Hey, guys! Welcome back to Hear a Tale! Got an extra long one for you today, but first, review time!

Thanks so much to CitrusChickadee (Thank you! That truly does mean a lot :) And yes, Linde is adorable XD) and Guest (Linde is best kitty! Both adorable and vicious XD) for reviewing! Hope you guys continue to read and enjoy!

With that, on with the tale!

Relevant Events: Cyrus' Chapter Three, Therion's backstory

11. Memory

"Remind me why you're dragging me along for this?" Therion hissed to Cyrus as the two of them trailed behind Lucia on the path to Headmaster Yvon's childhood home. "Wouldn't Olberic or H'aanit make for better bodyguards?"

"Perhaps," Cyrus conceded with an easy smile. "Yet, it was not precisely a 'bodyguard' that I sought. You see, this particular excursion will likely involve some form of espionage. We cannot be sure that Yvon has not posted guards around the place in order to maintain his secrets' safety. We'll need to be stealthy if our investigation is to proceed uninterrupted. And one of your primary skills is sneaking about unnoticed, is it not?"

"...you've got me there," Therion deadpanned. "And I suppose this desire for 'stealthiness' is why we left everyone else behind at the inn?"

"Precisely! A group of eight, plus Lucia here, would attract far too much attention. A trio, meanwhile, is far more unobtrusive. All of us crowding into Yvon's birthplace at once would defeat the purpose of a stealthy investigation!"

"...can't argue with that logic, I guess."

The scholar and the thief headed up the stone stairs towards the entrance of the old, ivy-covered house while Lucia turned and waited for them by the door. "This is where Headmaster Yvon was born and raised," the dark-haired woman said softly. "According to the neighbors, it has lain abandoned for some twenty years now."

"Aside from whatever guards may be secretly lurking in there, apparently," Therion muttered under his breath.

"Mhm, ominous indeed…" Cyrus mused, ignoring the thief's words. Then, he clapped his hands together, an enthusiastic grin coming to his face. "Well, shall we let ourselves in?"

"Way ahead of you," said Therion, kneeling in front of the door with his set of lockpicks. Though Cyrus was not entirely sure why, the younger man lightly rapped on the door with his knuckles, gently enough to avoid making a sound, before he got to work. After just a moment of fiddling around in the lock, a slight click sounded, and Therion stood back up with a smirk. "Too easy."

"Wonderful!" Cyrus nodded gratefully in Therion's direction. "That talent of yours certainly comes in handy." Choosing not to acknowledge Therion's eyeroll, the scholar stepped forward and turned the knob, swinging the front door open carefully, so that it would be less likely to creak. Cyrus moved into the doorway, with Therion following close behind and craning his neck to peer over the professor's shoulder.

Neither of them had much of a chance to properly take a look at the interior of the house, however, before they were both shoved roughly inside from behind.

"Wh-What the - !?" Cyrus exclaimed, at the same time that Therion swore loudly. The two of them pitched forward, sent stumbling into the house, but their feet did not touch floor, as they might have expected.

Instead, they were met with open air.

Their fall was not long, but it still ended painfully with a collision with a solid stone floor. Cyrus found himself also hissing out a curse under his breath as he landed face-first on the hard ground, hitting his head far harder than he believed was healthy. The scholar's vision briefly went black and he lay there, dazed, for several long moments - yet he still had enough sense to hear Therion land beside him with a thud and a surprisingly fearful yelp.

Odd. He did not think he had ever heard the sullen thief make a noise quite like that before.

That was not the main issue at hand, however. Cyrus shook his pounding head, groaning and pushing himself up to his knees. Thankfully, nothing felt like it was broken - except perhaps his pride. Still, the vast majority of his body ached, his head throbbed, and he could have sworn that stars danced in the corners of his slowly returning vision.

"Oof…" He winced, bringing a hand up to his forehead. "Where…? What is this place…?"

Thanks to the faint light shining in from above, Cyrus was able to see that he and Therion now occupied an uncomfortably small room with walls of old, dingy stone. Or rather, calling it a "room" might have been too generous. It looked more like a pit that someone had bothered to line with stone, but then had received no further attention for the next several decades. As far as the scholar could tell, the only other occupant of the room was a spider lazily spinning a web in the corner.

