Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was once, a rather long time ago, that his late teacher Empedocles had decided to teach him about a Nodist theory.

Despite the unusual lesson, he had followed along, his great respect for the man letting him believe there would be a good reason for it. And as they stood underneath that beautiful yet fake starry sky, his teacher began to speak. He spoke of a simple stone raised up high, soaring towards the sky before being made to fall. It fell and fell, various factors affecting the speed of its descent. Eventually, the stone would reach terminal velocity, the maximum speed at which it could fall.

All of this can be calculated. All things are numbers, as per the Nodist school of thought. 

It was a relatively simple theory. He had grasped it quickly enough, memorising the formula with just a single glance. But he looked to his teacher eventually, still not quite understanding. He tilted his head, wondering if there was anything more to this strange exercise. 

In his many years of teaching, Anaxa has seen all sorts of students. 

There are the average ones, passing through classes with the remarkable ability to remain unremarkable. Doomed to a life of mediocrity, these students would rarely amount to much.

There are the lazy ones, dozing through his lessons as carefree as a light breeze. Be it from hidden genius or a lack of purpose in life, the reasons for their behaviour vary greatly. They would keep their more harmful tendencies to themselves at the very least, even as Anaxa worked to temper them for their own good. 

There are also the top students, the teacher’s pets, the darlings of the class. Many have tried to worm their way into Anaxa’s good graces through this. So far, none have succeeded. 

An attractive face otherwise marred by perpetual frowns and arrogance. A tongue so venomous and sharp that even his most ardent of admirers can only gaze on from afar. They say the way to Anaxagoras’ heart is lined with thorns and protected by infallible walls. They say the way to Anaxagoras’ heart is through intellect only matched by the extremeness of his heretical views.

His response? Anaxa rolls his eye and scoffs, telling them to ‘go write me another essay if you have so much time to gossip’.

What Anaxa doesn't tell them is that there are already some who occupy a special place in his heart, a place filled with so much distaste that he loathes to admit he even remembers them at all.

Three young men sit at the far corner of the lecture hall. Even from his faraway position, it is obvious to Anaxa that they are laughing among themselves about something. This is not the first, nor would it be the last time such a sight would occur. Anaxa has long since grown indifferent to their presence and lack of respect.

The corruption of the Black Tide has always been relentless and insidious. Beyond the immediate deaths from infection and slaughter, many more have fallen from a slow and painful societal collapse. Crops die and livestock wither. Plagues run rampant while crime and unrest thrive. The first to go are the poor, weak and destitute. One falls only for another to take their place. It is a never ending flow of victims, more falling through the gaps by the day as their world crumbles. Never mind the Grove, even the holy city blessed by Khephale has been battling this losing battle for several decades now. 

“Anaxa, how old did you say you were again? I can't believe someone as young looking as you can be a professor!”

He carefully checks over the alchemical equation on the board. Only when he is sure that it is written flawlessly does he begin to work on the corresponding array.

“Anaxa, I heard you like Dromases. Do you like eating them too?”

The Grove has always been a sanctuary for the pursuit of wisdom. Ever since the first scholar, Thalesus, arrived in this place, this fact has never changed. However, their endeavours here have not always been the most profitable. Their savings waxed and waned throughout the centuries, largely following the prosperity of other cities and villages.

Now that the numerous Black Tide attacks have truly worn them thin, the continued safety and survival of the Grove has never been so precarious before.

“So, this is how the Grove treats their benefactors and students? Silence when met with earnest questions?”

A smattering of murmurs break out. Anaxa pauses in his lecture, eyes sweeping across the room. 

Most, if not all his students look outwardly uncomfortable. Many even look concerned. The smartest few pay the disturbance little mind, busying themselves with taking notes and digesting his lesson. Among them is not Hyacine, one of his brightest students to date. Anaxa frowns as he considers the various reasons that could have caused her to miss his class without warning. 

If Anaxa had a choice, he would have long thrown the disruptions out of his classes and the Grove. Alas, the Grove cannot run on just research and passion, and wisdom alone is a poor substitute for sustenance. Having pushed his luck before, even someone as egoistic as himself has enough restraint to not rock the tentative peace that currently exists.

“How old I am is none of your business. I do not eat Dromases.”

Having fulfilled his obligations, Anaxa continues ignoring the group brazenly interrupting him with provocative questions. 

What follows is a few minutes of blessed silence. Anaxa begins to fall back into the flow of delivering a flawless lesson, punctuating the gruelling logic of theory with some well needed illustrations. 

“Anaxa, are you a virgin by any chance?”

His hand stills. The classroom is dead silent. By some miracle, Anaxa does not break the chalk he is using. 

Carefully, Anaxa finishes writing down the last point for his lesson summary. 

“That is all for today. Class dismissed.”

“Hey Professor, you didn't answer my question!”

Understandably, his students make a beeline for the exit, unwilling to become unwitting bystanders of the harassment. He is far from the only one to be subjected to such brainless drivel, not when these groups of rich, second generation, hereditary leeches are allowed to run amok with no consequences. It is no small miracle he only has three in his classes, unlike some of his colleagues having to manage up to ten.

“Anaxa, you should really learn to relax a little, pull that stick out of your ass maybe? Too much stress kills you know? Haha.”

Four times. The gall of him to call Anaxa by that nickname four times. Had that been anyone else, Anaxa would have long made his usual attempt to correct the addressal. But it is one thing to argue with a genius, another to argue with an idiot, and finally…

“Scum.”

“Sorry, what was that Anaxa?”

“... Curiosity is an admirable trait to be valued. However, I suggest tuning the topics of your inquiries to the topic at hand in the future, Evander.”

Evander and his two lovely companions have made it to the teaching podium by this point. In contrast to the average Grove scholar, the three of them sport physiques more akin to the most studious of Helkolithists. Broad shouldered and tall, with defined muscles that show through the Grove’s loose robes, even someone like Anaxa is hard pressed not to feel even a little apprehensive as they loom over him. 

“Whatever you say, Anaxa.”

The man’s face could have been considered rather agreeable if not for Anaxa knowing the rotten personality that lies beneath. 

Thankfully, today is one of the better days. Evander and his friends only attempt to make some crass, inane small talk for a few minutes. All Anaxa has to do is nod and let out a few perfunctory sounds before they leave him alone. When it is finally over, he lets out a breath, massaging his temples with his eye shut.

“Professor, I have something for you.”

“What is it?” Looking up, he recognises the student immediately. “A letter? Not a confession, I hope.”

“N-no way! How could I— Hahaha…” Lykos looks away from him, clearly flustered. “I found it on my desk earlier with instructions to pass it to you after class today…”

“Interesting.” Anaxa takes the envelope and inspects it. “Any idea what’s inside?”

“No? The instructions didn't mention anything of the sort.”

Wordlessly, Anaxa begins to work open the envelope using a single finger. The envelope is surprisingly weighty with some width to it causing him to frown. He can't begin to imagine anyone wanting to send him something in such a roundabout manner, anonymously and through another as an intermediary. A brief thought of it containing some sort of harmful substance flickers across his mind, but curiosity drives him to keep going. Glancing up, Anaxa is satisfied to see his student standing a safe distance away.

Eventually, the weak seal on the envelope gives way, allowing Anaxa to retrieve its contents. It immediately becomes apparent that there are several photographs stuffed inside, likely taken by some of the newest models of teleslates. Anaxa picks one at random to look at and— 

“...”

“Professor? Professor Anaxa…?”

His eye widens, hand shaking as he nearly drops the photograph.

“Professor Ananxa, is something wrong?”

“... Nothing of the sort.” Somehow, Anaxa manages to force the words past his stiff lips, his voice sounding remarkably calm given what he had just seen.“I was merely surprised.”

“Surprised? Ah, did your experiment return with unexpected results?”

“... Let’s leave it at that.” Anaxa quickly stuffs the photo back into the envelope, holding it tightly to his chest as he gathers up his teaching materials. “I need to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

“A-ah, right, goodbye Professor.”

Without giving Lykos another look, Anaxa strides out of the lecture room, his hand squeezing down on the envelope that feels like it is burning him. 

Ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

Anaxa shuffles through all the photographs thoroughly now that he is in the privacy of his office. His expression only continues to contort the further he looks.

Completely, utterly ridiculous.

His lips pull back in a sneer as he waits for his three wayward students to arrive. In his mind, countless questions and answers race around. Hypotheses are proposed, rejected and remade anew. The possibilities feel endless, and yet he keeps coming back to the same few, the same one.

A knock sounds through his office.

“The door isn't locked.”

Whether his reasoning is correct, he would find out soon enough. 

In the time it takes for his students to enter, Anaxa has already gathered up all the photographs, tidying them into a neat stack and slipped them back into the envelope. He then eyes the three men in front of him, their expressions ranging from nonchalant to insufferable cockiness.

Evander. 

Theron. 

Nikomedes. 

All three of them, the vile curs.

“Lock the door,” is what Anaxa settles for in the end.

“That won't be necessary, Anaxa,” Evander smiles.

“You will address me as Anaxagoras.” Honestly, he doesn't know why he tries. “And I see your disrespect towards me has grown, daring to order me around in my private space.”

“Oh, we didn't mean any disrespect, Professor,” Evander says. He takes a seat on one of the empty chairs without prompting. “It’s just that our friend will be bringing a gift very soon.”

A gift, they say. 

Again, ridiculous. 

Anaxa nearly opens his mouth to tell them as much but holds his tongue at the last moment. 

They show no surprise at being called to see him privately. Their open brazenness and the ease at which they hold themselves disquiets him. Anaxa realises that they had expected him to do this all along. 

It is all the confirmation he needs. He has an idea of what said ‘gift’ might be; it is not one that he wants to think about. 

Another knock. 

“Excuse me, coming in.”

This person doesn't even wait for a response before throwing the door open. Anaxa doesn't know his name, but he has seen the man enough times to know that he is part of Evander’s rotten group. But more important is the thing… the person being carried in his arms. 

“Well, my job here is done. Remember to enjoy yourselves!”

The man turns to leave after placing Hyacine down on the empty kline. As if receiving some sort of unspoken cue, Theron and Nikomedes immediately move to the kline as well. They sit down on both ends, effectively sandwiching Hyacine between their bodies. 

“Did you like them, Professor?” Evander asks, leaning contentedly on the backrest. 

He pulls out a similar looking envelope to the one sitting on Anaxa’s desk, waving it around leisurely. The existence of a copy, and Cerces knows how many more, does not surprise him in the slightest. 

“I bet you didn't know this but Nikomedes here is a bit of an expert at photography. Hand him even the most ancient of teleslates and he will still turn you into Mnestia incarnate somehow.”

“What good are my photos when the real deal is here?” Nikomedes says, making a beckoning gesture. “Come join us, Anaxa. Evander wasn't kidding when he said you needed to learn to relax more.”

Anaxa barely even looks at them. His entire attention is focused on the slumped over form of Hyacine. She looks so small and defenceless placed next to those two, her typically neat twin tails all messed up and dishevelled. Her white pantyhose is pulled down to her shoes, and her usual beret is absent from her head. The blue ribbon holding the front of her dress is undone and her skirt is pushed up so high that any further and— 

At the very least, he catches the slight rise and fall of her chest. 

“What did you give her.”

“Jumping to conclusions already? How unlike you, Anaxa,” Evander says. “What if I said me and my good friends found her asleep at the Twilight Courtyard after a long gruelling day of work and out of the kindness of our hearts, we watched over her before— 

“Yes, and you kindly took the time to undress her and take several photos along the way.”

“Haha, nothing gets past your eye as usual, Anaxa.” Evander turns to his friend. “What did you give her again, Theron?”

“Sedatives. Nothing harmful.”

“See, aren't we thoughtful? Such a beautiful, radiant ray of light in our Grove, she deserved a nice long nap for all her efforts.”

“What sound logic.”

Evander smiles. Nikomedes chuckles. Theron… is the quiet one of the group.

No one says anything further. The tension in the air thickens. 

“Now's the time to stop us, you know?” Evander says. “‘Please no,’ or ‘you bastards’, something along that line. Niko, what do they all usually say?” 

“‘You bastards. Don't you dare touch her or I promise you all will suffer an agonising death.’”

“Right, right, that husband was pretty incensed when we got hold of his pretty wife. Too bad he was the one who suffered the agonising death.”

“‘Please, don't hurt her. I’ll give you anything, I’ll do anything you want. Just please, not her.’”

