready to make this moment count.

Ink-black shadows danced in the palm of his hand, staining his arm the color of pitch as claws grew from his fingertips. Cyran slashed downwards across the back of the Ur Beast’s neck, scales rotting from the miasma of dark magic eroding its natural armor.^[4] But he wasn’t done - not yet, not until the creature’s divinity was wrenched from its body. This time, he wouldn’t miss. Grabbing three blades from his belt, Cyran juggled them between his fingertips - Spell Slicer, Cold Steel, and Mercy’s lament all plunged into the vulnerable part of the Ur Beast’s neck brought on by his claws, severing nerves and muscle all the way to the bone.^[5]

His strikes seemed to do the trick - the Ur Beast, already rendered unconscious by Zarius’s blow, couldn’t hope to put up a fight. And with Cyran’s final strike, the last of its life drained out of it; the glow of its body underneath the snakes, the light in its eyes, it all brightened, simmering in the air like it was about to explode. And then, before Cyran could get a safe distance away, the divine luminescence all flushed downwards, pulsating through the ground hard enough to make it tremble.

The Ur Beast’s magic, reclaimed by the earth.

Cyran wheezed, entire body trembling from the might of the magic he’d just felt, and exhausted from the fight, and all the running around as a bat before that. But they’d carried the day. They’d taken care of the threat, as impossible as it felt. Rather than feel triumphant or proud, all Cyran could think of was how much he was in desperate need of a nap, a bath, and a glass of wine, in no particular order. He tucked his knives away, brushing blood and dirt off of his jacket in vein before turning around, a relieved smile on his face.

“Well, I guess we can head back to the city now, Zarius… Zarius?”

---

1. Massive Fireball - Ur Beast
2. Counterspell
3. Crystalline Shard - Ur Beast
4. Death Swipe
2. Cyran’s Haunting Blade - Spell Slicer (Magic Blocker), Cold Steel (Ice Rune), Mercy’s Lament (dagger of torment)

Cyran would find the fellblood flat on his back, sprawled out on the ground with Ebony perfectly loafed on his face. The cat purrs loudly and looks up at the elf with big round yellow eyes.

After Cyran has resuscitated Zarius and the pair gather all the pets onto Indra's back, they return to Darkveil City. Zarius explains absolutely nothing to Shael as they return her drake and he stays outside while Cyran gets all his pets back to the safety of the orphanage. 

The pair, including the stupid cat that knocked Zarius out by suffocating him with her floof, then head to one of the temporary safe houses for a debrief. Zarius gives Cyran the potion that hangs around his neck to help the older elf recover from his wounds.^[1] If Cyran takes the potion, it will completely heal the cut across his chest. It doesn't mend his clothes though, which Zarius promises to pay for either repair or replacement of out of gratitude for the hunter's help. 

Once they make it to the safe house, Zarius unceremoniously tosses Ebony onto one of the chairs. The cat is quick to find a pillow to curl up on and falls asleep almost instantly.

Zarius just watches it with an exasperated expression. "Gods." 

The fellblood then sits down with a huff and rubs his face. 

"That was a complete disaster." 

The exhaustion from the whole day's fiasco starts to set in, and his muscles ache from all the running around and fighting they did. He gently massaged his wrists and the muscles in his hands to keep them limber. 

"I think this tops the underground city in Zeinav as the worst mission we have done together." 

---

[1] Essence of the North

Cyran’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw Zarius sprawled on the ground - only slightly more relieved when he noticed the perfectly bread-shaped Ebony on his face. Well. That presented perhaps a slightly bigger problem than the Ur Beast. Cyran bent kneeled over his friend, biting his lip while he considered his actions. For a moment he considered nudging her away, but he quite liked his hands, thank you very much. He settled for pulling a couple of treats out of his pocket, birdseed and other types of feed he fed to stray birds (it should still work in this case, right?), and setting them on the ground a little ways away from Zarius.

“Erm, Miss Ebony,” He started, feeling a fool for addressing a cat like royalty but figuring it might earn him some brownie points with her, “I thank you for saving me while I was trapped as a bat… perhaps now you wouldn’t mind accepting these treats as a gift while I help your person?”