"Ah, 'Professor' Albright. I apologize for this little ruse," came a starkly familiar voice suddenly from above.

Cyrus' eyes widened. He fully stood, bracing himself against one of the stone walls, and looked up, squinting into the shaft of light beaming down from the ceiling. "I'd recognize that voice anywhere…" he mumbled. Then, he cleared his throat and raised his voice, doing his best to ignore the jolt of pain that coursed through his head as he did so. "So we meet again…Headmaster Yvon."

Though he was difficult to see, shadowed as he was with his back to the lighting of the room above, the silhouette that lingered at the edge of the square-shaped gap in the ceiling was undoubtedly Yvon. Beside him stood a smaller figure, with a feminine shape and long, dark hair.

Lucia. Of course. Cyrus had been deceived.

"When I heard you were looking into From the Far Reaches of Hell," Yvon drawled, "I knew your search would lead you here." The headmaster chuckled darkly. "And sure enough, you didn't disappoint me. Your mind is every bit as sharp as I thought it was."

The scholar's eyes narrowed. "...you sent Lucia to keep an eye on me." It wasn't a question.

Yvon sighed heavily, shaking his head. "What a shame, my dear boy…a thirst for knowledge like yours would be such a terrible thing to waste…" He paused, then knelt, peering down at Cyrus with a barely-discernible smirk on his shadowed face. "So what do you say? Apprentice yourself to me, and I will overlook your little trespasses."

The scoff that escaped the professor's throat was almost involuntary. "How kind of you…I refuse," he said bluntly. "I am, shall we say, philosophically opposed to your stance on knowledge. I believe that knowledge should be shared, not hoarded for one's personal gain."

"Tch…" The headmaster stood, stepping back from the hole once more. "I thought you'd say as much. Most unfortunate, Cyrus…most unfortunate." He spread his arms and chuckled lazily. "As you know, this is my house. And I don't get many callers these days…a smart man like you knows what this means, yes?" The man laughed and turned on his heel, moving out of Cyrus' line of sight, though his voice could still be heard.

"...when you starve to death here, no one will be the wiser."

"W-Wait!" Cyrus called, suddenly panicked. "I can understand your quarrel with me, but my companion has never crossed you! Leave me here if you must, but at the very least, let him go!"

"Collateral damage," came Yvon's lackadaisical reply, his voice growing fainter as he walked away. "Unfortunate, true, but I can't very well let word get out about this, can I? No, I'm afraid the boy will have to stay in there with you, Cyrus. I do hope you'll at least enjoy one another's company while you still draw breath."

"Yvon!" Cyrus shouted. "You cannot do this! You - !"

He was cut off when Lucia slid a square panel into place over the hole in the ceiling, removing the light source entirely from the room and all but ensuring that his words fell on deaf ears. Cyrus cursed again and slammed the side of his fist against the wall, though he immediately regretted the sharp pain it added to his already-aching body.

"Damn you, Yvon…" he growled, gripping his throbbing hand with the other. "If you think I'll give up without a fight, you don't know me nearly well enough."

Soon, however, Cyrus' pain and anger were interrupted by the sudden realization that he had not heard Therion speak once since they had landed in this underground chamber.

"...Therion?" the professor called out tentatively, holding out his hand and igniting a flame that hovered just above his palm. "Therion, are you alright?"

Small as the room was, Cyrus did not have to search for long in order to find the thief. Any relief he might have felt at the sight of the younger man breathing and unhurt, however, was dampened by the odd condition that he seemed to be in instead.

Therion was on his knees, bracing himself against the ground with one hand while the other was clamped over his left eye, the one always covered by his long, white bangs. His visible right eye was wide and unblinking, staring in the direction of the floor, though he did not actually seem to be looking at anything in particular. Therion's breath came quick and shallow, yet relatively quiet all the same, as though he was forcibly holding himself back from making any significant amount of noise.

All in all, he looked…vulnerable. Which was especially concerning, given how wildly out of character it was for the snide, sarcastic thief.

"Therion…?" Cyrus tried again, once it became clear that the man had not been paying attention to his earlier call. The scholar carefully edged his way towards Therion, reaching out with the hand that did not hold the flame in an attempt to clasp his shoulder. "Can you…perhaps tell me what is wro - ?"