“I remember that one! Yes, that mother and daughter duo… if only they lasted longer, I would have loved to go another round with them.”

“I don't remember anymore,” Nikomedes says. “Besides, they all say the same things.”

“True,” Evander makes a big show of nodding along. “So Professor, do you not care for her at all? Really? Not even a little bit?”

Anaxa stares at the three of them. He shifts in his seat, crossing his legs.

“I care about how this will affect me in the future.”

“How cold of you, Professor.”

A hand reaches for Hyacine. It toys with her hair, pulls away her ribbon. Tauntingly, it hovers over bare legs, fiddling with the hem of her dress.

They are dragging things out, biding their time, revelling and squeezing out every drop of discomfort they can wring from him.

The hand moves to her chest, falling gently. It threatens to squeeze down.

“What do you want from me.”

“Oh?” Mock surprise. “Finally grown a conscience?”

Anaxa takes a measured breath, eye flicking from the three men to Hyacine's prone form.

“From your behaviour and attitude towards me over the past few months, I can only conclude that your target was me the entire time. Hyacinthia is merely an unfortunate pawn in this case, a means to an end, collateral damage in the overall scheme of your plans.”

“As her instructor, it is only natural that I take responsibility in ensuring she leaves this situation unscathed.” 

“Hah!” 

Amused snorts break out.

“You say so much, but at the end of the day you just want us to keep our hands off your woman, right?”

“Say what you will. It will not change the truth of the matter.”

Evander shakes his head and begins to lament.

“Fine, enough about the woman. You, Anaxagoras, despite being a mere lowly scholar, had the audacity to force my brother out of the Grove a month before. Do you know the mockery, the jeering, the humiliation he faced? Do you know how much he suffered? Do you know he took his life soon after, unable to bear the shame of the rejection?”

“Your brother?” Anaxa says, voice dripping with venom. “Oh, I definitely remember him. He’s the one who cheated during every exam, bullied students to use their assignments as his own and tried to sell illicit substances to others unsolicited? You mean that brother?”

“That man would never take his own life. It would be sooner known to the whole of Amphoreus that I, Anaxagoras, am a Titan loving worshipper than he would take his life! If anything, it’s more likely that you, Evander the younger brother, killed him in a petty squabble over something as insignificant as what to eat for dinner!”

The sheer loathing he holds towards the man could not be any clearer. Anaxa is sure to infuse his every word with the sentiment. 

“Hah… hahaha… Hahaha!” 

And of all possible responses, of course the Titan-forsaken bastard decides to laugh. 

“Anaxa, Anaxa, dearest Professor Anaxagoras, this is precisely why I love you. That's why all of us love you,” Evander says, spreading his arms open wide. “Truth be told, we had a bet, a bet on which of us could get to you first. You are exactly our type you see, a proud, haughty man of keen intellect and mind. He bet that he would be able to get to you first, and of course, the winner of our game would get to keep you.”

“You are far from the first that he has whisked away to play to death with, but well, I suppose you will be his last that he never got his hands on.”

“So you did kill him.”

“He had an admittedly good plan to get you.” Evander shrugs. “And being the sole heir to a huge fortune isn't a bad deal either.”

Anaxagoras snorts.

“So, that’s it?”

“You find this funny?”

“This what you wanted from the start, sex?”

“Now we’re talking about things.” Evander smiles. “I always knew you were the straightforward type. The uptight, prissy ones are always like this.”

Unwilling to engage in further pointless back and forths, Anaxa stands, undoing the clasp of his coat and allowing it to fall to his now vacant seat. It is impossible to miss the way three pairs of eyes snap to his bare shoulders immediately. 

His lips curl with disgust.

“What about the rest of you?” He looks around at the other two men who have been silent throughout the entire sordid exchange. “Am I also your type?”

Nikomedes palms himself through his clothes eagerly, the desire in his eyes as clear as day. Theron, while outwardly unmoving, makes no move to conceal the prominent bulge in his pants.

“Heh.”

Ignoring them for now, Anaxa first makes his way to Evander. The man lounges on his chair, posture relaxed, legs spread wide with his Grove issued uniform pushed to the side. It reveals the man’s cock, already half hard and beading with precum. The smug expression on his face is nothing short of infuriating, practically daring Anaxa to come closer.

From his left comes the sound of rustling cloth. Anaxa might be unable to see due to the lack of an eye, but he can already imagine the two men preparing to pleasure themselves while watching what he is about to do.

The reality of what he is about to do sinks in with a sort of morbid finality. 

“Getting cold feet now, O’ Great Sage?”

Anaxa ignores the taunt. 

He drops to his knees and moves himself forward. Placing himself right between Evander’s legs, Anaxa parts his lips and begins to lean forward.

Shifting, rustling… 

“Mm…”

Some unknown amount of time later, Hyacine slowly begins to wake. She lets out a yawn, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she starts to sit up and is startled when something falls off her.

“What…?”

Pooled in her lap is a familiar black coat that would normally be clasped around a certain professor’s shoulders. 

Alarmed, Hyacine looks around, taking in the wooden, gnarled walls seen typically in the Grove’s dwellings. There are a few chairs scattered around, a low lying table, plenty of shelves and scrolls around…

“You’re awake.”

“Professor Anaxa!” Her head swivels to find him at his desk. It is piled so full of scrolls, books and other miscellaneous items that she had genuinely missed him at first glance. “Um, what am I doing in your office…?”

“You were exhausted after tending to patients for days. I was told that you were found sleeping on one of the patient beds.”

Anaxa rolls up the scroll he had been looking through, placing it to the side. Hyacine finds herself peering at her professor's appearance curiously, the lack of his usual coat covering his upper arms making him look strangely… undressed. 

“The door to your room was locked and they couldn't find the key. I happened to be passing by and offered my assistance.”

The recounted events do indeed line up with her memories. The recent destruction of a nearby small village had left countless casualties in its wake. Unable to turn away from the tragedy, the Grove had taken in as many patients as it possibly could. As a descendant of the Sky and leader of the Twilight Courtyard, it was only natural that she led the charge. Even when supplies dwindled and treatment turned to comforting words and tearful goodbyes, Hyacine had given her all to maintaining a smile and her cheerful demeanour. The last thing she remembered was taking a sip of water, holding the hand of a young girl who had half her body corroded by the Black Tide, and then…

“I see, so that’s what happened.”

She must have fallen asleep from exhaustion. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. 

“Your companion, Little Ica, last I heard was sleeping under the care of your friend Clementine.”

“Little Ica really went all out on the healing this time…”

The surprisingly kind gesture of her stoic professor warms her heart. Unable to stop the small smile from spreading across her face, Hyacine is about to thank the man for his help when she catches sight of the time. 

“Ah!” Hyacine jumps up so suddenly that she barely manages to catch Anaxa’s coat before it falls to the ground. “I was supposed to start attending lessons again today. I… Did I miss your lecture, Professor Anaxa?” 

“Not just my lesson, but all your lessons for the day.”

“…”

Looking away in guilt, Hyacine frowns when she notices that the blue ribbon on her dress is tied with the wrong side facing outwards. Had she been so tired that she tied it wrongly? Or maybe it had fallen off as she worked and someone had tied it back on for her while she slept? 

There is also the lack of the familiar weight of her hat on her head. She reaches up and yup, her hat is gone. Hopefully, someone would find it and return it to her.  

“The amount of patients arriving due to the spread of the Black Tide has been increasing. Your service at the Twilight Courtyard in the Grove is invaluable to us all. I’m sure all your instructors will be willing to make an exception.”

His single remaining eye is looking at her with an odd sort of intensity. 

“If needed, I can speak to them on your behalf.”

“T-thank you, Professor.” The warm feeling returns once more, only this time it is far more intense. “Oh, and your coat. Thank you for that as well.”

Anaxa nods as she folds it up and places it gingerly on an empty chair. 

“It’s late,” he says suddenly. “You should go.”

“Right, um, remember not to sleep too late, Professor Anaxa!”

Hyacine hurries to leave, having been reminded just how late it already is. Just before she steps out of the office, Hyacine pauses and sniffs the air. 

She fails to notice Anaxa freezing up behind her.

“Um Professor Anaxa, were you burning something in here?”

A pause.

“Nothing much,” he says. “Just some useless photographs.”

“Ah, that would explain the smell.” Hyacine nods to herself. “Anyway, thank you again, Professor! I’ll be sure to make up for my absence in the future!”

“Mm.”

With a final cheery wave and goodbye, Hyacine lets the door fall shut with a soft click. 

It is only after a minute or so has passed that Anaxa finally manages to tear himself away from staring at the unmoving object. 

Now alone in his office, the lack of distractions is beginning to creep up on him. He feels hyper aware of his surroundings, the sensation of clothing on his skin, each inhale and exhale his body takes, the numbness of his knees. The usual motions of sorting scrolls suddenly feel foreign. He picks up his pen and forgets what he is supposed to write. His eyes skim over the last sentence he has written, again and again and again. 

No matter how many times he had rinsed out his mouth, the disgusting taste lingering on his tongue refused to fade.

“Tsk.”

Anaxa clicks his tongue in annoyance. He forces himself to focus on his work, devoting all his energy to grading assignments and reviewing essays.

The back of his throat continues to ache.

“Of course, there is more,” his teacher replied. “Why did the stone travel up so high? Why were there so many things eager to push the stone down? Why did nothing manage to stop the stone? What will happen when it hits the ground? Would it even ever hit the ground, or would it forever fall?”

“Why did the stone first fall?” Empedocles had asked the empty room. “While all this is far beyond the original theory, I cannot help but think of other possibilities for I am not of the Nodist school.”

He blinked in response, staring hard at the unmoving back of his teacher.

“First you bring up a Nodist theory, and now you put an Erythrokeramist twist to it?” he said, disbelieving. “Teacher, have you finally grown tired of being the Venerationism sage?”

Empedocles chuckled.

The sage turned around, and for the first time, it really struck him how much his teacher had aged. For the first time, he really began to believe that the golden blood in his teacher’s veins was thinning, that didn’t have much time to live at all. 

“Anaxagoras, you are my most brilliant and promising student.” Empedocles’ smile had been mournfully sad. “I hope that you and that stone… may your fates never align.”

Chapter Text

Life passes as normal.

Students bustle about their various activities, rushing from class to class to panicking over assignments. Exam season is around the corner, consisting of a healthy mix of written tests, practical assignments and oral debates. It is no surprise then that the Library of Philia is packed to the brim like never seen before.

Time moves forward as normal.

The Seven Sages hold a joint meeting, discussing various matters within the Grove. The results are inconclusive, but this is nothing out of the ordinary. At the very least, they acknowledge the glaring elephant in the room and even agree on several matters. Still, inaction is inaction. No amount of hypothetical postulating would change that. 

Everything continues as normal.

His lectures flow smoother now that the three disruptions have miraculously decided to keep to themselves. On some days, they fail to show up altogether. Anaxa has almost forgotten what it is like to have a normal lesson like this, even if his students too seem to have forgotten how to ask questions. On the other hand, his students now look at him with subtle awe in their eyes, likely assuming he has something to do with the sudden improvements. 

Anaxa isn't too sure of that answer himself, but they are probably not far from the truth.

The Library of Philia has always been frequented by him. Nothing would ever change that, not when there is a veritable trove of knowledge to be found, some obtained more legally than others. The topics of his research have slightly changed, however. 

Anaxa pulls out a few scrolls from a dusty shelf, turning around only to be greeted by a familiar face.

“Professor Anaxa…”

His young student starts tearfully bidding him farewell. The Black Tide had killed her entire family, leaving only her elderly grandmother behind. Unable to pay her fees, the student had to withdraw from the Grove, leaving to find alternatives to supporting herself and her only remaining family.

Anaxa had long seen this coming; he had been there when the new list of affected areas had been announced. Had this been a few years before, Anaxa would have applied for a scholarship on her behalf. Now, he merely brings her to another part of the library to pick up a thick tome he prepared and bids her farewell. She bursts out in tears again upon reading the title, vowing to continue her studies in her own time. Anaxa merely nods in response.

Such occurrences are far from unusual. He has long grown numb to it all.

“Another one gone, all because of the Black Tide.”

Soon after his student, ex-student leaves, another person approaches him. Anaxa doesn't bother to greet her, simply returning to his previous location.

“Sage Anaxagoras, it would be wise to show more diplomacy during the Sage meetings.”

