Chapter Text
The legends said emissaries from the Academy traveled in groups of four. They said you could hear the hooves of their horses hitting the ground from miles away, the sound more fitting for an army at gallop than such a small retinue. It was said that flowers bloomed when mages came through, that rain fell to quench the thirst of the earth, that their beauty and benevolence blessed the people, curing diseases and making blemishes vanish.
Mikleo should have known better than to trust the legends.
When the emissaries came for him, he only saw them because he was looking out the window, towards the never-ending barren land that surrounded his village. There was no blessed rain, no sound of armies coming his way, and definitely no impossible miracles. There were four horses, yes, but only three riders: two at the front, dressed in knight’s armor, and a third at the back, what seemed to be a mask covering their face and a long, bronze tunic draped over their body. The fourth horse ran rider-less, tied to the reins of one of the knights.
At least the legends had been right about the colors. The knights rode dark brown horses, muscled and fast. The mage rode a black mare, sculpted with elegant lines and flaring nostrils. And of course the last one, a horse of the purest of whites, purer than snow, young and swift like the wind, its mane gently braided with stones and colorful pebbles that shone under the sunlight.
Mikleo pressed his tiny hands against the glass, his heart beating wild.
“Mom!” He shouted, but there was no need. His mother had been looking over his head towards the riders, growing paler by the second. Mikleo turned to look at her, not knowing exactly how to feel… But the moment his eyes registered the terror and determination in his mother’s features, Mikleo felt fear coiling low in his stomach.
“Stay in here.” She ordered him, already turning around. “Whatever happens, don’t go outside, alright?”
“Wait, mom!”
But she was already out of the house, running in the direction of the village. Mikleo turned his gaze towards the quickly approaching riders, his fingers clinging to the windowsill.
He knew they were coming for him. That much was obvious.
What he didn’t know, however, was what would happen next.
From his window, he saw the riders take the path towards the village. He hid down as they rode by, not even breathing, but the riders didn’t spare a look in his direction. He sighed as they disappeared from view, relaxing for the first time since he had caught sight of the riders.
And then the door of his home bursted open.
“Mikleo!”
Mikleo jumped from the chair he had been standing on, eyes open wide. “Uncle Michael!”
Michael ran into the house with Muse —Mikleo’s mother— close behind. The man came to kneel before Mikleo as the woman ran further into the house, the sounds of her moving around quickly reaching them.
“Uncle Michael, the emissaries…”
“I know,” Michael interrupted him, taking a hold of his tiny hands in his. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let them take you away.”
“How?” Mikleo’s voice was more curious than scared. “How are you going to do that?”
Letting Mikleo’s hands go, Michael rose to his feet, looking down at him with all the seriousness of his violet eyes. “We’re leaving. Your mother is packing everything we need, but if there’s something you want to take with you she doesn’t know of, you better go grab it quickly.”
Mikleo stared up at his uncle with big eyes. “Leaving? We can’t leave! This is our home! And the village needs you, uncle! And I—“
“None of that matters.” Michael shook his head, the ends of his hair brushing softly against his shoulders. “I’m not letting the Academy take you from us. We’re leaving, Mikleo.”
“But—!”
“Mikleo,” Muse came into the room then, calling her son’s name softly. In her hands she carried two bags, one big enough to carry the things of two adults, and another one, smaller, on the other hand. Mikleo’s. “It’s okay. We’re not going to let them take you.” She walked until she was in front of Mikleo and lowered herself to the ground, taking the spot Michael had previously occupied. She handed her son his bag, which he promptly crushed to his chest.
One look into his mother’s eyes —the same color as Michael’s —erased all the will to fight that had resided in Mikleo until then.
“Okay.” Mikleo muttered, lowering his eyes. There were tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
“Come on,” Michael said then, taking the other two bags from her sister and rushing them towards the door. “Muse, hold on to Mikleo. We’ll run until we’re far away enough from the village, alright?”
In lieu of an answer, Muse grabbed her son’s hand and clung to it tightly.
He swallowed. I wish—
But Mikleo quickly stopped himself and lowered his head, clinging back to his mother when she started moving.
They didn’t get far.