"Don't!" Therion suddenly snapped, his voice breaking as he pulled away from Cyrus. "Don't…don't touch me."

Taken aback, Cyrus withdrew his hand, but did not otherwise move away. "Er…very well," he acquiesced, frowning worriedly. "My apologies, I did not mean to startle you. It's just that…well, you seemed to be experiencing distress, and, if at all possible, I would like to assist you. Of course, I cannot do that unless you tell me what is troubling you." He paused. "Ah…aside from our current imprisonment, anyway…"

"Do…do you ever stop talking!?" Therion snarled, though his tone seemed to be lacking its usual bite. If anything, it had been replaced by an oddly alien tremor. "I-I…am fine! I don't need your help, I don't want your help, I just…ach, don't concern yourself with it at all!" The thief turned away and half-crawled, half-stumbled to one of the corners of the room. There, he knelt again, his back to Cyrus as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

Cyrus blinked in utter bewilderment. True, the predicament the two of them had found themselves in was a dire one, but Cyrus had seen Therion glide his way through similarly grim circumstances with a cocky smirk ever-present on his face. Then what, exactly, was causing him to behave so strangely in this specific situation?

The scholar narrowed his eyes, carefully scrutinizing his traveling companion. Clearly, from his wavering voice and shallow breath, Therion was afraid of something. It couldn't have been the darkness, as his entire profession revolved around hiding in shadows and nicking valuables under the cover of night. Even disregarding that, the chamber was well-lit enough thanks to Cyrus' fire magic, and even before that, the light that had come through the previously present hole in the ceiling was adequate enough for decent vision.

Was it the tight space, then? It was rather cramped in the makeshift prison, which was likely not designed to hold more than one person at a time. But no, that couldn't be it either. Therion was known for taking advantage of his slight build and mildly lacking height in his thievery-related exploits, easily slipping into small spaces either to hide or to take advantage of barely-noticeable shortcuts to treasure. It was far from likely that he was bothered much by the compactness of the room.

In that case, the only thing that was left was…the fall? Come to think of it, Cyrus had noticed that, when traveling along paths that took them through collections of cliffs, Therion tended to be the one to walk as far away from the edge as possible. In addition, the thief seemed to avoid ever having to climb anything - when sneaking into a building, for instance, he always chose points of entry that were low to the ground, never factoring particularly wide chimneys or windows above the first floor into any of his plans. Cyrus was not sure if Therion had ever received any questions regarding these particular habits, but that did not confirm much. The standoffish young man would surely deflect any even remotely personal questions, especially those that might relate to a potential fear or weakness of his.

That being said…could it truly be that Therion was secretly afraid of heights?

Of course, it was doubtful that he would ever admit to as much of his own volition. As such, Cyrus knew that he would have to take a more indirect approach if he wanted to help his companion calm down.

"Are you injured?" the scholar asked softly, careful not to approach the thief any further. "That was quite the tumble we took…I'll admit, I myself am sore all over."

"...I'm fine," Therion hissed. His breathing seemed to gradually be coming easier, but his hand was still firmly clamped over his left eye.

Cyrus nodded. "That is good. It is certainly a stroke of luck that both of us are relatively unharmed." He chuckled sheepishly. "Physically speaking, at least. My, that was a frightening ordeal…why, I bet even someone as dauntless as Olberic would have been shaken by that sudden fall!"

For a few moments, Therion did not respond. Then, he slowly turned his head, fixing the professor with a one-eyed glare.

"If you're trying to have some sort of heart-to-heart with me," he growled, "then don't. I'm not in the mood for your harassment, Professor."

"Harassment?" Cyrus frowned. "My dear boy, I was only trying to make conversa - "

"And don't call me that either!" the thief snapped. "Just…just leave me alone, will you?"

Cyrus blinked, glancing around at the stone walls confining them in the narrow space. "That…may prove a bit difficult." He shook his head. "My apologies, Therion, but…I am simply concerned for you. You do not need to tell me why, if you do not wish, but I can see that this ordeal has been greatly jarring for you, more than just about anything I've seen you face before. I am not your enemy, you know…I only wish to ensure that you are alright."