She walks with him, adamant about continuing the conversation. She must have been waiting a while to talk to him.

“If even the Seven Sages cannot handle the blunt truth, how can we expect our students to continue discovering and treading upon new, untouched ground?”

“I understand your concerns.” She sighs. “But you too must know of our predicament.”

“We will perish from within even before the Black Tide has the chance to arrive.”

“Back then I made my decision with careful consideration in mind. Now, having seen their general conduct and… peculiarities, even I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of the decision we made back then.”

“And yet, all sages but myself voted in favour of receiving subsidies through that poisoned channel.” Anaxa stops walking, turning to face the Lotophagism sage properly for the first time. “Tell me, Sage Medea, if we were to hold another vote right this moment, would your choice be any different?”

“...”

Anaxa scoffs.

“You need not answer. The other sages would have voted the same as before.”

He resumes walking, having nothing left to say to the other sage.

“When stomachs are empty and even tomorrow is a gamble, who can spare a thought for learning or research, much less others?”

“So what do we do then, sacrifice one to save ten? A hundred?” Anaxa says mockingly. “Who decided on that arbitrary number? Why should that ‘one’ be sacrificed? How is the ‘one’ chosen? By luck? Sheer coincidence? Or is it by some virtue or merit or divine prophecy much like the one of the Flame Chase?

And here I thought your precious student Eudokia would be enough of a lesson. Is she still in the Twilight Courtyard, strapped to a bed and crying and screaming out for substances that she will never again obtain?”

“... Not everyone can be like you, Anaxagoras.” Medea’s voice lowers. She manages to keep her composure even with Anaxa touching on her sore spot. “Not everyone can be so indifferent to suffering and loss and— You can never know what someone has gone through.” 

Anaxa snorts. He hopes she takes offence.

“We shouldn't be discussing such things in public.”

“You are the one who started this conversation.”

“You are… impossible, Sage Anaxagoras.”

She leaves eventually, likely disappointed at the outcome. Anaxa doesn't know what she had been expecting, or what her goal in speaking to him had been in the first place.

Gathering up the scrolls he had picked out earlier, Anaxa settles himself down in a comfortable location for a few hours of quiet reading. 

He can't believe how the complacency of the other Sages had spread even to him. He can't believe he had deluded himself for this long. Knowing those Titan-forsaken bastards better than ever now, Anaxa doubts he will be the last to be… chosen. Perhaps more have already been targeted and have already been hurt. Right under their very noses too, a blight on the very place supposed to be a sanctuary for learning and growth. 

The younger students especially are bright eyed and eager, minds open and ready to absorb new knowledge like a sponge. But they are also woefully ignorant—gullible, much like newborns freshly weaned off their mothers. Faced against the likes of Evander and his ilk, they wouldn't last a day. Having knowingly invited vipers into their own homes, how could they as educators, guides and mentors possibly live this down? Have they no pride, no shame?

And yet, it is not like Medea’s words have no truth to them. 

Destitute vagabonds come by the Grove’s doors in waves, begging for even a scrap of food or shelter. Mass graves of countless bodies and pyres pile high. Smoke curls upwards towards the sky amidst the backdrop of toiling shovels. Their numbers dwindle by the day, be it through death or some other form of exit.

It is hard to care about faceless, nameless individuals, not when they flow by endlessly in droves. Anaxa is not that different from the other sages in that regard. 

Instead, he remembers arriving at a lecture hall early once, catching sight of Hyacine alone with Ica. She must have thought that she would be alone for a good while more, for she had lost her usual composure, body trembling as she held the small pegasus and cried.

The sight had rattled him more than he would like to admit. 

“Mnestia incarnate.”

Someone is standing behind him.

A photograph lands on the scroll he is reading.

It is a photograph of himself. A half fisted cock is pressed against his cheek, its owner cut out of the shot. Anaxa is wincing, eye closed reflectively as splashes of white streaks across his face. 

Anaxa simply picks the thing up between two fingers, passing it back to the man who had dropped it. 

“Tonight, come to my office during the Curtain Fall Hour.”

The man grins.

“Sure, whatever you say, Anaxa.”

Evander leaves. Anaxa picks up his scroll and continues reading.

Life passes as normal.

Time moves forward as normal.

Everything continues as normal.

And Anaxa is no exception. 

“You are really terrible at this, Anaxa.”

Anaxa ignores the man’s words as he continues to move his head up and down. Reluctant to touch any more of the loathsome man than he has to, Anaxa grips the sides of the chair to brace himself. The disgusting taste of precum and other fluids is all he can taste. His mouth feels like it is being stretched open far too wide, his cheeks burning with the strain.

He tries not to think about the thick length inside him, tries not to smell the musk and sweat, tries not to feel the way rough pubes tickle his nose. 

“Do you even know what’s a blowjob? You’re supposed to use your tongue and suck and no teeth—”

The hand tangled in his hair violently yanks him off the cock. Anaxa sputters, drool flying from his lips and dripping down his chin.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Evander says, voice pitching downwards into an angry growl. “I told you no teeth, no fucking teeth!”

Anaxa gathers up the moisture in his mouth, turning to the side and spitting. What are they expecting? Burning enthusiasm? Skillful technique? Is he supposed to have gone back to look up tutorials on how to better pleasure your partner, or read tips and tricks on delivering the best blowjobs?

He is a man of logic, reasoning and truth. He is a scholar, an educator and the one who would unveil the mysteries of this world. Does it look like he had time for messy entanglements and copulation? The use of teeth wasn't even on purpose. He simply didn't know what to do, his attempts at blowing the man being a clumsy mimicry of what he had heard of the act. 

“Tsk.” Evander lets go of Anaxa and leans back in his seat, face full of annoyance. “At this rate, I’m going to have to jack myself off to your pretty face every time.”

“You know Evan, he could just be a virgin.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. With this face and figure? Tell me a better joke next time.”

“Hey Anaxa, are you a virgin?” Nikomedes reaches down to tousle his hair. “I didn't get an answer the last time I asked you in class. Maybe now's a good time to make up for it?”

Anaxa resists the urge to shy away from the touch. Besides, with the three of them having dragged chairs over to surround him on all sides, there isn't anywhere he can actually retreat to. Eyeing the three of them warily, he contemplates for all but three seconds the benefits of lying.

“Yes.”

His answer is met with a brief silence. 

“Seriously? You’re not lying to us to get some, well, I can't think why you would lie actually.” Evander laughs. “I suppose that does explain some things, your piss poor blowjob technique for one.”

“You’re a virgin…” There is a strange sort of intensity to the look on Nikomede’s face. He moves to cradling Anaxa’s face. “How… precious.”

“Unexpected.” Theron nods minutely. 

Anaxa cringes. 

“It truly is unexpected,” Evander muses. “But that also means…”

He grabs Anaxa by the arm, pulling him up such that he is sprawled across his lap. A hand traces down his clothed ass before stopping where his entrance is. 

“No one has entered you here before?”

“ …No.”

“Anaxagoras, truly the gift that keeps on giving.” The man gives his ass a slap, and Anaxa jumps at the contact. “But that will be a celebration for another day.”

Another day…

Despite having expected such a natural escalation, the proclamation still manages to unsettle him. 

“Well with that out of the way, this means we just need a tribute to train our professor up.” Evander loosens his hold and Anaxa takes the opportunity to pull away immediately. “How about Theron, I volunteer your dick—”

“I just remembered,” Theron says. “I have something to do.”

“Huh?”

Theron stands abruptly, spinning around and heading to the office door. 

“Are you serious— Theron, you’re really just going to leave like that?”

The door clicks shut. 

Two pairs of eyes stare in disbelief after their departed friend. Anaxa huffs from his position on the ground, wondering if he should be thanking the Titans for this bout of… luck?

“Did he seriously just walk out on us? Tell me Niko, does he even see us as his friends?”

“You know Theron has always been like that,” Nikomedes says, voice placating. “If you don't mind, I’ll let him use mine for practice.”

“Really? I mean sure, why not? Knock yourself out,” Evander snickers. “Hopefully he doesn't scrape you raw with his teeth by the end of it.”

“Our professor is a smart man,” Nikomedes says, tugging Anaxa over to kneel between his legs. “I’m sure with proper instruction, he’ll be an expert in no time, right?”

Anaxa stares at the man, unsure if he is supposed to give an answer. 

Thankfully, it doesn't seem to be the case.

“Come on, open up now.” 

Nikomedes has his cock in one hand, stroking it idly. Then he presses it to Anaxa’s lips, smearing precum all over him. 

“You don't have to look so apprehensive. As long as you follow my instructions, I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Anaxa nearly snorts at the remark. As if the promise of such a man could be taken seriously.

Taking a moment to steel his mind, Anaxa parts his lips slowly, taking the man into him. Once again, the stretch is back. Heat sears his tongue, burning that unforgettable taste into the back of his mind. 

“Wait.”

Nikomedes gently eases Anaxa off his cock. Brows furrowing in confusion, Anaxa looks up at the man with carefully guarded mistrust. 

“First thing first, although I’m already mostly hard now, some people might require a bit of teasing and foreplay.” Nikomedes smiles and pats Anaxa’s cheek. “Try using your hands a little, or nuzzle my cock. Licking works as well.”

“...”

Anaxa ends up doing everything. He starts by pumping the dick in front of him a few times, before moving forward to slide his cheek against it. Then he turns his head, pressing his lips to a vein on the shaft and giving it a few tentative licks.

“Good, good. Now to make your life easier and the experience for both parties better, it’s always a good idea to wet the cock with ample spit or lubrication.” The cock nudges his lips. “Come now, time to open up.”

Reluctantly, Anaxa allows the cock to slide back into him. His hands clench as he gathers up spit in his mouth, slathering the length with it as much as he can.

“Mm. Next, use my legs for leverage.”

His hands are taken and placed onto the other’s legs. Anaxa tries to struggle free but he is trapped, the larger hands engulfing his own. Eventually, he relents, allowing those hands to pry open his fists and puppet them. His fingers are curled, grasping at muscular thighs for support. 

“Now as Evan loves to say, no teeth. Try to hold your mouth open wider and that should help.”

“Have you touched yourself before? Then you must know which parts feel good. Concentrate on stimulating those parts with your tongue— Ah… Yes, yes like that.” 

“Remember to suck. You can suck harder on the shaft than that.”

“No need to swallow too deeply. Here, use your hand. Stimulate the base and— Yes, like that. ”

Begrudgingly, Anaxa does as he is told.

Admittedly, all the advice does make the process easier. No longer does he feel like an idiot headlessly flailing around. It also seems to make his blowjob feel a lot better, if the throbbing cock freely leaking precum is any indication. The realisation brings him no joy. 

“See, it’s not that hard right, Anaxa?” Nikomedes says, slightly out of breath. “I told you I would be gentle.”

Hopefully, the man isn't actually expecting an answer. Anaxa would have to be a ventriloquist or spontaneously grow another mouth to reply.

“That’s it, just relax. No need to fight back.”

As the minutes go by, Anaxa falls into a trance of sorts, his body simply moving on its own accord. 

Like this, the act can almost be described as relaxing. It is frighteningly easy the way he picks things up. With the ability to set his own pace, Anaxa is lulled into an unnatural sense of calm. He lets his mind drift, ignoring the sensations in his mouth. He sucks at the tip, drinking down the leaking fluid. His hand squeezes the base of the other’s dick, tongue curling under sensitive glans. 

“Ah… Professor, Titan’s above you look divine.” Nikomedes finally speaks up after a lengthy silence, panting down at him with eyes brimming with lust. “Following my instructions so well, you’re really, really doing such a good job.”

His reverie is ruined. A burning surge of disdain bubbles up in his chest at the praise. Anaxa isn't sure if it is directed at the men around him or himself.

“Yes, Anaxa, I’m close,” Nikomedes says, gripping Anaxa’s head as his hips begin to twitch. “Come, take it all!”

Despite having expected it, the burst of hot fluid in his mouth still manages to make Anaxa recoil. It shoots across his tongue and down his throat before he can react.

“Swallow.”

Unable to refuse, Anaxa’s throat bobs as he does as told, drinking down everything and holding the pulsing dick in his mouth until it begins to soften.

“I almost fell asleep watching the two of you.” Evander yawns from somewhere outside his field of vision. “Don’t know how you can stand the agonising slowness.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to slow down in life a little. No need to keep rushing around as though Thanatos is one neighbour away from knocking at your door.”