Mikleo was starting to feel pain at his side from trying to keep up with his mother’s running when a dark horse cut their path. Both Muse and Michael stopped so abruptly that Mikleo ran into her mother’s back, clinging to her skirt so as not to fall to the ground. The hooves of the horse had lifted a cloud of dust, and Mikleo closed his eyes at it, trying to mitigate his pants. His mouth was dry and his throat felt raw, but still he forced himself not to make a sound.
When the dust settled, he opened his eyes to look at the knight. It was a woman, young, around Muse’s age, with thick dark hair that fell from a ponytail over her shoulder. Her features were hard, and his lips were set into a thin line, but she was still beautiful, like the avenging angels in the priest’s stories.
Mikleo clung to his mother tighter, hiding himself in the small of her back.
“Let us through,” Michael’s voice rang clear and strong, unafraid, even when Mikleo could see how tightly he was gripping the lapels of their bag.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The knight said in a suave but authoritative voice. “The Academy has business with you, Chief Michael.”
“I doubt there is anything in my village that could be of the Academy’s concern.” Michael replied. “There are no mages amongst our people; there haven’t been in generations—“
“Save your lies, Chief.” Another voice said, accompanied by the soft sound of the horses’ walking. They all —except Mikleo— turned around to watch the other two riders approaching, still on their mounts but walking at a leisured pace. The one who had spoken was the mage atop the black horse, their voice muffled by the bronze, clay mask that covered their face. “You think I cannot see the magic swirling in your child’s eyes? How the colors of it mingle with the purple that is his own? Though I must admit, you have taught him well: he has not met our eyes once since Maltran cut your path.”
Mikleo startled. It was true, he had been following what his uncle had told him millions of times: ‘don’t let any outsider see your eyes, don’t look back at them, ever’. But it had been hard to do so, when his heart had been pumping erratically and he couldn’t think straight. Mikleo risked a glance at the mage now that he had already been discovered, and found that unsettling mask turned towards him. It was black with a strange mark over it in bronze, the same shade than the tunic.
Michael gave two steps forward to put himself between Mikleo and the mage. “How did you find us?”
He knew better than to deny the magic in Mikleo’s eyes. It would only have made them lose precious time.
“Magic calls to magic.” The mage explain, moving their horse forward. “The child has been using his magic, beckoning us to him.” The mage pointed a slender hand towards Mikleo. “Even now, when we arrived to the village, he guided us to him.” The mage made a pause, and Mikleo thought he saw a swirl of color through the barely visible splits in the mask for the eyes. “He made a wish.”
Michael turned towards Mikleo, and the pain and betrayal he saw in his uncle’s face made Mikleo’s chest heave. “Mikleo.”
“I—I’m sorry!” Mikleo shouted, looking from behind his mother only at his uncle. “I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to!”
“And that is why you must come with us.” The mage said. “You will be taught at the Academy how to control your magic, and how to turn your wishes into meaningful prayers. We will not let your magic waste away like it is now.”
“I won’t allow it!” Michael shouted, turning simply violet eyes—human eyes— towards the mage. “I won’t let you tie his magic down like that. He should be free to do what he wants—!”
“Like you have let him be free?” The knight, Maltran, added. There was disdain in her voice. “You made the child apologize for using what is only natural to him. Talk about tying him down.”
Against his mother’s back, Mikleo shivered. He was feeling awful because, for the first time in his life, he found himself agreeing with someone else against his uncle. He had been forced by his uncle not to use his magic all his life, the orders always followed of bitter mutterings against the Academy. But, how was Mikleo supposed to control it when he didn’t even know how?
A soft hand touched Mikleo’s head lightly, and he raised his chin to find his mother looking down at him with sad, but loving eyes.
Mikleo pulled himself closer to her.
“We are aware of the rumors about the Academy floating around the continent.” The mage continued, voice more gentle now. “But they are all false. Our only interest is to help young Mikleo to control his magic, to stop it from becoming a danger for himself. A mage without proper training is nothing but a trap waiting to be activated.”
“We can take care of him.” Michael said in between his teeth. “We don’t need the Academy for that.”
“You do not.” The mage clarified. “He does.”
Mikleo’s fingers were hurting from how tightly he was gripping his mother’s skirt. Muse’s hand was still on his head, softly playing with his hair the way he liked to calm him down, but it was useless. There were mixed feelings in Mikleo’s heart, going by so fast that he couldn’t understand them.
He just wanted this to be over so bad…
The mage’s head snapped towards him. “Calm down, boy.” The mage told him, voice hard.
