Chapter Text
Months pass quickly and spring swiftly morphs into summer, bringing with it both blistering heat during the day, and rolling thunderstorms at night. Abram’s father unfortunately returns from the capitol, and just like that the slight peace that planted itself in his house is ripped up by its roots. It is back to walking on eggshells, and long days suffering through his father’s lessons. The man makes him do more now that he’s older, and Abram slowly starts to feel himself grow numb to the pain he inflicts on others. He doesn’t like it much, but there’s nothing he can do. In some ways it’s better like this. He can distance himself. It makes it easier.
He makes fewer mistakes, though when he does his father’s punishments are as severe as ever.
Abram is starting to have trouble hiding the scars beneath his clothing. It angers Andrew, but they’re still in the waiting phase of their plan. Neither of them can do much of anything before the seal is cracked, so they focus on that.
It’s exceptionally dark tonight, the stars and moon covered in a thick layer of clouds that rumble deeply every few seconds as lightning streaks across the sky. It is the only thing that lights up their surroundings, the flashes illuminating the forest then sending it back into darkness moments later. Andrew’s eyes are trained on the clouds, as dark as the shadows surrounding them.
“Why are your eyes like that?” Abram asks abruptly. It’s been bothering him. He’s seen many spirits by now, but none of them are like Andrew, and though Andrew says they exist Abram is starting to doubt.
Andrew turns to face him and blinks, the blackness of his eyes disappears for a second, replaced by two bright moons, then returns. “Like what?”
“Like the void, sometimes they have moons that wax and wane within them.” Abram tilts his head to get a better look at Andrew and lets go of his hand, reaching up to place a finger on the boy’s cheek. Andrew is cold under his touch. For a second Andrew’s eyes flutter shut, and he releases a breath. Abram goes on, “is it because of the god you worshiped?”
“I never worshiped any god,” Andrew states blankly and pulls away from Abram’s hand.
“But you were a disciple of this temple.” Abrams' hand drops back to the ground.
“I lived here.”
“That’s all?” Abram questions.
The silence that comes next seems to eat away at the world around them before Andrew sighs and slumps beside him. “How much do you know about the deity that controlled this temple?”
“He’s of the moon.”
“And?”
“He’s dead?”
Andrew looks at him, and Abram gets the feeling Andrew might be a bit disappointed. “How much do you know about the pantheon he belonged to?”
“There was a pantheon?”
Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Has humanity grown even more ignorant since I’ve been dead?
“Probably,” Abram says truthfully. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Everything has two sides to it, Abram. The sun and moon, stars and sky, earth and sea, life and death, and so on. The pantheon is large, and its number of disciples larger. The temples to these gods drew worshipers and their families, but not everyone who lived at them were disciples. Some were just villagers.”
“You don’t seem like just a villager, Andrew.”
Andrew shoots him a look. “I wasn’t a disciple.”
“If you insist.”
“This temple in particular drew people from all over, not only disciples but refugees. It was a place of protection at a time when people needed it.” It’s said quietly, and Abram understands the implication. Andrew was one who sought this protection, yet he met his death here.
“Were the temples of the other gods similar?” Abram asks, curious, he’s not well versed in mythos, present or past. His family wasn’t the sort to care about gods, dead or alive.
“Were they sanctuaries?” Abram nods, and Andrew sighs. “Somewhat, but the others were associated with different aspects, only the moon was truly associated with protection. So, while the other temples had disciples who lived at them, they were never as many, and the people were less… diverse.”
“‘I’m guessing they didn’t get many refugees,” Abram says.
Andrew shakes his head. “Not when they had the choice to come here instead.”
“Were the other temples destroyed as well?”
Andrew freezes as thunder splits the sky and turns to look at Abram. “...I don’t know.”
It’s said quietly, but as Abram looks into Andrew’s face there’s a well of emotion hidden behind the mask of indifference he usually wears. The sudden cracks in the other boy’s facade startle Abram, and the emotions that leak through even more so. Andrew’s afraid. What did he say to make Andrew afraid?
Abram wants to reach out to the boy, but he doesn’t know how.
Andrew lowers his eyes and clenches his fists in the fabric of his pants. “They shouldn’t have been. The others hadn’t done anything. They shouldn’t have been killed too.”
