The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

"Syryn, you're late. Did something happen?" Alka closed the door and busied himself with a kettle.

They were staying at Alka's treehouse apartment that was built around a magnificent old tree. The inside of it was a jungle of potted plants, wooden staircases and ramps that lead to 5 rooms and a kitchen. Glass windows were aesthetically installed to let in lots of natural light.

The kitchen that Syryn was relaxing in opened up to a wide wooden deck that had even more foliage. And in the corner of the kitchen, a small fire crackled in the hearth where Alka's kettle whistled.

"So much happened today. There was an incident with an unlicensed mage but the anti mages took care of it." Syryn narrated his day while lounged on the reading couch. Alka quietly placed a steaming mug of honey tea on the table beside Syryn. His drooping eyes and messy hair were evidence of what the mage had been doing before Syryn came knocking.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." Syryn beckoned for Alka to join him on the cosy couch. The plant mage obliged and shuffled over with a small yawn.

"Where's Luci?" Syryn asked the mage that was leaning against his shoulder.

"Asleep with Magnus," Alka replied, voice soft with sleep.

Syryn covered Alka with a thick blanket before reaching for the tea. The comfort of his warm tea, the sound of Alka's quiet breathing, and the silver beams of moonlight pooling on the floor of the kitchen lulled Syryn into a deep sleep. He dreamt of Rowan again.

Within his tower, Syryn stood on tiptoes and stretched his arm up but his fingertips just barely brushed the shelf where his favourite book was nestled.

A low familiar chuckle sounded and then a presence behind him pulled the book out from its nook.

When he heard the voice, Syryn's breath hitched and he spun around to tackle Rowan in a hug that went around the anti mage's waist. He then felt Rowan's fingers card through his hair in a tender caress. It was that dream again. Syryn relaxed into the feeling of callused fingers gentle on his skin.

"You've taken to acting like a spoilt child, Ryn." Rowan's voice was deep and rich. He was also slightly bewildered by the actions of the child that clung to his waist.

"Then push me away Rowan." Syryn's muffled voice replied. Through the thin layer of his cotton shirt, Syryn could feel the hard planes of smooth muscle that was Rowan's abdomen. Whether a dream or not, it felt inappropriate to be feeling him up so Syryn pulled himself away from Rowan.

He raised his head to meet his friend's eyes and it hit him just how tall Rowan was. In the future, he too would grow to be tall but Rowan would outstrip him in that regard. Even his shoulders were wider, broader than Syryn's lean frame. Rowan's physique lent him the intimidating aura of a power coiled body beneath the clothing that left its tone to one's imagination.

"Why is this dream so real?" Syryn whispered - taking in the details of his environment.

Rowan's answer was a sorrowful fleeting smile that faded with the man. Syryn was left all alone in his tower.

A shaft of bright sunlight roused Syryn out of his nightmare. He blinked against the harsh light and squinted at the spot next to him where Alka had slept.

"Your big brother is awake Luci." Magnus was at the breakfast table with Lucien who was pouring juice into a glass. Syryn also spotted Milky basking in the sunlight next to a potted plant. The thick heart-shaped leaves were as glossy as Milky's white fur.

"Syryn, good morning!" Luci beamed at Syryn from the breakfast table. "I'll get you breakfast so wash up quickly!"

Syryn smiled at Lucien and chased the sleep out of his system with a splash of cool water from the kitchen basin. He had a lot of shopping to do today.

The Elysium Mill was just as vibrant, colourful and alive as he remembered. Syryn was a cog in the wheel of the constant trade that turned round and round in the market that never lacked. His pouch was heavy with the weight of the gold he had won off his challenger and there was a list of items that Syryn had come here to buy. Items for Lucien's first phase of treatment.

Syryn had given Lucien over to Magnus and Alka for the day as there was no sense in dragging the boy all over the market when he could be sand fishing with Magnus at the dock. Alka had volunteered to lead Syryn around but he was refused on the grounds that Syryn needed to explore on his own. Thus he found himself arguing with a hungover vendor.

"These yellow flutes are a day old at least. I'm not paying more than 50 silvers."

The middle-aged vendor burped - the stink of alcohol prevailing despite the shelves of aromatic herbs. "S'not fiddy. Won't sell fer less an'80 silvers kid."