Therion was silent for a long time. Cyrus shifted uncomfortably, beginning to wish that Alfyn or Primrose was there with them - true, he would never want them to be imprisoned as well, but he suspected that either one of them would have had a much better chance of getting through to Therion than he did. Cyrus certainly did not dislike Therion, though he got the sense that the younger man was particularly inclined to disrespect authority figures, which, due the scholar's profession, he tended to regard Cyrus as. As such, it did not seem likely that Therion would listen or speak to him any time soon.

However, in a rare turn of events, Cyrus was soon proven wrong.

"...fine," Therion muttered, shifting so that he was partially facing Cyrus and leaning back against the wall. "Fine. There is something wrong, okay? Not that it's any of your business…it's just an old memory, come back to bite me once again."

Cyrus, for once, stayed completely silent. He barely even dared to breathe, lest he inadvertently cause Therion to clam up once more.

The thief spared him a tentative glance, then sighed and lowered his hand away from his face at last. He dipped his head, most of his face disappearing into his violet scarf, but when he spoke, his voice was even and clear. "...you remember Darius, right?"

Cyrus' eyebrows lifted. "The leader of the bandits at the Black Market in Wellspring?" he asked tentatively. "Indeed…I remember him."

"Well…I never told you all how I knew him, did I?"

"No…" The scholar frowned, thinking back to the encounter. "From the way the two of you spoke to one another, however, it was clear that you had some sort of history - and a distinctly negative one at that. Not to mention the fact that words like 'partner' and 'betrayal' were thrown around a good deal…"

"Mhm…well…" Therion exhaled heavily, rubbing his hands over his face. "To make a long story short, we used to work together. Steal together, I mean, and we did it for about four years or so. I'd always thought we were partners. Equals. Turns out, all he saw me as was a 'stepping stone.'" The thief shook his head bitterly. "Eventually, he got a better offer from a proper gang - an offer that involved getting rid of me in exchange for a place in the group. Naturally, he decided that he didn't need me anymore."

"So then…" Cyrus said quietly, eyes wide, "...he attempted to…?"

"Kill me? Yeah. Not to mention he gave me this in the process." In an action that Cyrus was sure was unprecedented, Therion swept his bangs away from his face, finally revealing the eye that he always kept hidden.

A long, jagged scar ran across the length of the left side of his face. It stretched from his forehead to his jawline, meaning that the lowest section of the scar was technically visible even when his hair covered most of it, but fully revealed, it was a much more striking sight.

More significant, however, was that the scar cut straight through Therion's left eye.

The eye was mostly intact, yet still clearly damaged and sightless. While the thief's right eye was a bright jade green, his left was pale and milky, with parts of it stained red from the old injury. His eyelids appeared to have healed reasonably well from being sliced through, but no amount of treatment could have saved the vision in the eye itself, so precise was the damage.

Uncharacteristically enough, Cyrus was thoroughly stunned into silence. He had always assumed that Therion was carrying a heavier burden than he tried to let on, but to have it all laid out in front of him so bluntly was a different matter entirely.

"Not pretty, is it?" Therion asked, smirking mirthlessly. "Well, the lesson it taught me wasn't either." He shook his head, letting his hair fall back into place to cover the scar. "Darius' betrayal made me realize that it was foolish to give out trust so easily. He taught me that there's always people out there willing to stab you in the back for their own benefit. Or, in my case, people willing to slash your face open and push you off a cliff."

At last, understanding dawned on Cyrus. "A cliff…" he repeated, his voice faint. "Then that is why…when Lucia pushed the two of us down here, it…"

"It felt an awful lot like it did back then," the thief spat, fiddling with the chain link on his Fool's Bangle. "Not my finest moment, I know…but the moment I started falling, that damned memory came flooding back. I've avoided risking my neck with heights since that day, for that exact reason."

Feeling a bit dazed by all of the new revelations coming to light, Cyrus cleared his throat and shook his head, as though that would aid in his thoughts. "Forgive me for asking, but…how on earth did you manage to survive a fall from the edge of a cliff?"