Abram wonders what had happened here, not for the first time, and probably not for the last. “The only god I’ve heard stories of dying is the god of the moon. The others might even still be worshiped.”
His family wasn’t the sort to care about gods, dead or alive, but his mother sometimes tells him stories of her homeland, and the places she’s traveled. This forest is the only place to have ever tasted the blood of a deity that he knows of. Abram thinks there would be more stories if multiple gods had died.
Andrew forcefully unclenches his fists and takes a breath. “.... good.”
“I can check my family’s library and see if there’s more information.” Anything to get Andrew to stop looking like that. Abram usually didn’t go in there, not seeing the need to, or having the time to with how long he spends under his father's tutelage each day. It is an extensive collection of books and scrolls, however, and Abram is sure there’s something in there on the matter.
Something eases in Andrew’s expression, and Abram finally bridges the gap and presses the side of his hand against Andrew’s. The boy links a finger over his, and turns his head back towards the sky
Lighting arches overhead, but Abram isn’t able to look away from Andrew, his eyes stuck on the way Andrew slowly forces his mask back over his face. He tries not to feel disappointed. Neither Andrew or Abram are good with feelings, but he’s fine with that. They get by.
Abram presses his shoulder into Andrew’s side and tries not to think about dead gods, destroyed temples, and what that look on Andrew’s face could mean.
It is only after heading home that Abram realizes Andrew never answered his question.
______________
It turns out Andrew devours books like he apparently devours lesser spirits, and Abram finds himself making his weekly treks up to their temple weighed down by scrolls and books to replace the ones Andrew has finished. The boy has already reassured himself of the other gods survival weeks ago, from the histories and stories Abram’s family has collected it seems only the moon god was killed. Abram’s thoughts tend to linger on the look of relief that had crossed Andrew’s face at that fact. How personal this all seems for him. He wonders if Andrew knew disciples from the other temples, or if it is something else.
Though he’d found his answer, Andrew had asked Abram to keep bringing him books, not really caring what they’re about. So, Abram does, trying to get Andrew caught up on all that has happened since he died.
Andrew’s relatively unimpressed with it all, which amuses Abram to no end.
“Humans never change,” Andrew says from where he lays across a fallen pillar, holding a book over his head with his nose scrunched up in disgust. The days are growing shorter and colder again which means Abram gets a front row seat to an increasingly crabby Andrew. “Always creating unnecessary drama.”
“You say that like you’re not one of those dramatic humans.” Abram rolls his eyes and swings his legs about, enjoying the view he has of the stars. The chilly weather has left the skies uncommonly clear, allowing them to shine brighter than normal.
Andrew shoots him a glare, eyes bright and silver. “I’m a spirit.”
“A dramatic one.”
Andrew huffs, and they fall back into silence.
It doesn’t last long as an ear-splitting screech pierces the air. Andrew jolts up into a sitting position and Abram freezes, eyes searching frantically for whatever made that noise in the forest surrounding them. A second screech sounds, and Andrew is on his feet, Abram seconds behind him. The sounds are coming from farther into the temple, and are eerily inhuman in nature, sounding more like monstrous roars. With hardly a glance at one another they both begin running towards the source of the sound, the ruins of the temple flying by in a blur.
Abram is faster than Andrew, so he sees it fist, and comes to an abrupt halt. There are two winged lions fighting in the field in front of them, and there’s no way Abram’s getting between that. Andrew crashes into his back sending them both tumbling gracelessly to the ground, a tangled heap of limbs. A strangled yelp escapes Abram’s mouth as his cheek slams into the gravel beneath them. Andrew grumbles something incoherent and irritated from above him.
The lions look over to them and Abram feels his heart freeze in fear. “Andrew…”
Andrew’s weight shifts as he rolls off of Abram. “Temple guardians,” is all he says.
“Why haven’t I noticed lions here before?” Abram asks, voice a whisper as he turns to Andrew. Where had these guardians been this entire time?
A shrug is all he gets in return. “They don’t belong to this temple.”
The lions seem to lose interest in them, and go back to screeching at each other, golden wings flapping aggressively through the air. They aren’t fighting per say, there are no claws drawn and no blood has been shed, but they certainly don’t seem happy with one another.
“What do you mean by that?”
“They’re lions.” Andrew says, as if that explains anything. At Abram’s uncomprehending look he sighs. “Lions belong to the sun god, they’re his temple’s guardians.”