Mikleo trembled. He knew the mage could feel his wish in the air, but he didn’t know how to stop it.
His mother’s hand moved from his hair to his back, soothingly drawing circles on it. That helped somewhat.
“We do not have much time.” The mage said, looking at Michael this time. “The child can barely hold his magic in as he is. He is very young, but the amount of magic in him is already incredible. He will only bring disgrace to this place if you let him like this.”
Michael ground his teeth, fists firmly pressed against his sides. “How dare you—!”
“You will be compensated, of course.” The mage continued as if Michael hadn’t spoken, voice controlled. “Even if having your child being trained by the Academy should be compensation enough, we are willing to give you something else for any… trouble.”
That was such a surprise that Michael’s fists fell open, his hands slack. Even Mikleo’s mother jumped slightly, her hand pausing its movements on Mikleo’s back.
“What…?”
With a signal from the mage’s head, the second knight jumped off his horse and walked towards Michael, his armor tingling softly and shining under the sun. The knight was a young man, but muscled and tall, taller even than Michael. He towered over him as he came to stand in front of Michael, his features serious but not unkind.
The knight extended a hand for Michael to see the velvety bag in his palm. It chimed with the telltale sound of coins colliding against each other.
No one said a word. Michael’s face was fixated on the bag, so full of gold that it looked plump, barely held together by a thin thread at the top. And Mikleo understood; he understood the expression that had taken residence in his uncle’s face upon the sight of the money, understood why he was looking so troubled, when he had been furious not a second ago.
How many times, after all, had Michael lamented not having the money necessary to help the people of the village? How many times had he gone to sleep late because he had kept himself up looking for ways to make the village prosper again with the little money the villagers had? It had always been a stone on his uncle’s back, the fact that he had so many people that depended on him as the chief of Camlann, and he could do nothing to help them.
And now the answer to all of his troubles was there, in the palm of a knight, in the shape of a small bag.
Mikleo didn’t blame his uncle for hesitating.
“I won’t take it.” Michael said in the end, giving a small step back. “I won’t—“
“Uncle Michael.”
Mikleo’s voice sounded so sure and strong, that everyone turned to look at him. However, he didn’t take his eyes away from Michael’s, who looked back at him with such sorrow in his eyes that Mikleo felt his heart clench painfully.
“Mikleo—“
“I want to go.”
Muse made a sound, but Mikleo didn’t let himself turn towards her. He knew he would falter if he did, so he kept his eyes on his uncle, trying to hide the trembles of his hands.
“Mikleo,” Michael started again.” You don’t have to…”
“That money will help the village, won’t it?” Mikleo spoke over his uncle’s voice, forcing himself to stop shaking. “You will be able to buy the grain to sow the land, and buy medicine for the people at the shrine, isn’t that right? You might even be able to fix the hole in our roof with it, and buy mom one of those pretty dresses Lady Malene does.”
Muse choked on a sob, reaching to grab Mikleo’s arm. But Mikleo stepped closer to his uncle before she could, still with his eyes on him.
“You don’t—“ Michael shook his head. “You’re just a child. You shouldn’t worry about these things. I won’t let you load yourself with this kind of…”
“But I do worry.” Mikleo muttered. He inhaled deeply and turned towards the mage, angling his chin up to look at them, fighting off the uneasy feeling that that mask produced on him. “If you promise to give my uncle that money, I’ll leave right now.”
“That money is your uncle’s already.” The mage said. “He just has to take it.”
Mikleo nodded. “I want to go to the Academy.” He said, the eyes that showed the colors of his magic to the world free of any doubt.
The mage nodded. His voice was solemn when he said: “The Academy welcomes you, Mikleo.”
Many things happened at the same time, but Mikleo was already being pulled aside by the second knight. He was vaguely aware of the knight named Maltran keeping Muse and Michael away as the second knight took him a little further away, his hand gentle on Mikleo’s shoulder. He heard his mother’s voice calling for him, and the tingling of coins being rustled, but other than that he could only concentrate on his feet as he tried to match the knight’s wide stride.
Finally, the knight stopped and crouched down in front of Mikleo. He had dark hair and strong features, but his eyes as he looked at Mikleo were very, very kind. Mikleo couldn’t muster the will to be afraid of him.
“Hello,” The knight said, as if they hadn’t been standing in the same place for a while now. “What’s your name?”
