Chapter Text
It's like they've entered another world, one of soft glowing lights and distant laughter. The temple surrounding them is huge, it seems to go on continuously for miles into the forest, intricately carved arches and pillars flowing seamlessly with the trees that surround it. Abram can’t tell if the glow the walls produce is caused by how the illusion is carved from moonlight, or if it had been like that in the past.
“Are you the one doing this?” He asks as they walk down a long corridor adorned with elaborate lanterns. The fire in them is pure white, like Andrew’s.
“No.” Andrew looks around them, his eyes distant. “The land remembers what it once was, I guess.”
“You guess?”
Andrew shrugs. “I’ve been asleep a while.”
A smile pulls at Abram’s lips. “So, you didn’t know this was going to happen either.”
Andrew turns to him, frowning. “I knew something would happen.”
“Sure you did.”
Andrew shoves him with his shoulder, it isn’t hard, but it does make Abram stumble. Though the ground underneath his feet resembles the intricate tile work the temple used to have, it still feels like walking on the forest floor. It’s disorienting, in a way
Andrew reaches over, steadying him with a hand gripping his arm. Abram pushes into him lightly. “Is this what it was like when you were alive?”
Andrew nods slowly. “But louder.”
“Really?” Abram tries to imagine it and fails. The ruined temple and its silence have always been a constant in Abram’s visits, that it had once been loud and alive isn’t easy to picture. “Did you like it?”
Andrew thinks for a moment before answering, “I thought it was annoying.”
Abram isn’t surprised.
Andrew takes a second to soak in his surroundings, then abruptly turns a corner down a hallway covered in tapestries woven from the finest materials. Abram follows close behind, not understanding the scenes depicted on the hangings. They look to be stories of what though, Abram cannot tell. Their designs are so complex that the overall impression is somewhat chaotic. The only consistency in them being the symbol of a crescent moon.
Andrew looks back, seeming to realize Abram had slowed to a stop. “They’re not that interesting.”
Abram shoots him a look. “You just say that because you already know the stories.”
Andrew pauses. “You don’t?”
Shaking his head Abram looks back to the tapestry he is in front of. Andrew walks over to him, coming to stand by his side. A complicated look plays over his face as he gazes at the weaving. “This one is about a boy who ran for so long and so far, he lost who he was. He reached the edges of this world, and kept going without looking back, only ever stopping when he finally ran out of breaths to take.”
Andrew points to a place on the tapestry where the image of a boy kneels in a vast dark area.
Abram leans forward taking a closer look at the boy's sad face, but it’s obscured by shadows. “And then what happened?”
“Someone found him.” Andrew points over to where the picture has changed. The boy still sits in darkness but there is a crescent of silver over his head bringing a beam of light to land on his form. “Or, he found them.”
“Who were they?
“A god.”
“The one of this temple?”
Andrew nods slowly. “It was too late for the boy, though.”
“He died.”
“Yes,” Andrew says quietly. “But the moon had grown attached, so he took the boy’s soul and gave him the stars to roam until the day he felt it was safe to return.”
Abram’s gaze shifts to the end of the tapestry where a vast night sky is depicted. “But that god is dead now.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe they found each other again,” Abram says, looking over to Andrew.
“...maybe.”
Andrew takes a moment to gaze at the tapestry before turning away and heading back down the hallway.
They continue through the visage of the temple at an unhurried pace, Andrew pointing out areas where magic flows in the tiles and the walls, explaining in his steady voice what each wing was dedicated to, and what specific rooms were used for. He talks of how the priests that lived here were dedicated mostly to the art of healing and protection, but how some embodied the more destructive side magic comes in.
“It was part of the reason attention was drawn to this place,” Andrew says lowly, and folds his arms over his chest staring off into the distance. They stand in a large room, the majority of it taken up by rows of columns that are carved to represent minor deities and earth spirits, according to Andrew. In the center is a sculpture of two figures, one holds up a golden sun while the other holds a silver moon. The details of their faces are hidden in the finely carved fabric of the hoods they wear.