Evander rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. Give him back to me. I didn't get to finish just now.”

“Alright, alright.”

The softened cock is pulled out of his mouth, leaving a trail of drool and cum stringing from it. Without needing to be urged, Anaxa turns his attention to the other man, eager to get things done faster rather than dragging it out. 

“You know, Niko here is a bit of a sentimental lovesick idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m nothing like him.”

That is all the warning he is given before his head is grabbed and a dick is slamming past his lips and into his mouth. 

“No teeth, or you know what happens to those photographs.”

Anaxa doesn't even have the time to make a sound of surprise as he is violently dragged forward, face pressed to Evander’s groin. For a moment he simply holds still, and then his gag reflex kicks in and he begins to struggle.

He barely processes the threat, not when his body is choking, instinct forcing him to try and draw breath. His hands flail wildly, scratching at the man’s legs, tugging at his arms, anything to get it to stop. But Evander is unmoving, the fingers tangled in his hair allowing for no escape. He continues to hammer into Anaxa’s mouth like a cocksleeve relentlessly. Yet somehow, Anaxa manages to retain just enough control of his body to ensure he follows through with the order.

At some point, Anaxa figures out how to breathe through his nose, his body falling slack as he allows the man to fuck his face. It makes the whole thing just a bit more bearable even as hot flesh batters his gums and saws across his tongue. But then fingers pinch his nose shut and his composure shatters.

Anaxa gags again and again as the cock hits the back of his throat. He convulses, trying to expel the source of discomfort but it is an exercise in futility. In fact, his struggles only seem to excite Evander more. The thrusting becomes harsher, his grip harder. The black spots dotting Anaxa’s vision grow by the second as he feels himself gasp desperately. His lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, struggles growing weaker even as he scrabbles at anything within reach. 

Just as Anaxa feels blackness overcoming him, his eye falling half lidded as the sounds around him dim, air rushes back down his throat. He coughs at the burst of clarity, nearly falling over if not for the hand holding him up by the hair. Wet ropes of white splash across his face, burning his skin wherever it lands. 

“See Niko?” Evander says triumphantly. “If you just use him like this, no need for technique or whatever.”

Anaxa feels like a fish out of water, continuing to gasp and retch weakly as he pulls greedy gulps of air into his lungs. The remainder of Evander’s orgasm is poured into his mouth as Anaxa is commanded to clean him off. 

“To each their own,” Nikomedes says. “Whatever gets you off, you bastard.”

“Heh.”

“So, should I go find Theron for his turn?”

“Nah, coward ran off on his own. He can miss out on today.”

With a final lick, Anaxa pulls away from the softening dick, wiping his mouth as he tries to compose himself. The room still feels like it is spinning vaguely and he doesn't trust himself to stand at the moment. 

“Damn, time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“We’ll be going first, Professor! Tonight was really great… You wouldn't mind if we come by again tomorrow, right?”

Anaxa’s gaze at them is cold.

“Come… Come earlier if you’re going to take so long.” His voice comes out all raspy and wrong. “I have classes to teach in the morning.”

“Got you.” Nikomedes nods. “Thanks again Anaxa, you really are the best.”

Then the two of them are off, joking and laughing the whole time.

Anaxa gives himself a moment to sit on the floor, eye closed as he breathes. The back of his throat feels rubbed raw, his scalp still tingling with little pinpricks of pain. There is a faint sensation of nausea lodged in his chest like some lump is itching to claw its way up his throat and expel itself. Drying cum and other fluids are plastered all over his face, hair and eyepatch. Some drips down his eye.

Anaxa looks at the time and realises that it truly is quite late.

He picks himself up, only stumbling once as he makes it to the nearest toilet. It might be some ungodly hour in the morning, but the Grove is a place known for the erratic sleeping schedules of its inhabitants. Having cleaned the worst of the mess off his face already, Anaxa should be mostly presentable to anyone who catches him with the help of the dim lighting.  

Maybe he should consider a change of location the next time they do… it. Somewhere more convenient to clean up, or simply just make less of a mess. 

A quick rinse later, Anaxa feels like a whole new person. The usual aftertaste in his mouth has lingered long enough to be ignored, and his desire to throw up has mostly tapered off. Returning to his office, he picks out the few documents that cannot be delayed and pushes the rest to the side. 

The next few hours are spent sorting out headache inducing budgeting issues, lacklustre essays and several problematic research proposals. By the time he is close to done, Anaxa’s mind has already long turned to his lecture tomorrow, the events of the night having been forgotten at some point. 

“I-I… ugh…”

The room is sterile. White walls on white floors and white furniture. The sharp scent of cleaning agents is a nauseating contrast to the cloying scent of sickness and decay.

“Hurts—!” Bruised eyes bulge sightlessly. Her voice is hoarse, sounding like molten sand has been poured down her throat. “Please! Need… it…”

Erratic creaks of a bed and wet pants fill the air. Borne from the young girl struggling futilely, they sound eerily chilling in the relative silence of the area. The cloth straps tying her down to the bed are wound tightly around her, almost cruel in the way they dig into her skin, leaving reddened marks in their wake. 

He heard the last time she managed to untie herself, she had rummaged through the entire clinic looking for something to ease her anguish. After not finding what she wanted, she attempted to end her own life.

“P-please…”

The drooling girl starts, then stops, then lets out a blood curdling wail, her bloodshot eyes darting around rapidly. 

“H-hurts, please it hurts…” Her cracked lips open to beg. “N-need…”

He stares down at her coldly, watching the way she jerks and mumbles like one might observe a particularly hopeless experiment.

He remembers this girl. It would be hard not to.

Once, Hyacine had mentioned her to him with great enthusiasm, gushing about how she was an ‘up and coming promising healer in the Twilight Courtyard’.

This thing is what once used to be the girl known as ‘Eudokia’.

“Anaxagoras, what are you doing here?”

Foolishly optimistic, empathetic and believing in the good of humanity to a fault, it is no wonder she is the most well liked sage among them. Her mindset had always disgruntled him, but he supposes it made sense to be as such as the Lotophagism Sage.

Anaxa notices the items clutched to her chest, a few scrolls, a portable chalkboard, unfilled assignments… clearly teaching instruments meant to instruct. 

Foolish. 

“Why, afraid I’m going to melt your student down and turn her into alchemical parts? Turn her into a project for study? Kick her out for being a lost cause and a waste of space?”

“...”

Anaxa smirks.

“Don’t worry, the Grove hasn't quite reached that point of desperation… yet.”

“Why are you here.”

It seems her empathetic kindness only goes so far, only reserved endlessly for individuals not named ‘Anaxagoras’. Clearly, he must have used up his allocated quota the other day. 

“It’s been a long time since our schools collaborated.”

“It’s been a long time since the Nousporist school has collaborated with anybody.”

“Yes,” he admits. “It has been a long time since any of our schools collaborated properly.”

Too many unspoken differences that failed to be put aside. Too many petty rivalries. Too many distractions, too many divisions, too many opposing ideas vying for superiority, all in a valiant attempt to keep the Grove afloat and running. 

In a way, it is almost hilarious. A bunch of directionless ants they are, tugging at a crumb of honeyed bread in all directions, destined never to move. 

“Is that what you want? A collaboration?”

Idly, he rubs his throat, frowning at the way it still aches. It makes speaking for prolonged periods a hassle. But when he doesn't give it much time to recover, especially used so frequently and in such a careless manner, he really only has himself to blame. 

“Why now?”

“I was thinking of a solution to our woes.”

“And what are these ‘woes’?”

“Dependency. Imbalance. Division. A lack of practicality. I could list many more, but I’m sure you see where I’m going with this.”

“And so what if I do?”

“What if part of our collaboration is something to potentially fix…” He waves to Eudokia. She has mostly settled down for now, merely making unintelligible moaning sounds ever so often. “This.”

Silence. Medea makes no attempt to hide her consideration of his offer. 

“That day at the library, you were reading up on herbology for this?”

“More than that, far more than that,” he says. “As the sage in charge of overseeing research projects and experiments, wouldn't it be great if I could encourage our students to cover a greater range of topics, reach heights previously unknown, and cover more untrodden ground?”

“You only care about yourself and your version of ‘truth’.” Medea eyes him warily. “This isn't the Anaxagoras I know.”

“Cerces’ divine body took the form of a tree. Their every branch spread outwards, every leaf, flower fruit flourishing. But if one day a rot were to take root, spreading from their very foundations and upwards their trunk and beyond…” He trails off for effect, dramatising the grandiosity of his speech. “Do you think any one of us would escape unscathed?” 

Still, Medea remains unmoving. Anaxa expects no less.

“I have great trust in myself in completing my life’s goal in research. But even I am not arrogant nor blind enough to believe that it can be completed that soon,” he says, lifting his head arrogantly. “And rather than flailing about blindly, is it not better to put your trust in me?”

“Fine.” Medea relents. “But our first project, it must be related to…”

Her expression is pained as she gazes down at the remains of a once bright girl. Even now she is still so soft, unwilling to say out loud the reality of the fate that has befallen her favourite student. 

“You have my word,” Anaxa says. “I don’t make promises I can't keep.”

Chapter Text

“So Theron, what do you think?” Nikomedes says. “Though I think your expression says everything.”

“Good,” Theron replies with a sigh.

He presses Anaxa flush to his pelvis, sheathing the entirety of his cock down his throat. Anaxa twitches slightly as he swallows around the length, drinking down everything as he resists the urge to gag. 

“Looks like my lessons really paid off,” Nikomedes says. “Oh, but of course, our Anaxa must be a natural born talent to have learnt so fast too.”

His hair is ruffled. Anaxa grimaces as he holds still, counting the seconds before he is finally released. 

“Or you can just be rough. Anaxa doesn't mind it either way.”

Theron is usually the only one of the group to not show much of what he is thinking at all. Today, however, he actually decides to give Anaxa a pat on the head after pulling out. The gesture is also gentle and careful, as if one were patting a particular temperamental Dromas. 

Anaxa glowers at the man, impulsively wishing upon him a bout of ill luck. Instead of dropping dead on the spot, Theron pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and holds it out to Anaxa.

“For you.”

Anaxa stares at it skeptically for a moment before taking the offered item. Unfolding the paper reveals a note with a hastily scribbled room number, a time and date circled in red, accompanied by a smiley face.

“Tonight is going to be your big day, Anaxa!” Evander says happily. “Theron here even went around gathering a few more of our friends to join in on our celebration.”

Anaxa stills.

“... Tonight?” he echoes the word.

“Yep, tonight,” Evander says. “Exciting, right? We all knew you could barely wait for it, so we hastened the date by a few days.”

“...”

Anaxa turns away, adjusting his clothes to be presentable for his morning lectures.

“Don't forget the address, alright? Who knows what bad things will happen if you don't turn up otherwise?”

“Of course.” Thinking of something, Anaxa asks, trying to feel out the situation. “Is there… anything I should bring with me?”

“Oh, no, no. Just yourself and your brightest smile.”

Evander and Nikomedes laugh loudly, and even Theron’s mouth quirks upwards a little.

Nodding, Anaxa turns to leave first. Despite having expected this, his stomach still churns with faint unease.

“Professor Anaxa, are you feeling unwell?” Hyacine asks him as she places a stack of completed assignments on the table next to him. “You keep rubbing your throat.”

Another peaceful lecture has just reached its conclusion. His students have mostly left the lecture hall, leaving only a few stragglers behind. Anaxa had been planning to make a quick escape after class to spend more time researching, only to get called out by Hyacine. 

Caught in the act, Anaxa lowers his arm stiffly. 

“It’s nothing serious.”

Anaxa is annoyed at not having noticed the unconscious action. He would have to watch himself better.

“Hyacine, you’ve been away for the past few days, so you probably don’t know it, but the professor has been having a sore throat for the past few days!”

“Yeah! He’s also been looking far more stressed than usual.”

“He always gets worse the moment you stop paying attention to him.”

Anaxa glares in the direction of the voices, spotting Lykos and a few of his friends. They duck under the tables, guiltily trying to avoid his line of sight.

“You—!”

“Professor Anaxa, is that true?!” Hyacine hones in on him, catching hold of his arm before he could run away. “You promised me you would visit the clinic the moment you felt sick last time!”

“I—”

“No, I don't want to hear excuses!” Her grip on him is unwavering as she drags him off to the Twilight Courtyard.

