He passed through the classroom door, happy to be leaving the lion’s den and returning home; he felt a tap on his shoulder, “Question seven was a bit hard, ay?” 

Syril’s eyes widened; he recognised that sprightly voice; it was unmistakably Davion, his elder brother. However, what was peculiar was his brother neither attended this class nor school anymore, having chosen to enlist in the scouting forces at the end of his selection year. Davion greeted Syril’s astonished expression with a playful smirk, that rose into his emerald green eyes.

“Davion!” Syril delightedly screamed as he pulled his brother into a hug, forcing his classmates to take evasive action to avoid collision with the conjoined pair, triggering many annoyed looks. Syril shot apologetic glances and guided his brother towards space in the corner of the hallway.

Finally, having a chance to look at this brother, he was shocked at his incredible transformation. Davion was always the brawn of the pair, but now he looked like he could go toe to toe with Professor Seabright. His face was lean; his usually long messy blonde hair was tied in a neat ponytail that hung lazily to the side. He was wearing his usual red flannel shirt and blue jeans, only they looked two sizes too small.

“Did your clothes shrink in the wash or something?” Syril teased.

“It was either this or my uniform, and my uniform actually is in the wash,” Davion glowered, “plus, wouldn’t you describe this as more slimming anyway?”

“I’d describe it as a lot of things,” Syril said, containing his sarcasm, “scandalous for one. Your shirt looks like it’ll break open at any moment.”

He wondered how the students and faculty would react to a shirtless man on campus; he was sure the city guard wouldn’t be impressed.

Syril glanced back up at Davion, “What are you doing here anyway? Weren’t you sent to help with the riots in the Wigston mines?”

His brother let out a cough, “Well, it got sorted out pretty quickly, so they offered me a few weeks of leave.”

For a moment, it had appeared Davion’s delighted expression hadn’t reached his eyes; but it had happened so fast Syril wasn’t even sure he saw anything.

Davion looked at him interrogatingly, “What? Aren’t you happy to see me?” he put his hand to his forehead and faked a sob, “My brother, already sick of me, the horror, the audacity OH the agony.”

Syril rolled his eyes and gave his brother a light kick in the shins, “Still dramatic, I see.”

Davion chuckled, bending down to rub the spot Syril kicked him, “Still a bit short-tempered, I see.”

Syril scoffed, “you were the short-tempered one, Davion; remember when you chased me around the house with a bat, screaming that I stole your favourite pen?” Syril glowered at him, “because it’s been hard to forget that one, Uncle still looks at me funny when things go missing.” 

His brother looked at him, shame burning in his eyes, “You’re going to find this hilarious; I found it under my bed that night; it must have rolled out of my bag when I got home from school or something.” Davion made a half-hearted attempt at a smile and laugh.

Syril stared at him, mouth open, speechless; the injustice dawning on him, “He grounded me for weeks! I missed Riz’s birthday party; she didn’t talk to me for months afterwards!”.

“Hey, don’t blame me….”

“Well, I’m going to,” Syril interrupted

“…he was just stressed, Sy; you know what happens to thieves in this town….”

Syril, exasperated beyond words, threw his hands into the air. 

His brother sighed, “I’m sorry. Are you happy now?”

Syril kicked him again, “Yeah. Sure.”.

Davion smiled at him, a smile that Syril stubbornly did not return. He placed a hand on Syril’s shoulder and pulled him in for another hug, “I have missed you, Sy.”

Syril looked up at his brother; he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed him too; they had been inseparable after all. Despite their age difference, they had looked so similar telling them apart was near impossible, hence why Syril would keep his hair short, and Davion grew his out.

They were brothers, but more than that, they were friends, each entrusted with the secrets and wishes of the other. Syril was happy to be with his brother again; the hug shrouded him in a warm glow; it felt like a piece of himself had returned, something he would never admit to Davion.

Syril pulled away, aware that people were staring at the two of them, “Ok, seriously, what brought you to school? I don’t need you to pick me up; It’s only a ten-minute walk home.”

Davion sighed, looking back at the door to the classroom he had just left, “I needed to talk to Seabright, and I figured I could catch you at the end of your exam and say hi.”

Confused, Syril looked back at the door, half expecting, half dreading to see Seabright walk through it, “What do you need to talk about? Have I done something wrong?”.

It didn’t make sense to him, it was too soon for it to be about his exam, and he knew he had at least passed his other assessments in Seabright’s class. Unless Seabright preemptively arranged a meeting about this exam…

Could he do that? Why would he do that?

“Not everything is about you, Sy.” Davion chuckled, “and it’s not interesting, don’t stress about it.”

Syril opened his mouth to argue, but he was interrupted by a loud cough beside him.

“Mr Elmdew, if I had known you’d be dawdling outside my classroom for half our meeting, I would’ve gone and gotten a tea,” 

Professor Seabright had seemingly materialised beside them; Syril hadn’t a clue how he had managed it; the professor was the textbook definition of an orc.

He towered over them both, which was impressive because Davion was six feet tall on a bad day; his back was as broad as the classroom door, and his neck was as wide as a tree trunk.

Syril looked into the professor’s brown eyes and tried his hardest not to stare at the large tusks extending out from his lower gums. Despite being a professor for the past year at Renria academy, Seabright was still as intimidating as the first day he walked into the classroom.

Davion went to shake Seabright’s hand, “I’m sorry, professor, I just saw Sy, and we started catching up…”,

“My time is just as important as your own, Mr Elmdew; please remember that.”, Seabright clasped Davion’s much smaller hand in his own, giving the image of an adult’s hand holding a baby’s.

Davion nodded in agreement, “Sorry, Sir, I will next time, I promise.”

Seabright’s lips pursed, obviously content with the response, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden timepiece, “Come along then, Mr Elmdew; if you make this quick, I can still make my shows.”

Davion turned to Syril, mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and followed the professor back into his classroom, closing the door behind him.

Syril turned, content with walking home alone, yet his feet would not move. He stood alone in the empty hallway, the sun setting on the horizon, its warm glow only serving as a reminder of the quickly fading time. Syril needed to get home; his uncle had organised a runic tutor for him and given him the express instructions not to be late.