However or whenever Ebony would deign to move, Cyran would then pull out a silver chain around his neck - one that had once housed the ring on his finger, but still bore a small moonlight design containing a searing-cold liquid - and pour the contents into Zarius’s mouth.^[1]

It didn’t take long for them to pick themselves back up and climb on Indra’s back to make their way to Darkveil proper. Cyran thanked the drake with as many pets as she would allow, and thanked the drake’s owner, likely much to her own confusion considering Zarius remained tight-lipped on exactly what had happened. Cyran then followed Zarius to one of the many safe houses the fellblood possessed, not allowing himself to relax until they made their way inside and closed and locked the doors behind them.

He paused in surprise when Zarius offered him the small potion - until that moment he’d forgotten about his own injuries. He was tempted to deny the help, in case Zarius needed the healing, but the Ur Beast had done more of a number on him than he would have liked. “Thank you.” He nodded, drinking the potion and handing the vial back to the fellblood. His shirt had not mended, but he’d not expected it to. Cyran merely shrugged when Zarius offered to pay for clothing repairs. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t expensive and can be mended at any cheap tailor.”

He was inclined to agree with Zarius as the fellblood voiced his displeasure at the events that had transpired. As they relaxed, he pulled out his daggers and a small cloth, going through the ritual motions of wiping down Spell Slicer and Cold Steel until they shined. The golden spiderweb cracks in Spell Slicer’s blade from when the knife broke and was reforged by Del glinted in the dim lamplight. He held his weapons in the air and inspected them for any more nicks or imperfections that might need to be touched up by Del before giving a satisfied nod and returning to work.

“A disaster that we bounced back from.” He agreed mildly.

Though he did huff out a laugh when Zarius expressed his displeasure at being turned into an animal. “I think destroying an entire society documenting ancient history might have been slightly worse than being an animal for a couple of hours, but this one takes the cake for being embarrassing.”

He continued the gentle motion of cleaning his blade, cheeks coloring pink at the prospect of being stuck as a little bat. It hadn’t been horrible, but gods, was he glad to be back to normal. He wasn’t certain Del would want to care for a teeny bat husband. Speaking of…

“Del’s going to have a field day when she learns what happens.” Cyran murmured, voice lacking no affection; the kind of sweet sappiness one should only use in stories, with a touch of apprehension of what was to come when he returned home and was questioned about the mission, and the state of disarray in the living room. It was a strange thing to have someone care about your well-being, to know you so intimately as to be there immediately when something went wrong, but he would not trade any of it for the world.

Thoughts of his fiancé made Cyran drift back to their original conversation, before they’d been ambushed. It was hardly the smoothest segue, especially considering what Cyran had just been talking about, but he cared about his friend. There was the job, but it meant little if one was to return to a cold and uncaring home when all was said and done. “Is anyone going to be there to question you when you get back home?”

---

1. Essence of the North

Ebony purrs loudly at Cyran's expressions of gratitude. It is only proper that the hunter acknowledges the instrumental role she played in returning them to their awkward and gangly two-legged forms. Why they would desire such a thing is questionable given their pelts were far less patchy as smaller critters. How unfortunate that so many two-leggers seem to be afflicted with some sort of balding disease that leaves only scraps of hair on their heads. 

She does eye the treats and her nose twitches as she contemplates if the offerings are sufficient. Her current cushion is quite warm and cozy, however the smell is awful. Eventually, she moves so that Cyran can revive Zarius.

The fellblood gives the man an appraising look once they are at the safe house behind locked doors. It's pretty obvious from how Cyran dresses that the man doesn't exactly spend any of his earnings from being a hunter on himself. Even with all the expenses of Shade's Valley well accounted for the man still preferred to spoil the children over using a single solar for himself. Perhaps Zarius would have to speak with Del about ensuring he replaces the more threadbare garments in his wardrobe. Of course that's assuming he even has a wardrobe at Shade's Valley. 

"Well, then I will pay for the repairs at this cheap tailor of yours," he replies as the hunter proceeds to examine his blades for any damage. 

At the comment about the severity of the crime they committed against historians across Charon, Zarius thinks about that for a moment before shaking his head. "No, this was worse." 

He has a hard time not scoffing a laugh at Cyran's lovestruck tone as he speaks of his wife. The older man's infatuation will never not be amusing to him given how hard Cyran tries to live the life of a cold-hearted hunter. 

"I am certain she will be thankful that you were not eaten while you were a bat." 