Everyone knows that the moment Hyacine enters this… mode, there is no escaping her scrutiny. Not even the mighty Anaxagoras, one of the Seven Sages of the Grove, the Great Performer and Blasphemer, is an exception.

“The moment you open your mouth, you start coming up with the most ludicrous excuses that somehow convince even me!”

Having long lost the battle, Anaxa directs his final stand at the group of traitors.

“Extra thousand words for your essays today!”

Lykos and his friends scurry away quickly. 

Anaxa scoffs. At least they have the sense to be properly afraid.

After having managed to escape the clutches of Hyacine, Anaxa finds himself back at the Library of Philia once again. This time, however, he is more… adventurous in his selection of reading material. 

When it is said that the Library of Philia contains the most extensive selection of material in one place, beating out even the library in Okhema, it is in no way a joke. As long as you know where to look, you can even find material that borders on illegal. And with the proper authority level, you gain the ability to access the flat out illegal things, much like some of the tattered parchment Anaxa is holding right now. 

Illegal drug synthesis, organ trafficking, slave trade… Anaxa thumbs through the yellowed paper as he reads through everything carefully. This one in particular lists a transcription of someone completing a sale of selling over a dozen kidneys. 

There are many more scrolls, papers and even books containing similar material, all hidden away in this dark and dusty little room. Even if most of them are incredibly dated, incomplete and near impossible to interpret without context, it would still be unwise to leave such things out where any student or member of the public could come across them. It stands to reason that being a sage of the Grove does come with its privileges. 

Nodding to himself, Anaxa scribbles down a few notes on important matters he has concluded. The less damning articles are promptly tossed into the photocopying machine as he plans to take some back to his office to further study. 

It is unfortunate that while the Library of Philia does indeed contain virtually any topic you could wish to look up, there are simply some things that cannot be learnt, not through books and scrolls at least. And it just so happens that what Anaxa is trying to learn is one of said topics, also known as ‘collecting blackmail on somebody’.

Wherein lies his issue. 

Firstly, Anaxa has never needed to do so before. With his intellect and preference for dismantling his opponents through debate, there had simply never been the need to resort to other methods. 

Secondly, to collect blackmail on someone, the said person must have something about them worth being blackmailed over. This isn't an issue in the technical sense, considering his targets. The true issue is not having any solid clues on where to begin. As such, he is stuck combing through this veritable sea of paper, hoping to find even the vaguest of associations to his targets. 

Thirdly, the collection of blackmail usually requires connections of sorts and social skills. It also helps if you hold a position of advantage. For example, working in the shadows, political power and reach, or allies that would help cover your weaknesses and back. Anaxa… he couldn't be further from any of these things.

Lastly, what his research has taught him so far is that things are far more complicated than he thought. The families, associations and groups his targets likely hail from span across generations, cities and identities. Okhema and its surrounding areas are likely to be the homes for a lot of these people. He wouldn't even be surprised if their ties extended to the Council of Elders and several high ranking city officials. 

The best way to collect blackmail on such people would be to interact with his targets and associates directly or go to Okhema to conduct some investigations of his own. But that comes with dangers and complications he would rather not deal with.

Just what is that Goldweaver doing? Has her influence over the holy city already waned so much that all this is allowed to spread and grow? But a thousand years is a long time. Perhaps even she…

Letting out a sigh, Anaxa gathers up all the information he had collected and tucks it under his arm, exiting the dingy room to finally breathe air not tinged by dust. He checks the clock in the library and mentally calculates how much time he has left.

Roughly three quints…

Maybe he could get some reading done first.

Making a small detour, Anaxa heads to the ecology and zoology section of the library. He had already finished the introductory book on herbology the day before. Perhaps he could borrow one that goes greater in depth on the topic. There was also the option of looking into animals and their potential uses. While he might know a fair bit about Dromases, even he isn't sure of their uses in the medical context, let alone the rest of the species living in Amphoreus. 

As he bends down to pick out a thick tome, he feels the burning gaze of someone staring right at him. Anaxa ignores it, having experienced something similar countless times. It is only when the gaze refuses to abate and is even joined by several snickers that he turns around in annoyance.

What greets him are a few students. ‘Students’, rather, for knowing the group they belong to, they have certainly not done any studying in their time here. 

The group of men sit on one of the many tables for visitors to read at, and while there are indeed some books placed in front of them, their attention is focused solely on Anaxa. The moment they notice he is looking at them, their expressions take on noticeably lecherous and malicious edges. One even makes a vulgar gesture at him, causing Anaxa to recoil from the brazenness.

“Tsk.”

Mildly unsettled, Anaxa grabs the tome he had been eyeing and leaves, hearing mocking laughter echoing from behind him. 

As he approaches the agreed upon address, Anaxa suddenly recalls something about the room he is about to enter. 

To call it a mere room would be doing it a disservice. While the Grove generally frowned upon excessive indulgence and favouritism, several exceptions were made. Student rooms are an example of this. 

All students are given a simply furnished room as a baseline, but with certain accomplishments such as leadership positions, academic achievements or other reasons, students are given the opportunity to upgrade their living quarters. Such upgrades included larger rooms, a private toilet and even a combined lounge and kitchen area among other things. 

The student room he is about to enter is one of the most luxurious ones. Anaxa highly doubts that whoever awaits him inside had obtained the room through legitimate means. Coercion of another student to apply for a swap, bribery for the staff in charge of room assignment… Or maybe they had simply barged in one day and demanded it as theirs. Anaxa wouldn't put it past them to do that.

Regardless, all this speculation would do nothing for him, except for informing him of just how many people can potentially fit inside. Anaxa watches as the final seconds tick down on his teleslate before pushing open the room door, entering right as the clock hits Curtain Fall Hour.

No matter all the mental preparation Anaxa had done, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer number of people packed into the large room.  

All eyes turn to him immediately. His body visibly jerks to a stop as he takes in all the men in the room.

Twenty… no, twenty five? Anaxa counts the mostly unfamiliar group of men, his eye making a cursory sweep of the place. He even spots the group that had laughed at him in the library that afternoon. 

“Twenty eight, in case you are wondering.”

Twenty eight. These twenty eight people, are they all going to— 

“Well, what are you waiting for, Professor?” Evander says, the twisted smile on his face impossible to ignore. “Do I have to come over and escort you in?”

Anaxa responds by stepping into the room fully and closing the door behind him. 

Now that he is inside, Anaxa finally gets a good look at the room he is in. There is a darkened corridor at the far end, probably leading to the connected bedrooms. Most of the furniture in the lounge has been cleared, leaving behind a few chairs and two tables. Most of the men are sitting on the ground or standing, few having the privilege of a proper seat. 

A single bed lies in the middle, from where it must have been moved out from one of the bedrooms. On it sits Evander, his two closest friends flanking him on either side.

Anaxa fails to stop the quickening of his pulse. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Wordlessly, Anaxa acknowledges the command and begins to undress. His hands are steady as he takes off his capelet, his belts, rings and gloves. His shoes are removed and placed to the side. Socks come off, followed by his vest, shirt, pants and then everything else. Now completely bare, Anaxa folds everything up neatly and places it on an empty chair. He wonders if he has to remove even his earring and the metal clasp tying his hair. 

“My my, Professor, I always knew you were small but without your clothes…”

His skin is burning from all the gazes of the eyes in the room. He can feel them sizing him up, taking in every centimetre of his naked self. It makes him want to shrink in on himself, but Anaxa forces himself to stand tall, putting forth an air of indifference. 

“That's enough,” Evander says. “Come.”

Hesitantly, Anaxa walks towards the centre of the room, trying not to let his apprehension show through his actions.

Anaxa freezes up as a hand darts out to grab his cock.

“Cute cock,” Evander smirks, giving it a little squeeze that has Anaxa wincing slightly. “Can't say I expected anything bigger. Well, no matter. You won't be using it much tonight.”

Then Anaxa is forced to sit on the bed next to Evander.

“Everyone, you all know what we are gathered here for, right?” Evander swings an arm around Anaxa’s shoulders, dragging him closer. “Come, introduce yourself to everyone.”

“... My name is Anaxagoras,” he says, deadpan. “One of the Seven Sages of the Grove of Epiphany, founder of the Nousporists.”

“Wow, you got a big one this time, Evan.”

“Fuck I’m so excited.”

“Titans, he's… really, really pretty, and small.”

Anaxa grimaces at the reminder. Here, forced to lean into a half embrace with Evander, the difference in their sizes feels even more prominent than ever. 

“You’re the star of the celebration today, Anaxa,” Evander says, looking down at him. “How should we do it? Lying down and taking it? Putting it in yourself? You get to choose.”

So in the end, it comes down to this.

“I’ll…” Anaxa wets his lips. “I’ll put it in myself.”

Cheers erupt from around him. Anaxa closes his eye and tries to swallow down his shame.

“Alright! Come, prepare me then.”

Two fingers are held out to him. Understanding the unspoken request, Anaxa leans forward and begins to suck on them.

“Better work hard now,” Evander says even as Anaxa is slathering his fingers with as much spit as possible. “This is all the lubrication you’re getting.”

Eventually, Evander must have deemed it enough, for he removes his fingers and shoves Anaxa down. Anaxa’s arms flail as he tries to catch himself, only to have his legs wrenched open as two fingers are shoved into him. He sucks in a breath at the sudden intrusion, doing his best to relax and cooperate. The moment is short lived, however, Evander barely bothering to work him open at all.

The next thing he knows, Evander is lying back on the bed, pants off and cock standing tall. He beckons to Anaxa, to whom he has little choice but to comply.

Unlike the matter of blowjobs, Anaxa had done some research into the topic of sexual intercourse this time. He is aware that without the proper preparation, penetration can be incredibly difficult and even painful at times. There is no way he is counting on these men being gentle or considerate in the slightest, leaving the issue of comfort for him to figure out on his own. Anaxa had actually attempted to prepare himself a few times for this very reason, fingering himself open with lubricant before the embarrassment had gotten to him.

Anaxa straddles Evander’s hips. He grasps the other’s cock, giving it a few pumps until it is fully hard. Then he gingerly positions himself over it, breathing deeply as he presses it to his asshole. He does his best to relax, replaying in his mind what advice he has read in anonymous forums on his teleslate. It had been limited, admittedly, given the lack of the Goldweaver’s threads, but it is enough for Anaxa to finally gain the courage to press the cock inside him. It catches on his rim and slowly, gradually…

Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart. 

Just as Anaxa has worked the tip into himself, hands suddenly land on his hips and force him down.

His body doesn't register the sudden movement immediately. For a split second, Anaxa’s mouth parts in surprise as he is thrown off balance, hands grabbing onto the body beneath him for support. 

And then it slams into him.

Pain, nauseating and sharp, radiates up his spine. Anaxa nearly screams, eye screwing shut as he breathes heavily instead. 

His hole, it burns. The stretch borders on agonising, his stomach shifting and clenching as it feels like his entire body is cramping up. 

He is, it is, the entire length… It had been forced into him in one go. 

“Move.”

Anaxa takes a wobbly breath and does so.

He lifts himself up laboriously, feeling his legs shake and the burn intensify as the cock drags against him. The hands are still digging into his hips, a warning of what is to come should he not move to Evander’s liking. When the cock is nearly out of him, Anaxa allows himself to fall, slamming back back down. The rapid descent does him no favours, and once again, Anaxa finds himself paralysed from the pain, his insides feeling like they are being ripped apart into shreds. 

Face scrunching up from the pain, he moves again once his body has unlocked itself. He repeats the motions, up and down and up and down, his body seeming to get used to it against all odds. Even when each time feels more painful than the last, the feeling of something wrong down there continuing to grow, Anaxa continues to move. He digs his nails into the chest beneath him, needing the sensation of literally anything else to ground him. 

His progress is abruptly halted by the hands on his hips, forcing him still before Anaxa can move up again. While he is glad for the break, an equal amount of confusion fills him. It is only when he looks down that it all starts to make sense. 

Gold is smeared across his thighs and on Evander’s pelvis. 

“Golden blood…” Evander is staring at where they are connected. “I heard rumours about you, Anaxa, but you’re actually a Chrysos Heir?”

Anaxa merely looks away. What more is there to say? Is the fact that he is bleeding gold not proof enough?

“Anaxagoras, truly the gift that keeps on giving.”