“Is that why the temple was destroyed?” Abram asks, neck craned back as he looks at the figures.
“Not entirely,” Andrew sounds indifferent, but his head is bowed as he stares at the floor.
“You were there, weren’t you?” It’s not a question, Abram already knows the answer, just has never said it out loud. Neither of them have.
Andrew nods, and Abram takes a step closer to him pressing his shoulder against Andrew’s own. He doesn’t say anything, and Andrew doesn’t speak either as they take in the ghost of the dead temple around them.
Sometimes words are not enough.
__________
Winter comes with a dusting of snow that frosts the trees, and the ground, and the ruined temple with little care. Abram finds out that Andrew hates the cold with a vengeance, he wants to question how a spirit can even feel the cold but doesn’t, and they spend their nights huddling together beside fires Abram has grown comfortable with creating. The temple is back to being how it normally is, a ruin that guards its secrets close, and the night of the equinox feels more like a distant dream each day.
Andrew is pressed against his side, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders that Abram snuck out of his home with a week ago, and a petulant look on his face. The fire before them crackles merrily, sending a column of sparks into the air that dance and pop until they dim and disappear. Andrew has started teaching him on the ways of runes, and all around them are carefully drawn sigils. Some glow with faint traces of magic, while others seem dark and empty.
“The process for cracking the seal will have to be done in three steps,” Andrew grumbles, sinking lower into the blanket. His head comes to rest on Abram’s shoulder as he glares threateningly at the fire, as if willing it to be warmer. “We can start the week of the spring equinox.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to use magic well enough by then?”
Andrew shakes his head. “The first step is the easiest, it won't require you to. The others… will take time.”
“How much time?”
Andrew is quiet for a moment, thinking. “Magic is something that needs to build. It could take years.”
Abram nods, his chin bushing against Andrew’s soft hair for just a moment. “So, the sooner we start the better.”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we start now?”
“Too cold.”
Abram laughs at that. “That’s not a reason Andrew.”
Andrew glares at him through his lashes. “The innate magic of this place is more accessible at the equinoxes, as you know. We should start the process and place the counter sigils right before then, so they take in that magic. It will make the process faster. Is that better?”
“Yes,” Abram smirks which results in Andrew shoving him over. Abram lands on his back with a huff, eyes trained towards the sky and the stars that gaze down at them. The moon is a half disc almost directly overhead.
A second later its light is blocked out by the shadow of Andrew’s head. “You’re annoying,” he says.
“You don’t mind,” Abram says. Andrew rolls his eyes and holds out a hand, an offering Abram takes gingerly. Before Andrew has the chance to pull him up though, Abram is yanking at his arm and the boy falls to the ground beside him with a soft oof.
Andrew’s grip tightens, his fingers are on top of the protection rune he gave Abram all those months ago. There’s a glare on his face that can’t hide the soft twinkle in his moonlit eyes. “I’m reconsidering that.”
“No you’re not.”
“Don’t test your luck.”
“You wouldn’t let me.”
Andrew stares at him for a long moment then reaches up with his other hand and pokes Abram between his brows. Abram scrunches his face at the icy cold of Andrew’s hand, but doesn’t pull away. Andrew stays like that for a moment before releasing his breath and dropping his hand. He leaves behind a tingling sensation, and Abram wonders if he’ll find the faint traces of a pale rune where Andrew’s finger had been when he gets home. Hopefully it won't be too noticeable, his father already suspected something was going on.
“Careful Abram, I have no control over luck.”
“That’s fine,” Abram shrugs as best he can. “I don’t have much of it anyway.”
“More than you know.” Andrew says dryly.
“Maybe the bad kind,” Abram relents.
There’s a long moment of silence as Andrew’s silver eyes roam over his face. “Not if I can help it.”
Abram wishes he knew what Andrew meant by that.
_______
Spring meets Abram with soft blooms, and new life growing from the cracks and crevices winter left. It’s been quiet at home, his birthday passes without note, and his father is away at the capital tending to the emperor's wishes, whatever ghastly things those may be. Abram likes it. He sees his mother more, and while she’s still quiet around him when she does speak her words are less careful. Her footsteps land more solidly on the ground, and she seems less like a ghost silently avoiding the shadow of his father and more like the hard-edged woman Abram knew from his earliest memories.