Zarius sits in silence for a moment after Cyran's question. It's a strange question for the man to ask after they had ventured to his family home only a few hours ago. Surely he would expect that Eameia at least would want to know what happened and waste no time in teasing him about being reduced to a mere street mutt. 

"I imagine there will be no shortage of questions from my family. Though I hope I can avoid giving Eameia more material to tease me with."

He then lifts his gaze to meet Cyran's. His expression grows a bit more serious. 

"Speaking of which, I would appreciate you not spreading it around where they live. I am sure I do not need to explain why I would prefer that information to stay between us." 

Cyran stifled a laugh at Zarius’s stubborn insistence that this mission had gone markedly worse than the time they wiped out an entire ancient historical site - one that likely might have contained some useful information on the Collapse and the death of the gods.

… Whoops.

Regardless, destruction and mayhem was run of the mill for people like Zarius - merely a regular Tuesday. It didn’t come as a shock that personal humiliation would rank higher than that. Cyran was inclined to agree, though, that being trapped as a small, helpless animal had been rather anxiety inducing. He leaned back in his seat.

“And regretful she hadn’t seen it.” He was not unaware of Zarius’s… disdain was not the right word for the fellblood’s attitude, but it was close enough. His disdain for relationships he believed to interfere with the missive at hand, or get in the way of one’s goals. Or perhaps he thought Cyran and Del were just too sickeningly sweet. Which was entirely possible. They were two adults who were learning what it meant to have a first love together.

Speaking of love…

Zarius took a moment to answer Cyran’s question - probably because he was piecing together where the ridiculous non-sequitur had come from. Eventually, he brought up Eameia in that way only a younger sibling could speak about a nosey older sister. Cyran laughed. “Oh - that reminds me, I’ll need to get something for your mother as a thank you… her spell might not have succeeded but she did her best to help.”

He nodded, gripping his knife tighter for a moment as if in promise. “You have my discretion.” In contrast to his normally gentle tone, this was resolved - he’d not yet proven himself to be distrustful to Zarius, and Zarius had yet to identify himself as someone Cyran shouldn’t work for. Cyran was not ignorant to the unsavory nature of their line of work, but… that was just life. No one was wholly good or wholly evil, and sometimes the best one could do was hold right to one another and hope for the best.

Only once he was certain that Zarius was assured by his promise would he relax, returning to the act of cleaning his daggers. Spell Slicer and Cold Steel were clean, so he plucked Mercy’s Lament from the shadow and continued his work.^{(Summon: Possession)}

Oh, but… should he pursue? Cyran didn’t want to pry, but Zarius had been close to opening up to him earlier. Cyran drummed his fingers along the hilt of his blades in thought. “And what about people from the Rookery?”

Hearing Cyran admit that he ran into Zewala while as a bat does make the fellblood a bit tense. It would have been better for Cyran to have been introduced to his family properly and in a more controlled situation. At least Cyran was in a state that prevented him from saying the wrong things. Not that his mother is the person he should be really concerned about. Zewala is far more forgiving than his father. 

Still, Cyran now carries a lot of sensitive information and Zarius can't help but feel on edge about that, even though he could easily take Cyran down with him if the hunter did decide to turn against him. 

"I am certain she would appreciate that," he finally says after a moment of silence. 

Seeing and hearing Cyran's resolve does help ease his worries a bit. But deep down he knows that, if Cyran was put in a position where he would have to choose between Del and the kids or Zarius and his family, the answer would not be in his favor. Not that he would blame the man should it ever come to that. They both had their priorities after all. 

Zarius isn't too surprised to hear Cyran ask about everyone else who once called the Rookery home. They all had grown quite close while sharing the space, and Cyran no doubt would be interested in keeping tabs on Iryla given how the teenager tends to find trouble wherever she goes. 

He sits back in his chair and rests one arm on the backrest. "Adjusting. The safehouses are working for the time but we will need to rebuild at some point. It is hard to tell if we will be able to rebuild in the same place until we have all the rubble cleared."

Admittedly, he's been avoiding returning to what is left of the Rookery. The building holds an odd amount of sentimentality for him, and he'd rather not stand around grieving the loss of something made out of wood and stone. 

He tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling as he recaps where everyone else has ended up since the bar's collapse. 

"Iryla has her wagon, so we just relocated that somewhere secure for the time being. Askr still has a home with the Ring of Cinders, and Caedes bounces between the Dancer's Den and the safehouses." 

