#corruption verse

A boiling wreath of fire bursts from the circle all the way up to the ceiling, licking hot and red as it kisses the high beams. Scar flinches– an ingrained response as heat sears against his skin in one sizzling wave– but roots his feet to the floor, straining against the urge to step back. Instead, he raises both hands, palms out in supplication, and threads his intent into the fire.

Scarlet flickers to gold; Scar's breath shudders to a halt as the flames twist in on themselves, molten and writhing. Shadows spin against the ancient stone walls, forming wild, manic shapes that spit and hiss as the water surrounding them evaporates. Scar pays them no mind. In his heart is an icy, begging chasm; he has never been inclined to pray before, but just this once–

But– there. Deep within the fire, a shiver; a conflagrant tongue splits off, forking into the crude mimicry of an elongated star. Scar's lungs hitch as the flames coalesce, forming thin, brilliant shapes. A head, neck, and torso. Stocky legs. Muscled arms. Gilded hands and feet. Until at last, the broad stretch of shimmering wings flares out from its back–

With a deafening rush, Grian steps forth into the basement.

The world, once hazy and undefined, sharpens: colors saturating, contrast blooming as his eyes adjust to the new, softer luminescence of the spirit before him. Grian is unchanged from the day they were separated; his hair is just as tousled, eyes just as dark and obsidian-deep. Behind him, his wings– pulsing with the inner fire that birthed them– unfurl, extending to only half their width before the tips of each primary brush the walls. Then they retract, trails of light following in their wake– a cascade of ribbons that dance before Scar's eyes.

The breath Scar sucks in is more tremor than actual inhale; layering beneath his pulse is an echo, razor sharp and burning, layering neat, barbed wire lines around his heart. It's done. It's done. The warm prickle of Grian's presence once again winds between his ribs, igniting his veins and crawling under his skin with the insistent thrum of power. And of Grian himself…

Grian's eyes are fathomless and ancient, but inside them is the vicious strike of flint and steel– his lips tug into a wild grin, honed teeth on full display. "Hello, Scar," he says, warm and fond, and at last, the ice that had crystallized beneath his sternum three months ago shatters.

Scar's rushing forward before the last syllable even rings out, arms open and reaching. They tumble into each other with the force of an earthquake; Grian snakes his own arms around Scar's back, clutching so tight his bones threaten to creak. The gooseflesh over Scar's arms dissipate– Grian is a solid line of heat against him, hair soft where it tickles his chin. Scar buries his face in it, breathes the charcoal, ashen scent of him; when Grian pushes his nose into Scar's clavicle, they both shudder, pressing impossibly closer.

"Y'know," Scar whispers at last, lips brushing the crown of Grian's head, "I was a little scared that wasn't going to work."

Grian pulls back to bark a raw, manic laugh that bounces off the walls around them. "That was genius, actually," he says, tilting his neck back to peer into Scar's eyes. Sparks of electricity jolt through him as the gravity behind that uncanny gaze once again drags him past the event horizon. "I should've known you were going to try something like this– I just didn't think it was possible."

"I didn't either!" An answering giggle tangles in Scar's throat; his lungs have filled with bubbles. "That was really nerve wracking, to be honest. I think I almost messed up a few words there, but–" he breaks off, too entranced by the golden shimmer of Grian's curls to continue that line of thought. It’s done; that’s what matters. With reverent fingers, he traces the curve of Grian's cheek, pushing back an errant strand of hair before tipping forward to fold a kiss into the supple skin of Grian's jaw. A sparkling tingle hums through his lips with the contact.

Grian clicks his tongue, one hand shifting up Scar's back to tangle in the long hair at his nape. "Risky," he murmurs, but threads of admiration weave between the notes of his voice. Scar sinks into it, eyes slipping shut as Grian's clever fingers begin massaging hypnotic circles into his scalp. "You're a crazy man, using a summoning ritual instead of rebreaking the seal. How on earth did you manage that?"

"Oh, with a little bit of this, a little bit of that." Scar keeps his voice light, airy, but the effect crumbles as his balance wobbles, swaying him on his own feet. Every sleepless night, every desperate plan, every biting grudge he'd tucked away in the interim between his expulsion and Grian's return to his arms rises up, snapping at his ankles– threatening to unspool him at his fraying seams.

Grian's arms tighten, steadying; with a gusty, tremulous exhale, Scar bends down to rest his head against Grian's shoulder.

For a long, simmering moment, silence holds court in the basement. Even the water plinking from the ceiling has volatilized; only the low beat of Scar's pulse, slowing from its hummingbird pace, remains.

"Did they hurt you?" Grian asks without warning, voice hoarse.

Scar stills. The memories of that night are etched into his bones, boiling within his marrow– it takes no effort to bring back the mocking bite of the shackles, the way every nerve had exploded in firework bursts as they stole the magick from him. Humiliation lingers in the cracks between memories, growing in thick, ramshackle vines– but this moment is too fragile for anything less than truth.

"It wasn't exactly pleasant," Scar admits, and shivers when Grian's hand flexes sharply in his hair.

"They'll pay for that," Grian says, bordering on a snarl that singes the air around them. Danger hisses along its edges; the thrill that shoots up Scar's spine is a familiar spike of jittery adrenaline, flooding his synapses with crystalline clarity. "For hurting you, and putting me back in that cage– never again, Scar. I won't be letting them get away with this."

And these are the words of a promise, spoken with scintillating power, sinking into the foundations of every brick and stone on the Academy's campus. Scar raises his head from Grian's shoulder, reaching up to cup his cherished, timeless face. Leans in; his lips mold to Grian's in a soft slide that firms from chaste to hungry within seconds, nipping teeth chased by the gentle swipe of a tongue.

"We'll kill them all," he breathes against Grian's mouth, and this too is a vow, painted against the soft, malleable flesh of Grian's lower lip. "Every last one of them."