It wasn't worth it. Syryn decided to leave the stall for cheaper pastures.

"Siren! Yoohoo!"

The Elysium Mill was expansive in the entirety of its area so how the hell did he run into Vincent again? Syryn turned around knowing Rowan was also in attendance. To his surprise, Salem was right there with the two anti mages. The combined level of attractiveness in their direction blinded Syryn's sense of beauty.

"Vincent, where is the sprite ore?" Syryn asked the anti mage with golden eyes, but it was Rowan that answered.

"We're on our way to buy some right now." He wasn't wearing his uniform today. Rowan was dressed plainly - a white shirt and soft dark brown trousers that looked subtle but expensive, the kind that spoke of class and simplicity.

Younger Rowan hadn't reached the pinnacle of the godly physique that his older self possessed but the broad swell of his chest, the strong arms - of smooth muscle that seemed to have been created by a master sculptor- and the power that lay in the graceful way he moved, were evidence that young Rowan was growing into the anti mage that Syryn knew.

"Syryn, what are you looking to buy?" Salem's velvet voice pulled him out of his thoughts. The alchemist's glimmering blonde hair was pulled back with another ribbon that looked exactly like the one Syryn had relieved him of.

Salem's lips drew up in a beautiful arc when the younger alchemist's gaze had flitted to his cheek. It turned the tips of Syryn's ears red, unbidden and unwelcome.

"I have to go," he abruptly answered and made to leave but Vincent's mouth was faster.

"Hey, why don't you let Rowan guide you? You're new right?"

Syryn's feet came to a halt and his mind blanked out for a second. What did Syryn want? Why was he unconsciously avoiding Rowan?

"I have some time to kill," Rowan added, voice neutral and calm. He wasn't like Syryn - head stuffed with unnecessary and complicated thoughts. The man just wanted some good potions.

"I'd like that," Syryn answered. He could feel more than see Salem's intent gaze on his face. Somehow it made Syryn feel like the two of them had taken part in something secretive and lurid. His cheeks coloured and Syryn grabbed Rowan's wrist.

"Let's go." A surprised Rowan was tugged away, led by a flustered Syryn whose feet carried him deep into the maze of the Elysium Mill. He wasn't paying attention to the directions that they took.

"Syryn, slow down." Rowan's words danced along the back of his neck and Syryn hastily dropped Rowan's hand like it had stung him.

"At least tell me what you're looking to buy."

That was right. He was here for a purpose.

"I need some medicinal plants. Stinging kelps, poipoi seeds, yellow azmantas, Jewelled ficus... " He rattled off the list one by one while the anti mage stood still and paid attention. When Syryn had come to the end of his list, Rowan did not respond immediately.

"Except for the Jewelled ficus and water flax, we can get the rest at Fair Maiden's herbs." He finally spoke after a few seconds of remembering.

"How do you know that?"

"I ran a few errands for our resident alchemist when she was still around."

Rowan then steered Syryn towards a narrow lane that had a high traffic of people. "It's a tight squeeze in there but you've taken us very deep. This is the shortest route to the shop," he explained.

It was Syryn's turn to be pulled along. Small in size that he was, Syryn was bound to get carried away in the current of moving people so Rowan slipped his hand into Syryn's. It was warm and strong.

They walked right into the crowd and Syryn felt like a helpless swimmer being pulled through a riptide. At one point, he was dragged away in the press of bodies and Syryn began panicking from being unable to see above the heads of people. Was he going to get lost in the market like a child separated from his mother? He belatedly wondered.

"Syryn!" He heard Rowan's voice before he felt an iron grip on his bicep that pulled him flush against Rowan's warm body. The shorter mage was beginning to get flashbacks of his dreams. "Hold tight." Rowan securely held the boy against him and lead them out of the narrow lane.

Syryn was still smushed against Rowan's chest, hands fisted into the taller boy's shirt. "We're out now Syryn. Are you okay?" A hint of worry in his voice.

He just needed a few seconds to breathe and will the blush away from his cheeks. The feeling of Rowan's clenched abs and the familiar scent of amber and cypress had sent Syryn's mind down memory lane.

"I'm okay," he replied after letting go of his shirt. Rowan's searching gaze was on Syryn, a puzzle that the anti mage was figuring out.

"Sirennnn!" and Vincent was back in Syryn's face again. "We got the ore."

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