His eyes catch the slightest bit of movement as a draft in the ceiling catches the delicate strands of a dusty cobweb clinging to the corner of the room. 

"Charlotte took it the hardest. Her collection of plants from Kvasir wasn't recoverable. I have sent word to Kvasir to replace everything, but that will take some time yet."

“It was not the most… ideal introduction, I’ll admit.” Cyran murmured to himself, fully aware of Zarius’s trepidation when it came to his family. He was a private man, a quality Cyran respected and shared. Still, he’d always hoped that any meeting with Zarius’s family would be on the fellblood’s own terms, where Cyran wasn’t a bat, and Madam Zewala didn’t have the opportunity to peer through all of his centuries of memories to glean his secrets.

It put him in an uncomfortable position.

He didn’t particularly like being in that uncomfortable position.

It involved trust between himself and the Rha’Oriyn family, and though Cyran trusted Zarius, he wasn’t sure that he knew the entire family well enough to extend that trust to them. He knew Zarius, and he knew Eameia; that would have to do for now.

He offered Zarius a small, reassuring smile.

“At the very least, an apology for the havoc caused while I was a bat is warranted. But I respect your family’s privacy.”

Talk of family turned to discussion of the Rookery… Cyran breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Iryla was safe. She had a tendency not to take her own health seriously, and though he respected her independence and the last thing he wanted to do was hover, he worried, and wanted to help provide as much stability for her as he could. “Good.” He replied, shoulders slumping as they released a tension he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “I’ll have to pay both Iryla and Caedes a visit once it’s safe to do so.”

He raised his brows when Zarius mentioned Askr. His interactions with the young mercenary had been brief… a few missions here and there and some interactions about the Rookery, but the young man was rather sweet, and polite to boot. “And the Ring of Cinders is the… group Askr works for?” He noted with no small amount of surprise. “I wasn’t aware he was still running for them. I thought he’d stopped when he came to work for you.” There was something unspoken in the pointed question. “You and Caedes are rather close with him, are you not?”

Cyran was rather sad to hear about Charlotte’s despair at losing her little collection of flowers. Poor little girl. She was one of the sweetest creatures Cyran had met. He hummed, tapping his fingers against the side of his chair before opening his palm, the shadows coalescing into the form of a small ash rose, plucked from his garden planter in Shade’s Valley.^{(Summon: Possession)}

“Here. It’s not much, but perhaps Charlotte might enjoy a small offering until some of Kvasir’s own clippings arrive.” He offered it for Zarius to take… now he’d have to go visit Caedes to deliver this to Charlotte. Zarius was dancing around the issue, but Cyran hadn’t been a father for as long as he had without being able to sense when something was up. He had… suspicions.

"I will make sure to apologize on your behalf," he assures the man. "Just as I should not be seen around the orphanage, it is best if you are not seen around my family's estate." 

They'd done well to keep Cyran and the orphanage from being targeted by the rival crime families. With Darkveil being in more unstable sorts it's important that they maintain a safe distance from one another as much as possible. A shame, he rather enjoys Cyran's company and his wisdom, even when he is asking silly questions. 

"I am sure they would both appreciate that." 

Admittedly, he hasn't spent much time with Iryla as of late. She's been off adventuring on her own and been oddly distant as of late. He's been keeping tabs on her the best he can, but it can be challenging when the brat refuses to respond to his letters. Dead gods forbid she and Shael ever meet and decide to just run off for good. Cyran would never let him know peace if the hunter found out he allowed them to just disappear without anyone looking out for their wellbeing. 

On the topic of Askr, he's a bit surprised by the tone in which Cyran responds. Had the man not known about Askr belonging to a mercenary group? Perhaps he forgot to mention that when he relayed that Askr would be moving into the Rookery for a time. Oh well, it wasn't exactly a secret.

"Yes, I have an arrangement with them. Mercenaries are useful when they are not black-out drunk." 

All in all, the Ring of Cinders has been a fine resource to have in his back pocket, even if he hasn't asked anything particularly taxing of them yet. Askr holds them in high regard, and any misuse of the group would surely earn him the young man's ire, if not another attempt on his life. 