The world spins without warning. Anaxa finds himself on his back once more, Evander looming over him. Before he can process much more, fingers are shoved into him again. But this time they are prodding, almost as if they are feeling around for something. His body stiffens as he feels the other’s nails drag against his walls, and then they catch against something and— 

A strangled sound is punched out of his mouth as Anaxa feels something give way and rip inside him. Almost immediately, warm wetness gushes out of him, and Anaxa claws at the bedsheets, body jerking as he tries to curl in on himself.

“Take a good look, everyone.”

Blinking past the pain that blurs his vision, Anaxa manages to make out Evander raising his hand up high. Golden blood drips down from it in rivulets. His blood. 

“Oh shit, it’s actually sparkling.”

“Gold… It’s like, something approaching divinity?”

“Any of you fucked a Chrysos Heir before?”

“Hey, they are rare, you know? It’s not like picking random whores off the street!”

“I think my cousin fucked one before.”

“No way!”

“It was dead though, said it was terrible, body was all loose and cold and smelled like shit.”

“Oh, come on, what the heck, that’s disgusting!”

“Five percent,” someone suddenly says. “I’ll increase your share by five percent if you let me fuck him in the ass.”

“Come on, Elias. Do you think someone like him is only worth a five percent increase?”

“Ten then.”

“Only ten?”

“Fine, twenty,” Elias grits out. “But no higher.”

“Alright, alright.” Evander laughs. “You’ll get your turn after Theron.”

Anaxa lies on the bed, the words and jeering around him passing over him in waves. The bite of the pain is beginning to set in. He makes a feeble attempt to put more distance between himself and Evander, only to be dragged back immediately. Eventually, he simply resigns himself to playing dead, listening as the men around him haggle and bargain over fucking him as if he is some expensive cut of premium meat.

“I have some news that will potentially interest you.”

“Oh?”

“Test me if you don't believe me.”

“Why, of course.”

To Anaxa’s shock, Evander proceeds to take out a spindle with familiar golden threads wound around it. With a shake, the threads unfurl themselves, connecting Evander and the man he is bargaining with.

It’s unmistakable. Those are that Goldweaver’s threads, threads that would allow both connected parties to be unable to lie to each other, among other things. But what are they doing in the hands of scum like Evander? That inhuman woman might be a monster, stuck as something not quite human nor divine, but even she wouldn't stoop to the level of working with such people. 

“You know the owner of these threads?” Evander says as he winds the threads back around the spindle. “Come to think of it, you are a Chrysos Heir as well. You must be pretty close to her.”

“I… have nothing to do with that wretched woman,” Anaxa says, a beat too slow. “She and her precious prophecy disgust me.”

Evander seems genuinely surprised by the vitriol in his voice. 

“Infighting even among comrades? I suppose that isn't uncommon.” Evander places the spindle aside. “Well, that doesn't matter now. It’s time for us to continue.”

Done with his business, Evander lies back down and pats his lap.

“What are you waiting for, Anaxa? Get back on.”

Anaxa stares at the cock covered in gold. Then he grits his teeth, pushing his body up. He lifts himself over Evander and eases the cock back into himself.

The second time feels even worse. It probably doesn't help that Evander had aggravated the wound, making the slow slide down feel like a knife stabbing right through him. Anaxa collapses forward, held up only by shaking arms. He hunches over against his will, sucking in ragged breaths as cold sweat runs down his back. He can feel more blood welling up, leaking from him and pooling on the other’s stomach.

It… really hurts.

Taking a long moment to compose himself, Anaxa eventually begins to move, unwilling to wait for anyone to call him out again. Sweaty hair falls into his face as he bounces, feeling the way his legs tremble even harder with strain each time. His only respite is that the once burning friction of the cock tearing him apart is pretty much gone, even if it is what feels like raw glass scraping his insides that takes its place. 

So focused is he on trying to regulate his breathing and move that Anaxa fails to notice the person walking up to him.

“So, can I use him now?”

Anaxa looks up so quickly that he nearly gives himself whiplash.

“Yeah sure, go ahead.”

Of course. They had all been discussing it just now. It’s just, he didn't want to… admit the possibility. 

Watching as the man undoes his pants and pulls out his cock, Anaxa barely falters for a second before he opens his mouth. The cock enters him immediately and Anaxa begins to suck, using all he has learnt to coax the thing to full hardness. In a sort of sick, twisted way, the act is almost comforting in its familiarity. He runs his tongue around the pulsing length, swallowing down the precum that leaks when he finds a sensitive spot.

The hands holding onto his hips squeeze down.

“Hey, don't forget about me down here.”

Concentration broken, Anaxa does his best to respond, clenching weakly as he wriggles his hips awkwardly. 

It soon becomes clear that he is struggling to accomplish much at all, between the pain and the two dicks he is expected to entertain. Luckily for him, the man using his mouth seems eager to take his own pleasure where he can. It is almost a relief when the man grabs his head and starts to fuck his face. Anaxa just has to go limp, holding himself open like a pliant fuck toy and letting the man slam into his mouth as he is jostled back and forth. 

The man comes quickly enough, groaning as he spills down Anaxa’s throat. He quickly swallows, having learnt it is the best way to please his tormentors. For a moment, he has time to rest, to organise his thoughts and pull himself together. But then the man in his mouth pulls out, stepping aside to reveal another person. 

Oh. 

That is the single, dull thought that runs through his mind before Anaxa simply opens his mouth, too tired to think more about it. 

As usual, his great ability to learn and adapt kicks in. Anaxa manages to figure out a way to suck on the dicks in his mouth while continuing to bounce on Evander by the third dick. It does help that the man occasionally thrusts up on his own, while sometimes forcing Anaxa to be still. Anaxa doesn't know what the man is playing at, prolonging his time inside him without finding release. Perhaps he just finds it entertaining, watching Anaxa suffer and choke on cocks from below. 

Is it around the fifth cock that he sucks when it happens.

“Boss, you ever seen what’s under here?”

Anaxa is still coughing from the last blowjob, the back of his throat convulsing as tries to clear the fluids that went down his windpipe. Fingers brush against his eyepatch, and Anaxa snaps his head out of the man’s grip, shooting him a weak glare.

“No, I haven't actually,” Evander says. “But you’ve got me all curious now.”

“Great! Then shall I take it off for all of us to see?”

Again, the man tries to touch his eyepatch. 

“Don’t—”

“Anaxa, is that a no?” 

Anaxa pauses, realising his mistake. The third time the man tries to take off his eyepatch, Anaxa grudgingly relents, gritting his teeth as it is untied. The moment his eyepatch comes off his face, Anaxa instinctively tries to duck his head down, using the cover of his hair and body to hide in vain.

“Theron.”

Someone, Theron, moves behind him and Anaxa’s head is wrenched upwards, his face on full display for everyone in the room to look at. He knows what they must be seeing—an empty, hollow hole on his face, the insides lined with pale, fibrous tissue. In his eagerness to see his sister, the wound had not been clean, carving out both his eye and eyelid. The resulting scars had healed over uglily, mottled and uneven in their appearance. He has seen it too many times in the mirror himself to ever forget. 

“Oh, I thought it would look hideous but…” Nikomedes says from somewhere off to the side. “I suppose some things just aren't capable of looking ugly, huh?”

“Can I put it in there?”

What?

“Theron, can it be done?”

“… As long as you are careful, it shouldn't lead to any permanent damage.”

They… They can't be serious.

“Sure, go ahead then.”

They can't be— 

But the cock in his face is approaching, coming even closer. The hand grabbing the right side of his face squeezes down, trying to steady Anaxa’s head as the man guides the tip of his cock to enter his eye socket. Anaxa jerks backwards only to find himself immobilised. Between being impaled on a cock from below and the crushing grip on his head, he is effectively pinned in place with nowhere to run.

“No—”

The protest slips past his lips before he even registers it.

“Tsk, tsk. That's the second time now. Need I remind you what’s at stake, Anaxa?”

“I—”

“Hey Niko, give me the photos.”

Anaxa can only watch as that familiar envelope is passed to Evander.

“Listen up, everyone, I have a bit of side entertainment for you all. You all know that pink haired healer at the Twilight Courtyard? She’s really cute, right? Well, in here we have pictures of—” 

“Wait!” Anaxa says in panic. “He…”

He swallows. 

“He can put it in…”

He cringes at how pathetic his voice sounds even to his own ears.

“Hm? Sorry boys, it seems like side entertainment is off.” Anaxa feels his frantically beating heart slow minutely as the envelope is put away. “Although it looks like we’re gonna get a good show soon in exchange.”

Once more, the man holding his head begins to move, tilting Anaxa’s face at a slight angle to better align himself. The head of his cock rubs against the rim of his socket, sending jolts of not quite painful sensations running through him. Old, disused nerves he thought withered away years ago spark back to life, somehow managing to be both oversensitive and dull. Precum wets his skin and leaks into the gaping cavity on his face. The cock presses in.

“Woah, he’s shaking really hard.”

“I know, I can feel it from down here.”

It is a tight squeeze. The moment it first slips inside with a wet jolt, Anaxa nearly falls backwards from the shock, the only thing keeping him upright being the numerous hands on his body. The man makes an experimental roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against the healed tissue in Anaxa’s eye socket. He wriggles his way deeper, pushing until he hits the back of the socket and lets out a sigh. His cock pulses hot and thick, throbbing so hard Anaxa can feel the other’s heartbeat echoing through his skull. 

The sensation is inexplicable. He feels full, impaled—thoroughly dissected. Pinpricks of pain edge into his consciousness. Anaxa’s breath hitches as the man begins to move, fucking him in slow, shallow thrusts.

As Anaxa is jostled back and forth, one of his hands digs into the hard lines of Evander’s chest. His other presses weakly against the man who is currently fucking his eye, caught between an eternal loop of trying to stay still and pushing away. Small, ragged sounds leak from him unbidden even as he tries to clamp his mouth shut. His head is jerking in tiny, useless motions, a foolish attempt at getting things to stop. 

Because it wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. 

In the end, Anaxa simply squeezes his working eye shut, feeling the reverberations of slapping flesh echoing all around his skull. The lack of sight only makes everything more intense, from the smell of sex and the hot, sweaty flesh enveloping him, but Anaxa cannot bring himself to open his eye.

Warmth coats the inside of his head. The cock pulls out, leaving a trail of cum and other fluids. The excess drips down his face. His lips tremble. The left side of his face throbs with a dull pain, his eye socket already starting to feel swollen from the abuse. He feels faint and vaguely ill.

Anaxa starts reaching for his left eye to cover it, to put anything between it and that horrible experience, but his hand is stopped by a crushing grip. Startled, he looks down and is reminded of the presence of Evander below him. He didn't even realise the man had stopped fucking him at some point. Then he is grabbed by the neck and dragged down, coming face to face with Evander whose eyes are blown wide with lust.

“Fuck,” he says, hooking two fingers into Anaxa’s eye socket. “You look— Should have done this sooner.”

And then he is thrusting violently, forcing Anaxa to cling to the larger body below him in fear of being thrown off. He tries to keep his head still at least, fearful of the way Evander’s nails dig and scrape at the irritated flesh of his socket. The man had already ripped him apart down there once; what is stopping him from doing it a second time?

Even as blinding pain makes the bottom half of his body practically immobile, Anaxa finds himself unable to care. He knows just how fragile the human head is, delicate membranes, bone and cartilage keeping everything in place and working. It would be so easy for Evander to use a bit more force, to press downwards, blood and viscera gushing down his nose and out his mouth as he choked on the ruined remains of his nose. Or he could curl his fingers upwards, stabbing upwards into his brain, the one precious organ Anaxa could never give up. 

But more than that, it is the invasion of something so important, something so vital to the human experience, that has him breaking apart, his front of composure truly beginning to falter. A pathetic sound falls from his lips as the cock slams into him over and over. Anaxa makes no attempt to stifle himself. 

With a few more harsh, erratic thrusts, Evander presses Anaxa flush to him, as if trying to bury himself as deeply as possible. His cock throbs hard, releasing a few ropes of cum that coats his guts. Anaxa squirms weakly, the searing heat adding yet another layer to the already complex mess of nerve signals his overstrained body is sending him. 

Evander doesn't hold him for long. The moment his erection begins to flag, he shoves Anaxa off him. Gracelessly, Anaxa slumps to the ground, body completely boneless. He cradles the left side of his face in his hands, cringing away from the men in the room.

“Alright, it’s my turn now.”

