The dim light of the early morning casts weak shadows across Ravensthorpe. Crisp air fills Basim's lungs as he sits near the fire, crackling embers warming his hands. Though accustomed to travel, the brittle chill of the North has settled deep in his bones, and aggravates his joints. With a weary sigh, he tilts his head to the heavens and closes his eyes, listening to the early risers move about. The birds sing their morning rites while deer drink from the river and hares rustle the underbrush. A slight breeze carries the warm fragrance of bread and tang of fish, mingling with the scent of damp soil and burning wood. Nature's song is beguiling with a steady cheer and a quiet contentment settles over Basim. The gentle harmony of the land seeps into him, soothing the ache in his bones far better than the fire. For a brief, precious moment, his worries are far away.

He breathes deeply, savoring the tranquil sounds and scents of the awakening village. Though, soon the peoples of the newly founded Ravensthorpe shall rise and fill the morning with their clatter, Basim enjoys the peaceful moment while he can. The sky above is a canvas of soft pastels, promising a fair day ahead, and Basim allows himself to be lulled by the quietude.

Inevitably, as the moments trickle away, the serene morning begins to fade, and his thoughts drift to the evening before. Delivering the final blow for his apprentice had been difficult, like digging a blade into one's own back. The way Hytham's face had fallen, wide blue eyes filled with betrayal. The image lingers in his mind and something cinches in Basim's chest, a sensation he is unaccustomed to and unsure how to handle. The warmth from the fire no longer brings comfort; instead, it seems to accentuate the cold regret burrowing into his skin.

Hytham's desperate words still ring in his ears and Basim wants so badly to brush off the ordeal as a failure on Hytham's part, but it is he who has failed. He pushed Hytham to greater heights than what his apprentice could fly, knowing Hytham was not ready, and now the remnants are scattered at his feet. It makes his heart ache.

The cheerful chorus of the dawn gives way to the haunting echoes of his own missteps; in this life and the last. The contentment he felt moments before dissipates, leaving him bereft in a sea of self-recrimination.

In the years he has known Hytham, something has been mended and ripped apart in equal measure. Watching the young man grow and learn, a beacon of light in their dark and tumultuous life, has been both an honor and a burden. In quiet moments, Basim finds himself thinking of Hytham as a son.

The young man's unwavering dedication and easy, but stalwart nature has forged a bond stronger than Basim anticipated. It feels like a slight to his family to think of Hytham in such a way. As though he has moved on to better things. Is it a betrayal? He wonders. To hold affection for Hytham, to see him as his own. Is it dishonoring his family? Is it a sign he has given up on them? The weight of his life weighs heavy upon him, faces of those he loved and lost flickering behind closed eyes. The laughter of his children, the warmth of their embrace, all feel distant, faint memories that threaten to disappear with each passing day.

"Mentor?"

Hytham's voice pulls him from his musings. Basim opens his eyes to see his apprentice standing nearby, hesitant and shifting on unsteady feet. The morning light catches in Hytham's beautiful blue eyes, reflecting a mixture of resolve and regret.

"I wanted to apologize for my outburst yesterday," Hytham says quietly, not quite meeting Basim's eyes, "I was angry- am angry and I…"

Basim studies him for a moment as he trails off, looking away with frustrated sigh. Even still, he can see the sincerity in Hytham. Nodding, a sympathetic smile tugs at the corners of Basim's mouth.

"I understand, ya tayeb. It was a difficult truth to hear."

The sobriquet slips in unnoticed until Hytham meets his gaze, uncertainty flickering across his face. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Basim stifles the urge to shift as the question hangs in the air, a pang of vulnerability increasing his heart rate. Considering his words carefully, Basim knows being truthful is the only path forward.

"You are a star in my sky, Hytham," Basim says wistfully, a rueful smile playing on his lips, "I often find that it is not so dark when you are by my side."

He pauses to see Hytham's reaction. If the situation were lighter, he may have laughed at the utterly astounded expression on Hytham's face; eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape. Instead, he watches with concern creasing around his eyes as Hytham sinks to sit on the ground, incredulous eyes never leaving him.

"I understand that I do not say it, that perhaps I do not show it," Basim dips his head with a sigh before pushing on, "You mean the most to me. I see that clearly now."

"Do you mean that?" Hytham asks, his voice hardly audible. It is Basim's turn to stare in astonishment. He wonders if, in his attempt to mold Hytham into something more, something he wanted, he has inadvertently cost them their trust. That perhaps Hytham has been trailing after him in hopes of something more while he has been content to treat Hytham little better than a means to an end. The realization is daunting and he can hear how falsely his words ring.

"I do mean it, Hytham." Basim declares and he thinks he is all the more a fool for it. Hytham remains quiet as he stares into the flickering flames of the fire, absorbing what he has heard. Basim wonders if this is a mistake and then nearly feels sick that he could think such a thing. The conflicting emotions tear at Basim. Guilt of feeling a fatherly connection to Hytham continues to gnaw at him, the notion that accepting it will betray the memory of his own flesh and blood lingers.

Standing, he moves around the fire and pauses beside Hytham, resting a hand on the young man's shoulder. Wetting his lips, Basim looks down, eyes catching on the black webbing tucked behind Hytham's ear, the faint tendrils fading into tanned skin on his neck. He gives Hytham's shoulder a pat before moving his hand away.

"I am proud of you." Basim utters quietly and turns away. He can feel Hytham's heavy gaze upon him and he resists the urge to look back. He knows what he will see: perfectly blue eyes like a summer sky and dusky skin too similar to someone he once loved- still loves. But, it cannot be. For what he still loves is a memory and nothing more, no matter how much he wishes it to be otherwise.

His steps do not falter even as his mind does under the stress that is mounting. The winding paths through Ravensthorpe take him to the outskirts and he keeps walking, heedless of those he passes by. The birds continue their songs, but he does not hear, the foxes scurry away from his steady steps, but he does not see. Heavy is his burden and all consuming it devours him without remorse, for it is of his own making.

He feels like a fool, setting himself up for heartbreak.

The thought of embracing Hytham, only to lose him when past memories resurface fills Basim with despair. He had seen the mark on Hytham's neck the night after the fight with Kjotve. Hope had swelled in his chest, heart leaping to his throat. It is smaller and fainter than his own, easy to miss, and it had never occurred to Basim to look.

Fear has ripped that hope from his grasp, however. Fear that Hytham might be one of the others- enemies and traitors- and not one of his own haunts him. And he knows.

He knows that his children were not there when he entered Yggdrasil. Whether they knew or even understood the Methods of Salvation, he does not know, nor if they had found another way to survive. It is this ignorance that stubbornly keeps hope alive, though, it may as well be a mirage.

Basim halts on the path, tilting his head back as he blinks away the tears obscuring his vision. The trees cloaked in their colored leaves sway with the wind, rustling quietly, and the distant clamor of Ravensthorpe echoes faintly. Stumbling to a nearby tree, he sinks to the earth. With his back against the wide oak tree, the rough bark presses into him and grounds him, it is not enough though. Against his will, tears spill freely down his cheeks as sobs rack his body and he clamps a hand to his mouth to stifle them.

The vastness of the woods envelops him. The wind's whisper through the leaves is lonely and he is a solitary figure, lost and yearning for a life that has slipped away. He may never have what he wishes for, may lose Hytham, yet the love that has taken root is deep and unwavering.

It is all the more bitter for it.

A/N: I feel like I owe an apology because I did not set out to make Basim cry:(

But, I'm a firm believer in that everyone needs a good cry sesh before tackling problems.

Also, I'm remembering why I don't like slow burns and it's because it takes foreverrrrr to get to the good stuff.