Zarius eyes Cyran when he asks for confirmation of if Zarius and Caedes are close with Askr. The changeling certainly has grown close to the kid at a surprising rate. Perhaps it is because they are closer in age, or maybe Askr reminds Caedes of the siblings he lost to the Crimson Hand. Whatever the reason, so far it hasn't caused any problems for them. Askr follows directions to the letter which makes jobs incredibly easy. They've all worked and lived in the Rookery together...though, now that Cyran brings it up, he isn't sure if 'close' is the right word to describe their relationship. He isn't sure what word he would use. 

"I suppose so," he replies after a moment, but he doesn't elaborate further. 

He looks at the rose and snickers as he takes it from the hunter. He rolls the stem between his fingers. "Careful, if you keep offering flowers to others Miss Delaela might get the wrong idea," he teases. 

It's a joke of course. Delaela hardly seems like the type to get jealous easy, and she also probably appreciates more practical gifts than flowers. Still, Cyran is a sentimental old man and hopeless romantic. Surely he has showered the woman in flowers regardless. 

"I will ensure Miss Charlotte receives it." He tucks the flower away in the meantime. 

He then looks at Cyran and rests his chin in the palm of his hand. There's an edge of accusation in his voice as he speaks. "I get the feeling you are trying to get something out of me. You can speak plainly, you know." 

He was inclined to agree with Zarius that it was best for him to stay away from their manor. Better not to allow any public connection to be drawn between the orphanage owner and the Rha’Oriyn family. Less risky was his friendship and connection with Zarius’s own allies, and Cyran’s own friends. He saw Caedes fairly often, even despite their own busy schedules… it was much more probable for the two assassins to cross paths, given Caedes’s residence in the Rookery itself and their shared profession. His visits with Iryla, unfortunately, had been few and far in between. She had her wagon, and a desire for freedom Cyran wanted to respect. Regardless, the Rookery’s destruction had taken a strain on everyone… he had little to offer but his own support, and that was what he would do.

He listened to Zarius continue on, not especially forthcoming with his replies. It wasn’t surprising, since, again, he was a fairly private person who preferred to learn more about others than reveal things about himself. Cyran didn’t mind; he expected it, really, and even engaging in small talk and catching up was a small moment he was grateful for. And despite the short, clipped answers, a far cry from the smooth and even tone he used with others when he wanted something, Cyran knew he was probably seeing a more honest side of Zarius.

… Or he’d just caught onto the fact that Cyran was digging for something.

Cyran rubbed at the back of his neck with a sheepish, awkward laugh. “On the contrary, Del would probably offer Charlotte some flowers of her own.” He muttered, suitably chastened that he’d been caught. He was so used to dealing with the little darlings in the orphanage that it had slipped his mind that Zarius was quite used to playing the political game, of obscuring and learning secrets.

“Ah… guilty as charged.” He cleared his throat and looked away, electing to stare at the cracks in the paint of the wall instead. Lunala, this was a bit awkward. “Forgive me. I’m used to guiding kids with leading questions when I want to learn something. I promise I meant no harm. Parental habits. I was just…”

He breathed out, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Before we were, ah, interrupted by the Ur Beast, we’d been speaking about interpersonal relationships and such. If it’s not a topic you’re comfortable speaking with, I won’t press the issue, but it would at least ease this old man’s heart knowing that you’ve got people who will look after you and care about you… outside of the job.”

Zarius snort a laugh. "I suppose there is no point in me arguing that I am not a child considering everyone must look like a kid someone your age." 

Cyran's approach to getting the truth out of people sounds a lot less direct than either of his parents. Anselm was not the type to mince words or beat around the bush, he was much more likely to literally beat the truth out of someone. And his mother...well, magic made it very easy to pry information out of people whether they want it or not. Using such tactics on children was not something they made a habit of, and he'd never tell Cyran the finer details of the interrogations his family would regularly carry out. 

He listens to Cyran loop the conversation back around to what they were speaking about before they were so rudely interrupted by the appearance of the Ur-beast. It'd be a lie to say that he didn't expect the elf to have forgotten the topic now that the chaos was over and done with. 

Continuing to deny answering the hunter is an option, though continued denial can be taken as just that: denail. He might as well admit to things by continuing to not answer. 

"Ease this old man's heart, huh?" He repeats the words back at Cyran in a joking tone. "I am impressed. I did not think were capable of such emotional manipulation." 

He appreciates that Cyran is trying his best to respect the fellblood's privacy, though it is laughable how bad he is at hiding how badly he does want to talk about such things. If he expects Zarius to ever be someone he can gush about romance with, well, he'd better be ready for a lot of teasing. 

