Trapped in Yvon's cell, it was all Cyrus could do not to give up on it all there and then.

A Starved Flame

"Curse you… To the farthest reaches of Hell..." Cyrus breathed again, startled by the breath cloud that escaped his lips as he did. Perhaps he was not only feeling cold from a lack of oxygen after all, perhaps it was truly freezing at the bottom of Yvon's pit. Pulling his cloak tighter, wiping the sweat from his brow as he huddled even further into the corner, Cyrus leant his head back against the wall. "Damn you, Yvon."

He knew he shouldn't be speaking, he was only wasting valuable oxygen in doing so after all. The candle he'd lit shortly after the trap door had closed was little more than a pin-pick flame now, barely lighting the corner it was in, let alone the entire cell. All in all, the situation looked dire and the littered bones certainly indicated that no one else had escaped the pit either.

Had they also asphyxiated? Had they instead launched themselves at the trapdoor as he had and been less fortunate with their landing? Or had the door once been looser and they had starved as Yvon had told Cyrus he would?

Of course, there was no way for Cyrus to know; the bones could not talk and he certainly didn't have the strength nor brain power to perform an archaeological autopsy on them. No, he simply let his back slip lower against the wall, praying for help that he knew would never come.

Yvon would not free him now, nor would Lucia. He was alone.

Why had he set out on a journey alone?

When on the trail of a book titled From the Far Reaches of Hell, one had to assume there would be a certain level of danger in tracking it down. Cyrus had certainly learnt as much when he'd found himself face to face with Gideon in Quarrycrest, the horrors he saw there… A man of weaker stomach would certainly have found himself amongst the dead. Instead, here he was, still alive, if only barely.

Sighing, Cyrus lit a small fire in the palm of his hand. Born of magic, the flame would burn so long as he had energy, unlike the candle that was reliant on oxygen. He had hoped the flame in his hand would be tall, bright, burning with his passion to live. Instead, it was rather small, half the height of his thumb and flickering ominously.

"It seems as though," Cyrus closed his fist around the flame, closing his eyes. "I am not long left for this world. My apologies, Odette… My students..."

"Professor?"

Pulled immediately to his feet by the familiar voice, Cyrus almost didn't notice the square of light that had appeared on the floor, nor the inquisitive girl looking down on him from above. No, all he noticed was the tightness in his lungs growing first tighter as he breathed as heavily as he could before the sensation completely abated and the throbbing in his head started to slow. He could breath again.

He could yet live.

And when at last he looked above him, there was a rope, his key to safety hovering just inches from his fingers. His ascent was sloppy in its desperation, leaving his hands covered in rope burns as he pulled his way to safety. And the look on his face when he saw Therese certainly could not hide his fear, concern nor frustration at seeing the girl there. Still, he was relieved. He was safe, alive. And Therese, she was too.

Then, in their moment of relief, Yvon appeared and snatched her away, his hostage to ensure that Cyrus finally left him be. If he left this house and never looked back, by all accounts Yvon would not harm Therese. Yet there was no guarantee that he would not use her for the same blood experiments that Gideon had performed. And her blood would be on Cyrus' hands if he left now.

So, staff in hand and with a heavy sigh, Cyrus started to pick his way through the dust and general abandonment of Yvon's old home. Sprites and Elementals were common foes, but Cyrus' fearsome look kept all but the most brave and foolhardy away.

Yes, Therese had been the reason he had been suspended from the academy at Atlasdam to begin with, but Cyrus was always one to put a positive spin on things. If not for Therese, he would not have set out on this journey to begin with. If not for Therese, he would not still be alive right now.

Yes, he could certainly blame her for his being trapped in Yvon's cell, but why blame someone for their misdeeds when they are so clearly working towards being better?

Such was his thought when he came across her in the cellar, his thought as he raised his staff and readied his magic against the twisted form of Yvon.

He could lay blame, he could walk away right now and save his own skin. Or he could fight to save a life, to bring about a world where all knowledge was equal, safe and no one need set out on such a dangerous journey again.

The magical flame in Cyrus' palm as he fought Yvon was brighter than even light magic, twice the height of his fingers and burning with far greater intensity than it had ever burnt before.