Someone grabs him by the waist, dragging him back onto the bed. Anaxa panics at the way those hands nearly circle him completely, feeling like they can crush him should they really want to. Alas, his efforts to free himself only worsen his condition, the flailing of his limbs causing the wounds on him to hurt anew. By the time he is placed on the bed, his thighs feel slick with more than just cum. The pounding pain from his eye socket flares anew. His hips ache fiercely, and when he tries to lift himself, he is pressed down onto his back.

“Hey, hush now.” Nikomedes tries to soothe him, running a hand through his hair. “I know it hasn't been the most… pleasant for you so far, but I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

Anaxa stares at the man in disbelief. 

“What, don't believe me?” He laughs. “I won’t even let anyone else touch you at the same time. It’s just going to be us, nice, sweet and slow.”

As if to prove his point, Nikomedes begins to undress completely. Then he moves between Anaxa’s legs, taking his legs and wrapping them around his waist. Bending down, Nikomedes nibbles softly on Anaxa’s ears, his hot breath fanning over his cheeks. 

“You know, I wanted to be your first,” Nikomedes says between pressing kisses to his neck. “Too bad I lost a bet to Evan and had to go second. At least Theron was nice enough to agree to being third.”

He sucks on Anaxa’s collarbone, nibbling and working the flesh between his teeth. His nipples get a few rubs mixed with pinches, his hands taken and forced to grasp onto the other’s shoulders. Hands roam his body, caressing and kneading his flesh. They even cup his cock and balls, giving his shaft a few experimental pumps, only moving on when they find him completely limp.

Anaxa watches everything unfold silently. He feels none of it, as though he is separated from reality by a layer of thick cotton. If someone were to walk in at this exact moment, they would probably assume they are lovers entwined in a moment of passion.

This… This isn't too bad, he supposes. 

“Hm, you look wet enough already,” Nikomedes says. “Guess I don't need lube.”

Something hard and thick prods between the cleft of his ass. His body twitches, the memory of what would come next nearly rousing Anaxa back to life.

Even though Nikomedes is considerably gentler than anyone else, the penetration still hurts. Anaxa is quickly broken out of his daze, head thrown back as he is once again ripped apart. The searing sensation has his legs kicking weakly at nothing as his fingertips dig into the other’s shoulders. A gasping, dying sound is wrenched from him.

“Shh, shh.” Nikomedes hushes him, wrapping his arms around Anaxa in a mockery of a lover’s embrace. “Don’t worry, it will be over soon.”

He begins to move, thrusting into Anaxa with deep and even strokes. The other’s large body is crushing him, smothering him completely. The feeling is too much, overwhelming Anaxa with its intensity. He tries to move, tries to push the man away. His legs scrabble for purchase, back arching as his body lights up with pain. All his efforts are easily ignored, hushed away with a tender kiss on the cheek, as though he is a petulant child to be soothed. 

Eventually, Anaxa ends up burying his face into the other’s chest, scratching at his back as he attempts to find an outlet for the pain. Nikomedes is loud in taking his pleasure, moaning and grunting as he sucks at Anaxa’s skin. The other’s balls slap against his crawling flesh, smearing more tacky blood against his skin. His abdomen cramps. Anaxa feels bile crawl its way up his throat.

“I’m close.”

The thrusts speed up. Anaxa can feel the way the bed shakes beneath him, hearing it squeak and groan. There is the sound of something else, laughing. Right, there are people watching him. 

Nikomedes sinks his teeth into Anaxa’s shoulders at the same time he grinds himself deep, carving out a spot in Anaxa’s guts to shoot his load into. Anaxa barely reacts, only twitching slightly when the other pulls out. He feels as cum leaks out of him together with other things. 

Ah, it’s over.

Anaxa lies sprawled out on the bed, eye blinking dazedly up at the ceiling. Every part of his body seems to ache. The wet, stabbing sensation between his legs feels worse than ever. There is a faint ringing sound in his ears, and the ceiling suddenly feels both very close and very far. His mind turns to idle thoughts, wondering if he will ever be able to sit down again. 

There are voices around him, discussing something. Anaxa fails to comprehend anything, lying there passively as he simply waits for something to happen. Light flashes in his face and Anaxa blinks, finding himself staring at a teleslate pointed at his face. His head is then tilted to the left and right, limbs arranged in different positions. More pictures are taken. A voice mentions it being too early to take more. 

Someone’s face appears in his vision. It takes him a while before recognition kicks in. Theron—the name jogs a clouded memory in Anaxa’s mind, something about taking turns. It happens just in time as the man flips him over, dragging his hips up and pressing his cock to his ruined entrance. Anaxa’s cry is swallowed up by the mattress as the cock plunges in. If not for the hands keeping him up, Anaxa knows he would have long since collapsed.

Theron takes him with a merciless rhythm, relentless in the way he thrusts into Anaxa. There is no hesitation in his movements, pounding away with wet smacks. Blood, warm and sticky, drips down his thighs. His head is pulled backwards for his body to form an arch. His neck burns immediately from the strain, his back folded into a curve so steep that for a moment, Anaxa fears he will really be snapped into two. And yet he can do nothing but stay there and take it, his free arms seizing up with indecision to fight back or comply. 

Before his spine can fully give out, his face is smashed into the mattress. Blackness engulfs his vision as blood roars in his ears, Anaxa nearly sobbing from the relief as the strain of his muscles abates. 

However, a new problem quickly presents itself. It only takes a few moments before his lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen. Desperately, his fingers claw at the hand holding him down. He tries to tilt his head up, to the side, anything to get a proper breath of air rather than the musty sheets. But the hand tangled in his hair is ruthless, ignoring his efforts and forcing his head down deeper every time. His lack of vision quickly turns into black spots as his consciousness frays at the edge.  

Just before he can pass out, his head is yanked up. Anaxa barely has a second to suck in air before a cock is shoved into his mouth. He gags, drool leaking from his mouth as he thrashes weakly, hands pulling at the arms restraining him. All he gets is a slap for his efforts, the brief explosion of light in his vision stunning him silly.

A grunt sounds from behind him and his ass is filled once more. Anaxa doesn't get to rest this time. The moment Theron pulls out, another person is already standing there, eager to take his place. 

Time becomes a bit of a fluid concept after that. Anaxa doesn't remember much from that point. They use every part of his body, from his hands to his eye to his thighs, no part of him is spared. He is taken spread out on the bed, pounded on the floor like an animal, folded over in half until his tendons threaten to give, pressed against the wall and held up by another as his legs give out on him. Evander might even have come back for a second round, bending him over one of the tables and taking him from behind. Anaxa cannot say for sure. 

He actually starts to miss the warmth of Nikomedes’ body engulfing him at some point, the way it would allow him to hide away from the rest of the leering eyes watching his every movement and expression. The allure of the mimicry of safety is too much for him to resist, and Anaxa finds himself longing wholeheartedly for it. When he finally catches himself doing so, the realisation has him throwing up for the first time. Vomit spills all over the cock of the man using him and there is a shout, the man pulling out swiftly as Anaxa tries not to choke on his own sick. Blackness clouds his vision, and for a blissful moment, Anaxa passes out.

But they never let him stay down for long. Be it through a splash of water, slaps or blocking off his airflow, he is brought back to the waking world again and again. And as Anaxa is dropped down into someone’s lap, fading in and out of consciousness as his legs dangle off the sides, Anaxa is forced to face the reality that it is going to be a long, long night. 

At some point, they must have gotten bored with him. Or maybe they had simply grown tired and left. It is surely very late now. What feels like an eternity has passed since he first stepped through the room door. He knows it can't be true, but it certainly feels like it.

There are not many people left in the room. What few are left chat among themselves, drinking, gambling, or idly tapping away on their teleslates. They are distracted enough that Anaxa is able to crawl away into a corner, curling in on himself beside a chair that does little to hide him.

The entire left half of his face is alight with agony. His jaw aches from being held open too long. Small spasms still wreck his throat muscles, the bitter taste of bile and other fluids seared onto his tongue. His eye socket feels hot and swollen, the once dull throb morphing into a sharp burn that radiates across his head throughout the night. He tries to touch it gingerly once, to see how bad the damage is. The resulting pain has him pulling away just as fast. 

The once stabbing pain that feels like a knife wedged between his legs has quietened to a dull throb. His legs feel numb, disconnected from his body. There are a multitude of other little aches and hurts scattered everywhere. Anaxa doesn’t pay them much mind. Curled up like this on the hard floor, it almost feels strangely pleasant, like he is lying on a bed of warm, shifting sand, the quiet rushing of the tide occasionally washing over him. It reminds him that he is still supposed to be feeling things, and that this calm probably wouldn't last the moment he tries to move. 

Anaxa tucks his head into his chest. Twinges of pain spark from his body in protest. He ignores it in favour of chasing the lingering calm that threatens to fade should he lose sight of it. Once he grasps it in his hands, he pulls it over himself like a blanket, feeling it settle over him like a second skin. His mind begins to unwind. Thoughts come to him unbidden. Anaxa lets out a soft sigh.

That was… bad. It certainly wasn't very good. Anaxa is still shaking from the aftermath, the full extent of the experience likely not sinking in quite yet. There were a lot of people. Or maybe not? Only about… five? Ten? Not all of them had touched him. Most used his mouth. Even more just sat and watched. That wasn't too many. It wasn't that bad; it could have been far worse. It had hurt, but it wasn't that bad. It could have been worse, much much worse. It could have been bad.

An exhale. His body is dirty and sticky, bruised and shivering. It hurts. His hair is a complete mess, matted with dried cum and other fluids. He had lost the metal clasp tying his hair at some point. Ringing fills his ears. It hurts. 

He probably can't go and teach tomorrow like this. He doesn't think he can walk or move. It’s a pity. He had already planned out all his teaching material, a three day course with some live alchemy sessions sprinkled in. He wonders how Hyacine is doing now. Is the Twilight Courtyard still overworked? 

Anaxa tries to think about more, but his mind is tired. His thoughts are running in circles at this point. It exhausts him. A nap would be good. A nap sounds really good. He could just… close his eye. Sleep. If he closes his eye and goes to sleep, maybe the hurt and the cold and shame will all…

He flinches when something touches him.

“Come now, Anaxa. We can't let you leave here in this state.”

Anaxa doesn't respond.

“Professor…” The voice sounds worried. Then it sighs. “Forgive me for this.”

Someone rolls him over. His scrambled brain barely has the time to process the action before he is swept up and carried somewhere. Anaxa struggles weakly but quickly falls limp when pain explodes all over his body. 

He must have blacked out for a moment, for the next thing he knows, Anaxa is sitting slumped over in a bathtub. It is half filled with lukewarm water that both eases his body and stings his wounds. Thin swirls of gold float around him, all originating from between his legs. 

“Oh, they really did a number on your eye,” the voice mumbles from the side. “All this clear fluid, hm…”

The person tries to touch him again. Anaxa scrabbles backwards, pressing himself against the furthest corner of the bathtub.

“Anaxa, calm down! I’m only trying to help.”

He looks at the person suspiciously, trying to shake himself out of his half dazed state. His blurry vision clears, and he takes in the other’s features, trying to jog his memory…

Oh, it's Nikomedes.

“Anaxa?”

He… should probably listen.

Eye cast downwards, Anaxa doesn’t move when Nikomedes approaches him again.

“Stay still for me, alright? I’m going to rinse out your hair.”

Apart from the rushing sound of water, the toilet is otherwise filled with an uncomfortable silence. Anaxa does his best to relax his tensed body as Nikomedes works through the knots in his hair, rubbing some sort of soap into his green strands. While the gentle massaging of his scalp might have been relaxing had it been any other person, this is practically torture. Their close proximity has Anaxa wanting to fling himself away so badly, fuzzy memories of what had just happened to him practically flashing before his eyes.

Thankfully, the deed is completed quickly enough. More water is poured over him, rinsing off the suds in his hair.

“Now for your face.”

Nikomedes touches his face, and Anaxa flinches away. He regrets the action immediately, hearing the man click his tongue above him. Fisting his hands by his sides, he stays when the man tries again.

Holding still is even more of a challenge this time. Anaxa cannot help the way little sounds leak from his lips, his body twitching sporadically as his face is held. Calloused fingers brush over swollen flesh, rubbing off what he can only assume to be blood and cum.

When the fingers move to his eye socket, everything falls apart.

“L-let me…” Anaxa’s voice pitches upwards towards the end. “Myself…”

He gasps like a dying animal, shaking so hard he can hear the water in the tub splashing. Fear sizes his heart, causing his body to lock up and his limbs to spasm.

