“Give me one good reason to spare you, peasant.”

Upon hearing the words, the man that had been laying before Alexander immediately rises to his feet, then bows in a swift apology. “Spare me because I’m hot! A-also, I’m no peasant! How dare—”

“Hot?” Alexander scoffs. He stares at his nails. “As in, spicy beverages?”

“No! I’m not spicy! I meant—” The man points to his features. “Do you truly want this handsome guy to never see the face of this Earth again?”

Alexander takes a short moment to observe the man once more. Granted, he certainly isn’t atrocious, but if Alexander had to say, he believes the mercenary’s redeeming feature is truly his voice… and, perhaps, his toned arms. “I’ve seen better,” Alexander finally tells the mercenary, with a rather relaxed shrug, before he huffs, then says, “Well? What’s going on here? Why have you broken into my home?”

“Okay, first of all—” The man waves his arms around. “I did not break into your home! You knocked me out, then dragged me back here, and tried to kill me! Do you realise how rude that is—”

“Please,” Alexander scoffs, he gestures for the man’s preposterous idea to disappear with a swift, motion of his hand. “I’m not the one who was shaking his genitals around in front of somebody else’s abode.”

“What—” the man’s voice cracks. His face turns to the colours of strawberries that Alexander likes to grow sometimes outside his cave, during the Summer. “I didn’t—! I wasn’t—!”

Alexander rolls his eyes. “Your expression says otherwise, darling.” He pauses, upon noticing the bandages wrapped around his arm. “Oh.” The young enchanter chuckles. “Is that what you were doing?”

“Y-yes!” The mercenary blurts, as he waves his arms around frantically then stomps his foot. “I was trying to help you! I didn’t want—” The mercenary’s face falls, once he observes Alexander casually undoing his hard work, placing a hovering hand over his injuries, then shutting his eyes. “What are you—”

Alexander concentrates, as he has done many times, after having one of these unfortunate mishaps with his powers, and found himself forced to learn how to pick up after his mistakes.

Indeed, part of him is always afraid this may not work as intended, but healing magic is often much easier to control than spells cast with the intention of doing harm—if this trick of his were to backfire, it would likely make some sort of strange plant grow a little quicker, inside the dirt lingering beneath his feet, or, for his hair to shrink and become a tad shorter. There would be nothing destructive about the consequences.

A minute passes. The skin around Alexander’s rather deep cut glows a lighter shade of blue.

His arm heals.

And the throbbing pain that had previously lingered within his veins goes away with it.

The young enchanter smirks at the sight—it didn’t even scar. Perhaps, he is getting better at this, after all.

“Holy—” The mercenary gasps. “That’s so cool!”

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His complement causes Alexander to frown. The young enchanter had hoped that, if anything, this would have frightened the man standing before him, into realising that Alexander is not just a failure that put himself into harm’s way. It seems not, though, Alexander thinks to himself, as his brow twitches. This mercenary is… apparently, quite fearless.

“How did you do that?” the man blurts, with as much enthusiasm as before.

Alexander sighs. He barely knows this man, yet, he is already exasperated by his antics. “I doubt you would be able to replicate it even if you tried, mercenary,” he tells him.

To which the man holds up a finger in the air, parts his lips, then finally says, “Shit, I guess you’re right, huh?” He scratches the back of his head. He narrows his eyes. Alexander realizes that it is still quite dark outside, he supposes… that they will be here for quite a while, if not all night, at the rate that their conversation is going.

“Also, I have a name.”

“Ah?” The young enchanter cocks his head to the side, playfully; he taps at his elbow with a single finger. If he had been alone, he would be reading right now; one of the many books stolen from his village’s old library, that mysteriously burned down after all its most precious works were teleported into Alexander’s shelf. Alexander wants to call it an accident, for technically, that is what it was. He would be lying to himself, if he claimed a part of him had not taken some pleasure in seeing it fall to pieces, though. The people in his village had always mocked him for enjoying written works, it is not likely they’d miss what they considered a silly thing anyway.

“David,” the mercenary tells Alexander, as he clears his throat. “And you are…”

“As if I would tell you.” Alexander scoffs. He turns his back on David, then crosses his arms once more. “I know your kind. If I let you leave, or give you any information about who I am, you’ll head back to wherever it is you came from, and you’ll report me, scum.”

“Again,” the mercenary rolls his eyes, “it’s David—not scum! Or peasant! Shit,” he cringes, “for some all-knowing magician—or… whatever you are—you’re pretty rude! A-also—” the mercenary averts his gaze from Alexander’s. His shoulders tense. “It’s Alexander, isn’t it?” he says. “Your name.”

Alexander’s eyes widen.

How does he know that? the question echoes through Alexander’s mind.

One second later, the young enchanter has his hand around David’s throat, and he has shoved the mercenary right across the cavern’s wall. “How do you know that?” he asks David, through gritted teeth.

Because if a mercenary has come to hunt him down, then that means bad news for Alexander’s current, peace-filled days.

“Answer me!” Alexander does not mean for his voice to crack the way it does; he figures it is no matter, however, David will likely not remember this meeting, once he is dead by Alexander’s hand. “Answer me, or else—”

“Journals,” David finally croaks; his voice is dry. “I-I r-read your—”

Alexander drops him. He feels the power he had summoned to lift the mercenary leave his body, and a flutter of warmth crawl up to his face. Suddenly, the idea passes through him that he would have preferred being hunted by a hoard of angry men and women alike, rather than having to face such a deeply humiliating situation.

Of course, he could still kill the man before him, but Alexander is no cruel murderer. Granted, had David been here for Alexander’s life, then Alexander would have found himself forced to fight back—but it seems this truly has been one enormous misunderstanding after another.

“You do not know who I am, then?” Alexander asks the mercenary; his voice is lower than before.

Across the floor, David is bent over and coughing his lungs out. “Fuck, no,” he blurts, before he pauses to apparently consider the question, and winces. “Well… I guess I do know that you’re having trouble with—”

“No.” Alexander’s steps forward to make a fist inside David’s hair. He tugs at it. Once. “Not another word from you.”

A moment of silence passes between them.

Now, it is David’s time to sigh. “Can I… can I ask you something, though?” He stares up at Alexander expectantly.

The young enchanter finally undoes his grasp around the man who apparently isn’t his enemy. At least, for now. “Yes?” he replies.

“You’re…” David perks up. “Not a woman?”