There’s a tight ache in his chest when Therios is well enough to venture into the garden. Vanth makes something of a ceremony out of it, preparing a picnic and gallantly leading Therios out of the castle, presenting the garden with a flourish. Rows upon rows of colorful flowers wiggle in excitement, their voices raising in a symphony of greetings. Therios stops at the threshold, breathes in deeply, eyes closed. The fresh scent of green growing things is a sharp, refreshing taste on the wind. Therios’s smile is soft and relaxed, and when he opens his eyes, there might be a shiny wetness to them.

“Finally!” He shouts, “Outside at last.”

Then, laughing, he runs into the garden. Vanth gapes at him. Therios sprints between the beds like a deer on new legs, eager and wobbly. He radiates such an infectious energy that Vanth soon chases after him, like they’re insouciant wood nymphs springing gaily through the greenery, instead of grown and gangly men.

Therios tumbles to a stop by the Blushing Belladonnas, who reach out to pet at his legs.

“There you are, my beauties!”

They giggle, charmed. Therios holds out a finger, which one of the leaves wraps around. He bows, bussing an air kiss over the leaf like he’s greeting a proper lady and not an enchanted flower. The belladonnas all swoon, their stems turning to mush.

“Amazing,” Therios says, stroking one of the soft petals.

He smiles up at Vanth, “This is amazing. You are amazing. A living, talking garden! I have never seen such colors and certainly have never received such a warm welcome. I’ll be spoiled for all other gardens now.”

The Friendly Freesias chirp ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ as they giggle and sway. Vanth resists the urge to also giggle and sway. He’s not some silly little bud, he can control himself.

“Not that there are any gardens in Beggar’s Hole,” Therios sighs mournfully.

Therios gingerly sits, surrounded by flowers happy to shower him with compliments and idle chatter, haloed by the fire of the setting sun, and Vanth’s struck dumb by the enchanting image. If ever Vanth thought of something as ‘home’, he thinks this would be it. Therios rests back in into the grass, stress lines on his face relaxing as he settles. Vanth curls up next to him, laying his head on Therios’s shoulder.

“What’s Beggar’s Hole like?”

“Big. Dirty.”

Vanth presses his lips together to avoid laughing aloud.

“There’s nothing nice there,” Therios says, “especially not since Laris took over. Bastard. But even before him, things were pretty shit. Fires would break out all the time, because everything is made of wood. And people live ten to a room so, you know, lots of casualties. People throw their piss and shit into the streets too, so it smells all the time. Flies everywhere.”

“I can’t imagine you would want to go back.”

“After getting a taste of castle living, I’m very tempted not to,” he winks at Vanth, “even here as a prisoner I’m more comfortable than living as a free man in Beggar’s Hole. But it’s home, shithole that it is. And if I don’t fight for it, who will, eh?”

Vanth looks at him helplessly, his heart doing odd things in his chest, like it’s growing too large for his chest cavity and wants to crawl up his throat and land, bare and vulnerable, at this man’s feet. Disgusting.

“I have something. If you would like to check up on the city.”

Vanth hurries to his study, peeling down all the wards on the door, and running over to his desk. The scroll sits as it has for the past however-many-years, untouched since Vanth’s last family member died. He had no use for it after that. Trembling, he takes it back to the garden, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He holds out the scroll to Therios.

“It’s a scroll of destiny,” Vanth says.

Therios takes the proffered scroll carefully. As soon as it leaves his hands, Vanth sits down abruptly, his knees unexpectedly weak. Therios unrolls the scroll; it’s blank. Therios’s face has gone very still.

“It will tell you the fate of others. Go on, write a name.”

Therios takes the pen and ink, which had chased after Vanth, barely able to keep up, and scratches out a name: LARIS OF BEGGAR’S HOLE. Ink spreads out from the name, changing colors and hues as it goes. Therios gasps and drops the pen, creating a large splatter. The inkpot helpfully collects the extra ink. Therios whistles, impressed.

“You spelled this yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Quite talented you are, could make handsome money designing and selling things like this.”

“That’s not possible,” Vanth demurs quietly.

Therios shoots him an uncomfortable glance. Meanwhile, the creamy yellow surface of the scroll has turned dark, storm clouds gathering over a ramshackle city, fire springing up from the towers. Therios grips the paper tightly and brings it to his nose, as if trying to magnify the details.

“What’s happened?” Vanth asks, shifting nervously.

“Not sure. Show me Laris, damn it!”

Vanth whispers a quick spell at the parchment, including a threat of being tossed in the fire if it doesn’t comply with Therios’s wishes. Very quickly, the scroll unloads image after image until nearly the entire scroll is filled with grisly artwork.

“He’s issued a decree. Death by hanging for all who resist his rule, starting with the Guild of Demon Slayers and Other Occult Banishers. Look! He’s going to storm the guild. My brotherhood!”

The demon slayer guild, a narrow stone building, is surrounded by men who bear the trunk of a large tree. They ram it into the doors of the guild, splintering the trunk. The door holds. For now. Vanth’s stomach swims sickly. Demon slayers though they may be, they are also the heart of the resistance against this Laris…and they are Therios’s family.

Therios grabs his hair with one of his meaty hands, pulling at the roots.

“What am I going to do?” He whispers wetly.

A single drop of moisture hits the scroll, blurring the lines of the guild building. Vanth looks at that single tear, and his heart breaking, knows what he must do. Time may have stopped here, stopped for Vanth, but there’s no reason for it to stop for Therios. He belongs to the world outside the castle walls. Vanth takes a deep, steadying breath.

“You’ll need to be outfitted properly if you want to return on your own two feet.”

Therios eyes are so wide they could pop out of his skull; at any other time, Vanth might find the sight amusing, perhaps even gratifying.

“The kitchen will over-prepare as usual, you’ll probably have enough food to last weeks. And I’m sure Knight can spare his sword. Yours ended up rather melted, I’m afraid.”

Therios’s huge hand clasps the back of Vanth’s neck. His thumb caresses Vanth’s cheekbone. He presses his forehead to Vanth’s, his deep sigh brushing over Vanth’s lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.