He had never expected this.
Or perhaps, he did. Perhaps somewhere, tucked away in the darkest recesses of his mind, Thomas Kirkman was irrevocably expectant of this.
He stood, hands clenched by his sides, breath steady and even and calm, despite himself. Somewhere, in the logical part of his mind, he knew that this was a bad idea; knew that setting foot anywhere near James Skelton was a terrible idea.
But Thomas Kirkman had always been strong in his convictions.
The tower itself was isolated, crumbling and suffocated by ivy and had it not stretched toward the heavens in the way that it did, Thomas would have thought it nothing more than a decrepit old ruin.
But when he had looked up to see the soft glow of candles flickering through one of the dust-speckled glass panes, he was drawn in.
Before he had any time to consider, his feet had already decided for him, and he was climbing the stone steps towards the tower.
And there he was.
He was ghostly and silent and would have went entirely unnoticed had he not made himself apparent.
''Now this is unexpected.''
Thomas turned, hand already at the hilt of his sword. It was more instinctual than anything, yet he immediately noticed the offense on the man's face at his suspicion. He opened his mouth to speak, but when he saw his old friend he could only do so much as stare.
James Skelton stood, his once soft features sharpened and matured with age, sunken eyes obscured by unkempt locks of honeyed-hair.
It wasn't the change in appearance that Thomas noticed, however.
From his skin, standing out in stark relief, ran lines of cerulean that ebbed and flowed, alive with power that seemed to emitt a strange glow. Magic, he wondered aloud, and James smiled.
''Impressed?''
''Surprised, if anything,'' and it certainly showed, Thomas' eyes locked onto the lines of flowing power, unsure what to make of it. ''Certainly a noticable change.''
''Isn't it wonderful?'' Thomas glared, but he remained silent. James sighed.
''I have spent many years of research building a formidable knowledge of the Old Kingdom. Runes, artifacts, forgotten languages... and who would have guessed they had been secreted away in the dusty old pages of these books?''
''And that's what you've been doing all this time?'' Indignation rose in his throat and he was able to do little to keep it from his voice. ''Fifteen years... or have you lost count?''
''Fifteen years,'' James repeated slowly, nodding. ''I'll admit, time here seems to feel... absent. It is good to see you, Thomas.''
Thomas bristled at that, yet he held his tongue. The last he came here to do was argue.
''And you.'' He sighed softly. ''But how did Old Kingdom research turn to...'' his words trailed off as his eyes fell to the lines of power once again.
''There were... other books that I happened to stumble across. Books of wisdom, sorcery, spells - the works. I was curious at first, but...'' James' voice was dreamy, unhurried, and there was an ever-present hunger residing in the man's eyes, Thomas realised; it set him on edge. ''Well. Needless to say, my interests were steered in a different direction.''
''I can see that. But how did scholar turn to practicioner? I thought all of the Heroes were-''
''I'm not a Hero. No, I have little interest for that.
What interests me is power. Knowledge. Granted, there is much still to be gathered and learned, but...''
''Power?'' Thomas echoed, incredulous, and he let out a nervous little laugh. ''That's worrying.''
James seemed genuinely perplexed, raising an eyebrow.
''How so?''
Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead turning his attention to the library surrounding them.
Books lined the walls, set into the curved shape of the tower, some aged and worn, others untouched.
Thomas observed, ran his finger along the spines, and raised his eyebrows. ''An impressive collection of titles. How many have you read?''
''Not enough,'' came the brusque response, but James softened slightly. ''That isn't the half of it. They're everywhere. I'm afraid I've allowed myself to become rather unorganised.''
Thomas smiled at that, though it soon faded, replaced by something of concern. ''How long have you been...''
James appeared tense for a long moment, before exhaling a pent up sigh and forcing a slight smile. ''After everything that happened, I wasn't sure what to do with myself, as you were well aware. When I told you that I wished to travel North, I hadn't been entirely honest, but you know that.''
Thomas nods. ''No, you didn't exactly spare me any details. In fact-'' and his voice took on indignation, brows furrowing- ''you left without any warning. I had no idea that you had even left until I found-''
''The letter, yes.''
James visibly tensed, crossing the length of the library to stand alongside Thomas, who refused to meet his eyes.
''I should have told you. I know that much. It was...'' He sighed, his voice dropping to a low whisper, ''It was unfair of me to leave without so much as a goodbye. I would be lying if I didn't say I regretted not doing so.''
''Regretted not doing so?'' Thomas repeated, incredulous. He was looking at James now, any hints of concern promptly replaced with irritation. ''You could have stayed until morning, James. Don't hide behind false pretenses. And what about all of these years? You could have reached out. But you didn't.''
James stiffened, his eyes almost hazed as he glared at Thomas in disbelief. There wasn't much he could say to defend himself, and they both knew it. He sighed.
''You're right.''
''Of course I am,'' Thomas clipped, folding his arms over his chest. ''I always am.''
Ignoring the blatant sarcasm, James continued. ''I shouldn't have left so abruptly. I wasn't in my right mind when I did. I was... I was consumed with a need for power. I wanted it and... and I was willing to do almost anything to find it.
''I tried. I did. I tried to ignore those... those cravings. I tried, believe me, Thomas. You must believe me. As time passed, however, it only worsened. I dreamt of the power I once held control over all those years ago. Dreamt of it flowing through me, coursing through my veins, expelling from my fingertips, and...''
His voice trailed off when he noticed the look of concern in Thomas' eyes.
''You really think you're any different now?'' Thomas muttered, his voice even. ''Do you even hear yourself?''
James shook his head with an incredulous laugh. ''Of course I do, are you daft? I am different. You can't surely act like it isn't obvious? I mean-'' and he held out his arms, lines of power thrumming beneath his skin- ''just look at me.''
''I am.''
''Thomas,'' and he had placed a hand on the man's shoulder, ''I am different. Don't you see the change?''
But the madness was ever-present in those too-blue-eyes, and his smile was twisted and bitter, and Thomas Kirkman knew that there wasn't a hope to convince his old friend of what he had become, and so, he sighed, and nodded.