"Rest assured, I have plenty of people watching my back. Though my work is my whole life for the time being. Having relationships outside of my work is not something I am interested in."

His eyes drift off to the door of the bunker and his mind wanders to what Caedes could be up to right now.

"Maybe one day things will be different, but for now I will just have to disappoint you with my lack of teenage gossip." He shoots Cyran a smug smirk. 

Cyran flushed and stared down at his lap, unsure what to say in the face of the non-accusation Zarius had thrown his way. This conversation, effectively, had drawn out one of his weak points - it wasn’t that he thought of others as children, far from it. The last thing he wanted was to make someone feel patronized. But it was… difficult, at times, not to make connections.

In the grand scheme of things, Zarius was barely older than his Marlow.

In the grand scheme of things, the only way Cyran knew to care for others at times was as a parent.

The evidence was damning.

“I know you’re not a child. Nor do I think of you as one.” He murmured after a moment’s silence, in which he gathered his thoughts and collected his composure. “It is… hard for me, at times, to conceptualize it. When I was twenty, I was still a teenager, not yet even allowed out of my house without a chaperone. But I digress… that doesn’t mean I don’t want to treat you with the respect of an adult who’s earned his merits. You have my sincerest apologies if I’ve misstepped.”

It was then that he recoiled at Zarius’s accusation - even in jest, the words cut like a knife.

“It was not my intention to manipulate anyone.” Cyran insisted, horrified at the prospect. “It’s just the truth… I worry about you.” He worried about everyone he cared about, really.

Cyran let out a small sigh at Zarius’s platitude. He supposed if the younger man didn’t want to talk about it, the last thing he wanted was to push boundaries and make someone uncomfortable. He leaned back in his seat and nodded. “Very well. So long as you have a support system… and know I’m part of it, whenever you need.” That much was a solemn vow; even if Zarius decided he didn’t, Cyran would just support from the shadows as much as he could, and hope that Zarius wouldn’t neglect taking care of himself in the face of all he sought to accomplish. But, in an indirect, accusatory roundabout sort of way, he was right - Cyran was wont to worry about those around him in a way that might have been smothering. He needed to consciously remind himself Zarius had his own agency.

He never wanted to make the same choices Lormundel did.

“Consider the issue dropped.” He waved a hand, as if closing a chapter on that particular book. Zarius’s grin, at the very least, brought some lightness back into the conversation. Cyran managed a small laugh, unable to resist a little bit of teasing back.

“Oh, don’t worry. After this venture, I’ve plenty of gossip fodder to last me a lifetime.”

"Hmmm," Zarius muses. "Miss Astrid must make you feel really old then."

Cyran's description of the overbearing nature of his home life growing up sounds pretty familiar to the fellblood. Perhaps that plays a part in Cyran's protectiveness to some extent. 

"I can understand having a sheltered upbringing." Zarius also grew up as a child of affluent parents who had their personal guard and staff keep a close eye on all their children. Course that was almost a necessity to avoid being blackmailed or taken hostage. 

"My parents did all they could to give us a good childhood, but they still had to prepare us for the real world as well. It is a difficult balancing act."

It certainly didn't help that Zarius and Eameia were little troublemakers as children. How often had they snuck past Miss Aubrey and Eirynor to roam the streets of Darkveil unsupervised? Well, he's certain they weren't as sneaky as they thought they were. Considering all their guards could conceal their presence, it was more likely that they were never without a chaperone even if they thought they'd given them the slip. 

Zarius snorts a laugh as he sees Cyran recoil. "Gods, it was a joke, Cyran. Relax." 

Sometimes it is far too easy to get a reaction out of the older elf. It reminds him a bit of his own brother, or another particularly sensitive fellblood. Perhaps that was a more natural outcome of a sheltered upbringing and he and his sister were the outliers. 

He nods. "I know. Your support has been invaluable." 

Zarius' eyes narrow into golden slits, though his smirk remains. "If you breathe a word of us being turned into flea-ridden pests, I will beat the shit out of you."

If they weren't friends, that threat might be a lot more sinister and have been spoken with a lot more edge to it. Instead, Zarius' smirk widens into a shit-eating grin. 

"Give Miss Delaela plenty of bumps to kiss and make better," he teases.