“So, what are they doing here?”
“Good question.” Andrew stands slowly, picking a rock on his way up. Abram watches in silent horror as Andrew weighs the rock in his hand then throws it at the arguing lions. Abram resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to get eaten as the rock smacks the leftmost lion in the nose. It’s not the worst way to die, Abram supposes, at least his father isn’t involved.
The lions hiss and flinch back, turning once again to the two boys and raising their hackles.
“Stop it,” Andrew says calmly.
The lions growl.
Abram gets to his feet, not really wanting to die while lying down.
“I threw it because you two wouldn’t shut up,” Andrew says seemingly to no one.
The right lion yowls at him.
Abram looks between Andrew and the lions, disbelieving. “Are you talking to them?”
Andrew shoots him a look, and the lions turn to him, cocking their heads curiously in unison.
“That’s Abram.” Andrew gestures in his direction. “Ignore him.”
The lions do exactly the opposite, cautiously coming forward and winding their lithe muscular bodies between Andrew and Abram, blinking up at the boys with wide golden eyes. A golden wing brushes against Abram’s shoulder, infinitely softer than he ever expected. He forgets his fear in the face of the absurdity of the situation. Winged lions that Andrew could apparently talk to….
“How can you understand them?”
Andrew’s eyes flash bright but he doesn’t answer, then he reaches over and brushes a hand over a fluffy gold ear. “What are you two doing here?”
One of the lions looks over to him and makes a sound that would be considered a meow if it didn’t come from a lion. Andrew’s lips twitch downward. “What do you mean you’re stuck?”
Abram’s eyes widen. “They got trapped behind the seal?”
The lion closest to Abram headbutts him in the stomach, a low rumble coming from its throat. Abram thinks he should be scared of them, the rational part of his brain wants to be, but it seems unable to convince the rest of him. “They’re not lesser spirits, so maybe they can’t get back through.”
“They’re divine beings, that must be why they’re stuck.” Andrew pats the lion in front of him on the head. “What idiots, you should have known better.” The lion leans into his side.
“We can’t break the seal, yet,” Abram says, gently running his hand through golden fur. The lion looks up at him and blinks slowly in understanding. Abram has never interacted with a divine creature before and it’s an odd experience. The intelligence behind those eyes is startlingly sharp.
“They’re fine with staying here for now,” Andrew says quietly.
“You better explain what’s going on.”
Andrew turns to stare at him and says nothing.
Abram narrows his eyes into a glare then looks back to the lions. “I guess I’m going to have to share you now.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Abram.”
Abram sighs, then shakes his head and puts his frustration to the back of his mind. “Well, I’ve always wanted a cat.”
Andrew snorts out a laugh that rings through the night like bells, and there’s no way Abram can be angry at the boy after hearing a sound as beautiful as that.
__________
“Now you don’t have an excuse to be so grumpy in the cold,” Abram says, looking over to where Andrew is splayed out on the ground beside him, their two lions are curled over him in a warm protective blanket as the cold winds of winter twirl frost around them. A wing sits across Abrams lap and he runs a careful hand through it admiringly. The lion yawns and plops its head on Abram’s leg.
Andrew glares up at him. “I’m not cold.”
“Sure Andrew.” Abram reaches over and pulls a loose feather out of the other boy’s hair.
He places it on the tip of Andrew’s nose and Andrew blows it away with a huff. “I hate you.”
“Mm hmm,” Abram hums and lowers himself to lie beside the boy. One lion shifts its weight to lay across Andrew’s stomach while the other gets up and moves to lay across the boys’ legs. Its weight is warm and pleasant, thick fur shielding Abram from the wind. Abram reaches for Andrew’s hand and curls his fingers around it. “Sure Andrew.”
Andrew stares at him, an unreadable look on his face. After a moment he sighs, closes his eyes, and shifts his hand so their fingers are interlocked together, Abram’s rune of protection shining faintly in the moonlight where it rests above Andrew’s hand. Abram closes his eyes as well, mind wandering to the questions he holds close to his heart. Maybe if Abram finds the right words Andrew will finally answer some of them, but he still doesn’t know how to ask. Abram sighs and lets the thought slip away, allowing himself to relax into Andrew’s warmth.