Mikleo knew the knight already had the answer to that question. But it was nice being asked anyway; the mage had picked his name up from his uncle at some point, and he’d be lying if he said that hadn’t unsettled him before. So he let his shoulders sag and met the knight’s eyes for the first time.
It was strange to have a stranger meet his eyes and not have them recoiling in fear. He knew what his eyes looked like, knew the fear the kaleidoscope of colors ignited in people. But the knight was clearly used to it; he didn’t even blink at them.
“Mikleo.” Mikleo replied finally, holding his hands together in front of himself.
The knight nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mikleo. My name is Sergei. I’m a knight of Glenwood kingdom. I’ve come to make sure you are safe during your ride to the Academy. You have nothing to be scared of.”
Mikleo let his eyes slide to the side, to where he could still see his mother and uncle trying to do something, though he didn’t know what. “Will my mom and uncle be okay?” He asked, voice soft.
Sergei made an affirmative noise. “They will miss you at first, of course, but they will realize they’ve made the right choice later.”
That wasn’t what Mikleo had intended to ask, and by the tone in the knight’s voice, he knew it too. But Mikleo let it pass, knowing he wouldn’t get a real answer anyway. He moved his eyes once again towards Sergei, who smiled kindly at him.
“We should start our way back soon.” He said, raising to his feet. “Would you like me to show you your horse?”
“I’ll be riding on my own?”
“Yes. Come with me.”
So they had been completely prepared to take Mikleo back with them. They had bought someone to take care of him, even a horse just for him. It was as if there was no way they wouldn’t be bringing Mikleo back to that place.
Mikleo shivered, not wanting to think about what would have happened if they had kept refusing the mage’s offer.
The knight took him to the white horse, that had been peacefully standing next to one of the brown ones until now. It was even more beautiful up close, completely white from the ears to its hooves, the soft braids jumping against the lithe neck as the horse lifted his head to look at him. Even the equipment was beautiful, the reins woven with golden threads and the saddle so comfortable looking, Mikleo could imagine falling asleep on top of it. The leather was of a creamy color, complementing the horse’s pure looks.
Mikleo raised a hand to touch the horse’s muzzle. He was still shaking.
“Do you need help to get—?“
“No!!”
The shout came from afar, from the direction of the village. The small group turned around to see a small figure running on the path towards them, as fast as its tiny legs let him. It was a boy, of the same age as Mikleo, that kept screaming ‘no’ at the top of his lungs as if his life depended on it. No one was following him, and he didn’t slow down when he started to draw nearer.
He collided against Mikleo and the both of them went down, arms tight around each other.
Sergei frowned, but did nothing to separate the children. “What—?”
“You can’t take Mikleo away!” The newcomer screamed, voice raw. His tiny face was scrunched by determination and anger, eyebrows furrowed over green eyes. “I won’t let you!”
“Sorey, it’s okay…” Mikleo started to say, voice muffled against the other child’s shoulder, but the kid named Sorey continued shouting over Mikleo’s words.
“Mikleo has to stay! He has to stay with his family!”
“He has a new family now.” The mage said, still from his horse. “The Congregation of Mages will be his family from the moment he steps into the Academy.”
Sorey turned towards the sound of the mage’s voice, words ready to be fired from his mouth— but they all died the moment Sorey’s eyes fell on the mask the mage wore. His eyes opened with terror and all color drained from his face. Still, he angled his body so he sat between the mage and Mikleo, his back to the latter, arms a bit extended as if he was making of himself a barrier.
Mikleo put his hands on Sorey’s scrawny shoulders and angled his head to whisper in Sorey’s ear. “It’s okay.” He said with a security he did not possess. “He’s a mage.”
“Like you?” Sorey whispered back, not taking his big eyes from the mage’s mask.
“Yeah.”
At that, Sorey relaxed somewhat, but didn’t move his body from in front of Mikleo. They were still siting on the ground, there where Sorey’s tackle had left them.
“I’m not going to let you take Mikleo.” Sorey told the mage, his eyes fierce through the fear.
“You have no say in this.” The mage said calmly. “Mikleo has already made this choice, and he is coming with us.”
Sorey turned his head to look at Mikleo, who didn’t meet his gaze. “What!?”