The temple has also regained some life with the melting of the snow and while Abram can’t say Andrew seems happier his demeanor has softened back into indifference with the warmth. As the nights grow shorter, they progress with their plans to implement the first step in breaking the seal.
Three nights before the equinox Andrew and Abram stand underneath their tree shoulder to shoulder as Andrew explains his plan. “The first step is to inscribe runes on key spiritual points around the temple. This will disrupt the pattern of the seal by slowly drawing magic away from it and into a pattern of our own. It will take time but will amass energy if given enough.”
Abram nods along, Andrew’s lessons have come in handy, at least in regards to Abram’s ability to understand what Andrew’s saying. “And we’ll use that energy to crack the seal.”
“Eventually.” Andrew’s eyes are two steady crescent moons glowing dimly, like small reflections of the new moon over their heads. “It serves another purpose, though.”
“How so?”
“This temple is somewhat separated from your world, to keep it hidden. Disciples used amulets like yours as keys to enter here, but it’s this separation that has allowed the seal to grow so strong. Its magic has amplified the seal making this place like a pocket of time well removed from the land it sits on,” Andrew says slowly, and turns to Abram. “The second purpose of the runes is to ground this place again.”
“That doesn’t sound easy Andrew,” Abram points out.
“It will also take time, but if the runes we construct already have a connection to something outside it will happen naturally as they begin to store their own energy.”
Andrew is studying his face carefully, and after a moment Abram blinks in realization. “I’m the connection.”
“If you want to be, but you shouldn’t agree to it without knowing the costs.”
Abram is about to shake his head and agree to it anyway, he doesn’t care about how it’ll affect him if it helps Andrew, but at the look on Andrew’s face he pauses. “What costs?”
“It will require the runes to be written in your blood, and in turn will connect you to the temple.”
“I’ll do it,” Abram says immediately. “If that’s all.”
Andrew stares at him in frustration. “You didn’t think about it.”
“I did,” Abram insists. “And I decided I want to.”
“There are other ways-”
“But this is the easiest right?” Abram asks. After a moment Andrew nods. “Then let's start, we’re wasting time.”
Abram brushes past Andrew to stand in front of their tree. They had decided to place the first rune here, where it began.
“Do you have a dagger?” Abram asks, and suppresses a shiver at the thought of having to use one on himself, he’d do it for Andrew, even if he hated the things.
Andrew shakes his head, then pulls an oddly shaped rock from one of his pockets. It is the size of a closed fist, pitch black, and flat along one edge while the rest is carved in patterns of swirls. Abram takes it carefully; the flat edge is incredibly sharp. “For ritualistic bloodletting?” Abram hazards a guess.
Andrew rolls his eyes. “Now I guess it is.”
Abram gave him a small smile and raised the blade. “Any place in particular?”
Covering Abram’s hand Andrew directs the blade to one of Abram’s fingers. “You only need to draw enough to write the rune.”
Abram nods then swiftly cuts his finger, a drop of blood starts pooling slowly at its tip. Andrew helps him draw out the rune they had created together, and after they’re done, they step back to watch as the blood slowly seeps into the tree leaving behind a rune that shimmers a silvery light.
Andrew steps in front of Abram, a hand coming up to cup his cheek, it’s cold but Abram doesn’t mind. “Are you alright?”
Abram nods slowly, the cut stings and he can feel magic coursing through his being, but it is more exhilarating than anything else. Finely they’re doing something, finely he can help Andrew. “Yes.”
Wind rustles the branches overhead when Andrew looks back at the rune, his eyes brightening as the crescents within them expand to look like half discs. “Five more to go.”
“Five more to go,” Abram repeats, mouth twisting into a sharp smile, “and then we wait.”
“And then we wait.” Andrew’s lips twitch up into a fleeting smile that is gone a second later, and warmth blooms in Abram’s heart. They can do this.