Therion shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Luck? Losing speed by hitting rocks on the cliffside on the way down? Some whim of the gods? I've got no idea. I barely even remember what happened after I hit the ground…I think I managed to somehow crawl my way close enough to Bolderfall for someone to notice me. I don't know if it was sympathy or the leaves I still had on me, but the innkeeper there gave me a room to stay in until I'd finally recovered. And before you even ask, no, I've never stolen anything from that inn because of it. I might be a thief, but even I wouldn't take advantage of someone who was genuinely kind to me."

"Is that so…?"

The thief merely shrugged again. "Why do you think I've never stolen anything from you or the others?"

A surprisingly heartwarming sentiment, especially coming from someone so typically sullen as Therion. Cyrus couldn't help but smile, which the younger man simply pretended not to notice.

"Anyway…" Therion drawled, looking away from the scholar once again. "I've told you my story. The abridged version, anyway. But even that's something I've never told anyone else, so you'd better be happy."

"I…am somewhat happy, but somewhat not," Cyrus responded, frowning. "True, I am happy - and, frankly, honored - that you've agreed to open up to me. And yet…your tale was not exactly a happy one. I am fully aware that you are not the type to seek sympathy, and I pray that my words are of no offense to you, but…I am sorry, Therion. I am truly sorry that your fate took such a sorrowful turn, especially for one so young as you. Come to think of it, actually…how old were you when all of this happened…?"

Therion scowled slightly at Cyrus' sympathetic words, but did not comment on them. Instead, he thought for a moment, narrowing his one good eye. "...I met Darius when I was…what, eleven? Twelve?" he said finally. "Meaning I would have been about fifteen or sixteen when he decided I wasn't worth his time anymore."

Cyrus' eyebrows creased. "Therion, I - "

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," the thief warned, shooting a glare in the scholar's direction. "I haven't been one for a long time. Hell, I'd already seen the inside of a prison cell by the time I was twelve. I'm not just going to sit here and let you talk down to me like I'm one of your students."

"I wish you had been," Cyrus said softly, almost without thinking. "Perhaps then, things would have unfolded much differently."

Therion stiffened and did not speak for a time. When he finally found his voice, it was noticeably strained. "...yeah, well…what's done is done. You can't change the past and neither can I."

"True enough," Cyrus conceded. "However…we can change the future. There is no reason that you have to live the rest of your life without properly healing, Therion. I understand that Darius' betrayal has severely damaged your capacity for trust…but I believe that you know as well as I do that there are good people in this world." He smiled. "And, as a matter of fact, I believe there are six of them waiting for us back at the inn, right at this moment."

Therion fell silent once again, mulling over the scholar's words. It was so quick that Cyrus nearly missed it, but for a moment, a smile seemed to flash across the thief's face before he schooled his features back into a serious stare once again.

"Well then," Therion said after clearing his throat, "guess we'd better not keep them waiting. There has to be some way out of this hellhole."

Cyrus nodded as he and Therion both stood up. "Indeed…I do not believe climbing out is a viable option, so we must search for another way. I will admit that the situation seems grim, but…if nothing else, the others knew where we were going, so if we are gone too long, I am sure they will come looking for us."

"Right," Therion agreed. He glanced at Cyrus out of the corner of his narrowed eye. "And…once we get back to them, you're not going to tell them anything I've told you here, right?"

The scholar nodded and lifted his hand as though taking a vow. "Your secrets are safe with me," he promised. "Though…I do believe that you should tell them, one of these days. You can wait until you are ready, of course, but it may help ease the burden on your own shoulders if you share it with others."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" Therion mumbled, looking away. "I'll…think about it, I suppose."

Cyrus smiled. "That is all I can ask."

"And, um…" The thief shifted uncomfortably. "...thanks, I guess. For…I don't know. Being nice about it all? Or…I don't know, I'm not good at this. That's all you're getting out of me."

The scholar blinked in surprise, then laughed. "Then I shall take it! You're very welcome, Therion. This has been an unexpectedly heartwarming conversation for one taking place at the bottom of a prison pit!"

"Yeah, well, just don't try to hug me or anything," Therion retorted, rolling his eyes. "I've had enough sappiness for one day."

"Heh…duly noted," Cyrus chuckled.

"Good. Now…let's work on getting the hell out of here."

See you guys next week for Tale 12: Insanity!