“I… I want to learn how to control my magic…”
“You’re alright as you are!” Sorey exclaimed. “You don’t need to leave for that, we’ll find a way—“
“Sorey, they gave uncle Michael money.” Mikleo said simply, and Sorey closed his mouth, suddenly speechless. “A lot of money. Just to let me go.”
“…Really?” Sorey asked. It seemed he understood, just like Mikleo, just like Michael, how important money was for their village.
Mikleo nodded, still not looking at Sorey. “Mm.”
They sat in silence after that, and the adults let them. The faint voices of Maltran and Michael reached them, but they couldn’t know what they were saying.
Mikleo had a hand fisted in the fabric of Sorey’s shirt. Sorey was a scrawny kid, so the shirt was too big on him, and it slipped a bit off his shoulder on the side Mikleo was gripping. His clothes were battered, and there was dirt clinging to it. There was even a streak of dirt darkening the skin of Sorey’s right cheek, and dust of his hair. Matching feather earrings hung from his ears, their rich yellow color the brightest thing in him. No, that wasn’t right. The brightest thing in him were his eyes: green and so luminous someone could have mistaken them for the eyes of a young mage. But there was no trace of magic in him, that much was obvious. He was simply a child of outdoors, with sun-kissed skin and traces of laughter around his mouth.
He was just a kid asking not to be separated from his friend.
Suddenly Mikleo gasped, his eyes casted down. He had discovered a little cut on Sorey’s knee, not too deep but big enough for it to stain the fabric of his pants with red blood. Mikleo brushed his fingers over it, making Sorey whimper and his fingers get coated in red.
And then, in the next blink, the cut was gone. Just like that.
Neither child reacted to it, but Sergei inhaled sharply. The mage willed his horse closer, leaning down over its side to look directly at Mikleo, who felt the weight of his gaze even through the mask.
“Were you intending on doing that?”
Mikleo hesitated, but finally nodded, not seeing any reason to lie. “I don’t like seeing Sorey hurt.”
Sorey said nothing, but his hand gripped Mikleo’s shirt too, so tight his tiny knuckles went white.
“It is impressive.” The mage said, and for the first time Mikleo believed he heard something strange on the mage’s voice. He didn’t know it, but it was jealousy. “You should not be able to do that without proper training.”
“See!?” Sorey suddenly shouted. “He doesn’t need to go away to train, he’s fine!”
“He is not.” The mage replied. “He could end up hurting instead of healing you, one day. You need something more than intention to control a wish.”
For a moment, it seemed Sorey was going to fight again, but he thought better. Mikleo saw his expression, and knew his friend was organizing his ideas, trying to put into words whatever it was he was feeling.
In the end, he said: “If Mikleo’s leaving, I’m going too.”
Mikleo’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected that, not at all. Sorey loved Camlann. He loved everyone in it, loved exploring the ruins that laid just beyond the outskirts of the village. Of course, they had talked of leaving someday, to explore the world, to learn the things you couldn’t learn in books. But that had been plans for the future, in many, many years. Mikleo’s heart was beating so fast he was feeling dizzy.
“You cannot.” The mage said, and Mikleo felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. “You are not a mage. There is no place for you in the Academy.”
“Still, I’ll go!” Sorey shouted. “I’ll follow you if I have to, but I won’t let Mikleo go alone.”
The mage made a sound with the back of his throat, and the air crackled around him. “Insolent child—“
“Lord Emil,” Sergei intervened, speaking to the mage. The mage turned towards him sharply, and the knight raised a placating hand towards him. “If I may?”
The mage turned away, irritated. “Do whatever you want, but make it quick. We do not have all day.”
The knight nodded and walked to kneel in front of the children. Sorey moved to cover Mikleo again, but a single tightening of Mikleo’s hand on his shoulder made him stop, his guarded gaze turning curious.
“Your name is Sorey, isn’t it?” Sergei asked, making sure his eyes were on level with Sorey’s before speaking. Sorey simply nodded. “Are you a friend of Mikleo’s?”
“He’s my best friend.” Sorey said, the same way someone would say the sky was blue or the mountains high. “And I’m his.”
Sergei nodded. His eyes were as kind as they had been when he had spoken to Mikleo alone. “That means you care about Mikleo a lot, don’t you? You want what’s best for him?”
“Of course!”
“Then you have to understand that the Academy is the best place for someone like Mikleo. He has to learn how to control his magic.”
“But…” Sorey’s hand tightened on Mikleo’s shirt, and so did Mikleo’s. “I don’t want him to be alone. I want to go with him.”
“I already said you cannot.” The mage intervened. “You have no magic power—“
“There is another way.” Sergei said, with a bit of a strain in his voice. He continued talking to Sorey. “If you really want this, you could always join the Platinum Knights. You’d have to train and study, the same way Mikleo will with the mages, but we’d be happy to have you with us.”
“Are you out of your mind!?” The mage shouted. “He is nothing more than a feeble child!”
“I was only a couple of years older than they are when I enrolled.” Sergei shrugged. “And you have seen him. He is fast, he is strong, he is determined. But more importantly, Lord Emil, you have seen how easily Mikleo’s magic works on him. That is not something you see everyday. I am sure you know that better than I do.”
Behind his mask, Mikleo was sure the mage was frowning. “This is not a recruitment expedition, Captain Strelka. We are here for the mage child—“
“With all due respect, Lord Emil—“ Sergei spoke, voice hard “—, the same way I do not mingle with the Congregation’s affairs, you should not mingle with the ones of the Platinum Knights. If Sorey is willing, i will take him back to Pendrago with me.”
The mage growled. But he quickly recovered, regaining his detached facade from before. “Do what you may, Strelka. But let us leave already. A storm is coming.”
The mage turned his horse around and walked away. Sergei, however, turned towards the children once again, only to find them with big, shiny eyes.
“Can I really?” Sorey quickly asked. “Can I be a knight?”
Sergei nodded. “If that’s your wish.”
“And I’ll be able to be with Mikleo?”
At that, Sergei hesitated. “Not always.” He said finally. “But yes.”
Sorey nodded, his face too serious for a child that young. “Then I’ll go with you.”
Mikleo quickly interjected after his friend’s declaration. “Sorey, wait, you can’t—!”
But Sorey made him stop with a single look. “I’m going too, Mikleo.”
They shared a deep look, too deep for children so young. No words were exchanged at first, but they had never needed them. They had always understood each other with little to no words, so Mikleo read everything he needed to know in Sorey’s eyes.
“Okay.” He said after a moment, but it sounded like ‘thank you’.
“Come on,” Sergei urged them on, helping them to their feet. “Let’s not make Lord Emil wait anymore. You’ll ride with me, Sorey.”
Sergei helped Mikleo onto the white horse, not asking again if he needed help, but taking him in his hands and pulling him up. Mikleo swayed, not used to being that high or holding his equilibrium with his legs open like that.
“Hold on to here.” Sergei said, and guided Mikleo’s hands to the front of the saddle, where they gripped the leather tightly. “Don’t worry about anything else because I’ll be steering the horse, alright? Just worry about holding on tight.”
Mikleo nodded. But, as Sergei moved towards his own horse with Sorey, another thought filled Mikleo’s mind. “Hold on, I want—“
He twisted his body on top of the horse to look behind him, where Muse and Michael still were. He had wanted to say goodbye, to give them one last hug, but he stopped short when his eyes fell on them. Muse was crying in her brother’s arms, strong sobs shaking her whole body even though Michael was holding her tightly. Michael was looking towards Mikleo with a pained expression… But the moment their eyes met, Michael looked away in shame, not able to hold his nephew’s gaze for long.
Mikleo looked in front of him once again. He didn’t want to say goodbye anymore.
“Mikleo.” Sorey said. When Mikleo looked he found Sorey on top of the brown horse next to him, no Sergei in sight, hand extended towards him. Mikleo leaned forward to grab it, and their hands hung in the space between their bodies as they clung tightly to each other.
“What about your mom?” Mikleo asked in a whisper. He felt as if he spoke any louder he would cry, so he didn’t.
Sorey moved his gaze towards the village, so Mikleo couldn’t see his face when he said. “She’ll understand.”
Mikleo said nothing, but squeezed Sorey’s hand. A second later, Sorey returned the squeeze.
They parted soon after, Sergei riding behind Sorey on the saddle, Mikleo next to them on his own horse. He could feel the mage’s gaze on the back of his head the whole time, and Maltran’s curious one on the back of Sorey’s, but he paid them no mind.
He was scared, confused and hurt. But Sorey’s hand was still in his, and that was the most important thing.
As long as Sorey was with him, Mikleo could do anything.