“Anaxa, there are no mirrors in here, you know?” Nikomedes says. “It’s better if I clean it for you. What if you miss a spot?”

“But… I…”

His throat hurts. He coughs, dry and wretched. It rattles something deep inside him. 

He tries again, tugging weakly on the arm that is beginning to carefully scoop out cum and blood from his socket. He doesn't get a response. 

Nikomedes is ignoring him now. He tugs again. No response.

Anaxa gives up. 

Water splashes from his stiff jerks whenever Nikomedes brushes over a sensitive spot or wound. He keeps his hand gripping weakly onto the other’s arm, unsure if he is trying to ground himself or push away. Anaxa really tries to hold himself still, tries to calm his spiralling thoughts, tries to stop feeling whatever awful feelings are eating him alive.

He fails. His face contorts with emotion. Anaxa can only sit there and continue to tremble and endure.

By the time Nikomedes is done, Anaxa feels completely wrung out. The emotional fumes fuelling his high dissipate. He slumps back against the bathtub, dull pain running through him as his mind starts to blank out. Cold seeps into his skin, the hard porcelain harsh on his bruised body. He barely protests as Nikomedes reaches into the water and starts to finger him, carefully scraping out all the blood and cum inside his ass. Resisting at this point would only harm him further.

Head falling tiredly to the side, his eye wanders vacantly, staring at the cracked walls, the various soap bottles, the—

Nikomedes is hard.

The man doesn't seem to notice it himself, his entire attention focused on cleaning Anaxa. 

For a moment, Anaxa simply stares at it. Then his brain begins to turn as a new possibility emerges.

The thought sickens him.

It takes several minutes before he finally musters the strength to reach forward.

“What—?”

Gingerly, Anaxa grasps the other’s cock with shaky hands.

“You don’t have to do this.” Nikomedes smiles down at him. “You’ve done more than enough for today.”

Despite saying that, Nikomedes does not move to stop him. Anaxa takes it as an unspoken invitation to continue.

Sure enough, the man quickly relaxes, letting out a sigh as Anaxa pumps up and down. Thumbing across the sensitive slit, Anaxa spreads the translucent precum across the man’s shaft. Far too soon, his arm is already beginning to burn with the strain. He tries to lean forward instead, wincing as his muscles twinge in protest.

Understanding what he is trying to do, Nikomedes shifts his body, bringing his cock closer to Anaxa.

The blowjob is clumsy despite his best efforts. Drool drips down his chin as he struggles to get his aching jaw to stay open. His tongue is stiff and can hardly move. The insides of his mouth feel so raw and his throat so tender that Anaxa is hardly doing anything at all.

Somehow, the other seems to enjoy his service all the same. He thrusts shallowly into Anaxa’s mouth, careful not to open new sores and wounds.

“Anaxa.” He lets out a soft sigh, combing his fingers through Anaxa’s wet locks. “My sweet, lovely Anaxa.”

Suddenly, Anaxa feels very, very small.

The moment Nikomedes finds his release, Anaxa tries to drink everything down. His throat cramps up from overuse instead, and all he accomplishes is some painful coughing.

“Open.”

Anaxa holds his mouth open. The remnants of the man’s cum is still smeared across his tongue.

Nikomedes reaches two fingers in and begins to sweep all his cum out. Anaxa tries very hard not to retch.

“Alright, I think we’re done here.” After rinsing him down with water one more time, Nikomedes gives a small nod and stands. “Can you stand?”

Perhaps rather foolishly, Anaxa attempts the action. He actually manages to lift himself out of the bathtub with trembling arms, only to crash to the floor. Water sloshes everywhere on his way down. The impact of the unforgiving ground makes Anaxa gasp. His body screams at him, dull throbs reawakening into fierce stinging. Something twists inside of him as he tries to move his legs, and when he looks over his shoulder, he finds gold running down his legs again. 

“Ugh, the bleeding started up again.” Nikomedes clicks his tongue. “Stay here, and don't move.”

Obediently, Anaxa stays put, drawing his knees up to his chest as he watches Nikomedes leave. Since he is clearly in no state to be going anywhere, he might as well just sit here and see what the other has in store for him. Not like things could get much worse.

Muffled shouting comes from outside the toilet. Try as he might, Anaxa is unable to make out what is being said, no matter how he strains his ears. Then Nikomedes opens the door, a bundle of unfamiliar clothes tucked under his arm.

“I’ll get someone to return your clothes next time. For now, it's better if you wear this.”

Although he says that, what ends up happening is that the chiton, several sizes too big for him, is simply wrapped around his body. They cover him for the most part while resting lightly enough on his skin not to aggravate anything. Then Nikomedes is scooping him up carefully, likely learning from the previous time.

Even then, the pain is immense. His mouth falls open as a wrenching pain grips his abdomen, seeming to bore right through his bones. His vision fades for a moment, his body going limp. He barely registers the man carrying him saying something to the remaining people in the room before he begins to walk.

“I’m bringing you back to your room and ah, yes, I have your key with me.”

Faint alarm bells go off in his head at the admission. Anaxa tries to protest, tries to ask for something so important to be returned to him immediately, but the jostle from a step up some elevation is enough to send his mind into disarray, pain whiting out his vision and thoughts.

“Sleep, Professor. It’s all going to be okay.”

His head swims, vision fading in and out. Anaxa tries to return to his train of thought, but Nikomdes steps onto something again and—

A burst of agony. A weak moan.

Darkness takes him.

Chapter Text

It takes two days for the bleeding to stop.

When Anaxa first woke up, his mind had been nothing but pure white. It felt like there was nothing there, a blank space devoid of thought and meaning. But as he started to breathe and come back to life, drips of colour had begun to trickle through the cracks of his consciousness. He noticed the sensation of cloth on his skin first, then the faint scent of wood, and then the all encompassing pain.

Everything came rushing back. A haunting sound came out of his mouth. He tried to sit up and get off his bed. Anaxa nearly passed out again on the spot. 

He quickly learned his limits. 

True to his word, Nikomedes had brought him back to his room. His clothes and other belongings were stacked neatly on the messy desk at the far end of his room. There was even a bottle full of painkillers included with it. Otherwise, everything else looked exactly the same as he remembered. 

For the first two days, he had moved sparingly. Walking was off limits. Not that he felt like walking much. Most of his time had been spent in bed, hugging his dromas plushie as he mumbled incoherently to himself, trying to make sense of the world. He felt delirious, his usual logic and calm abandoning him in this crucial period. When he felt brave enough to do so, he would attempt to tend to his wounds. His eye socket seemed stable enough, leaving only the damage between his legs. 

But even after he stopped bleeding down there, the persistent, wrenching sensation that flared up whenever he tried to walk refused to abate. It felt like he was one wrong step away from breaking the twisted, strained mess of tendons in his abdomen, leaving him paralysed from fear as he waited for the pain to abate. Anaxa might not be a medical expert, but he has enough knowledge about the human body and passing familiarity with healing that he is certain of one fact. 

There was something very wrong with his pelvis. 

Had he been insane, he would have crawled his way over to the Twilight Courtyard for treatment. But Anaxa knows better than to attempt such a foolish thing. 

In hindsight, he was incredibly lucky that he has a reputation for disappearing for months on end without warning. And even if someone decided to come looking for him, they wouldn't know where to look. Having likely assumed he was in the midst of experimentation, they wouldn't bother with his office or private dwellings. Few know the secret of the Seven Sages’ private sanctuaries. Even fewer know of the location of his. None other than himself knows that he has a hidden passage leading right to said private alchemy lab in his room. Right now, this fact may very well have saved his life. 

Perhaps having unconsciously expected something to happen to himself, Anaxa had dabbled in some experimental potions and substances outside the scope of what he and the Lotophagism Sage had agreed upon. Knowing her, she would never have approved of the dangerous methods he used to get said results anyway. It also doesn't help that he had used rather… questionable materials. Regardless, Anaxa had a theory on their medicinal properties and had decided to go ahead. 

And now, his broken body would serve as the perfect opportunity to prove his ideas. 

The first three had seemingly no effect. The fourth had made him hallucinate dromases trampling around in his room. The fifth had made him throw up violently, but it pales in comparison to the number of times he did so from nightmares. 

The last one seemed to work, signalled by the gradual lessening of his pain as his body knitted itself back together. It was a pity he had created this one by a fluke, unable to recreate the exact conditions that had led to its creation. Perhaps he would have to consult someone from the Caprist school for their insight. 

Maybe some entity had been watching over him, for by some miracle, Anaxa doesn't develop a fever or further complications while testing his concoctions. His current predicament is troublesome enough as it is; he really doesn't need more problems on his plate to solve. 

It takes two weeks before he feels ready to leave the privacy of his room.

His first step out of his room makes him frown. 

Something feels… off. Once familiar halls and buildings feel foreign despite their familiarity. The evernight skies of the Grove feel far too bright and exposing. Loud noises make him wary. Social interactions are tense and draining unlike anything before. Anaxa has to try very hard not to flinch when someone touches him or comes too close. It all begins to wear at his mind, hollowing out his chest. It is almost as though someone has tilted the world on its axis, and he is walking on the walls. Or maybe he has walked through a mirror and into a parallel world in his sleep.

It takes a few days for him to realise that it isn't the world that has changed.

It is he who has changed.

He had known to expect this. He is not ignorant of the consequences of his actions. The human mind is a surprisingly resilient construct made to adapt to all sorts of setbacks. It is far from perfect, and yet fascinating all the same in its capacity to tolerate. But some things do come as too much of a blow, too much of a shock. The brain fails to recover, remaining permanently scarred and trapped in a loop of agony. 

Even with all his genius and intellect and preparation, the inevitable had still happened. 

Anaxa can't help but feel a vague sense of disappointment in himself. 

It isn’t until his fifth day of returning to teaching that he realises his potion might not have healed him as completely as he thought. 

His lessons remain mercifully free of three certain individuals, especially when he’s not sure if he can face them now. Perhaps they had decided to throw him a bone; Anaxa can only imagine how wretched he had looked lying curled up on the floor that day. Or maybe it is his efforts coming back to reward him. It would be nice if things could remain this way. 

Regardless, his current lecture is the third one back to back. Anaxa hasn't had the chance to sit down at all or rest. 

Standing around for hours on end has never been an issue for Anaxa. Sure, he would undoubtedly be fatigued by the end of it, but it would be foolish to dismiss the extent that passion will take the human body. He had once given talks at a seminar for three days in a row, starting from the Entry Hour right up till the Curtain-Fall Hour, and came out no worse for wear. 

But things are different now. 

The ache is back. It starts off small, a dull throb that pains his hips and makes him shift uncomfortably on his legs. If his students notice his constant fidgeting as he lectures, they do not comment. 

He dismisses it. It is just a little ache, a discomfort to be shrugged off. It would disappear quickly enough, much like the multitudes of little hurts and wounds he would often sustain from experimenting. 

Anaxa truly realises his mistake when he tries to take a step to reach the other end of the chalkboard. Sheer agony so vicious radiates from his tailbone that it takes him aback. Cold sweat covers his forehead, and for a moment, he wavers. 

He needs to move. If he stands here for too long without continuing, his audience will become suspicious. But Anaxa also knows that taking a step now will probably end badly, especially when he is already leaning the majority of his weight against the chalkboard. 

“Professor?”

He has stalled for too long. His faltering is unmistakable now. 

Shakily, he takes a step and— 

His knees buckle, the hair raising sensation of something dislodging inside him making him suck in a sharp breath. His arms shoot out in a panic, trying to grab onto anything to slow his descent. 

Luck is on his side. His hand catches against the edge of the desk, sending a few pens scattering as he displaces them. It is the only thing preventing him from falling completely onto the ground and making a further embarrassment of himself. 

Taking a moment to compose himself, Anaxa’s face scrunches up in discomfort as he begins the laborious process of trying to stand. Adjusting his hand such that he has a better grip on the table, he attempts to push himself up, only for his legs to give out on him again.

“Ah, Professor!”

Someone moves to steady him, supporting his arm. Anaxa flinches at the touch. When he looks up to tell the person off, he is stunned to find most of his class have left their seats to crowd around him. 

“What are you doing?” he says. “Get back to your seats.”

“Professor, are you alright?” someone asks. “You don't look too good.”

“His face is really pale.”

“Is he sick again?”

“Do we bring him to the clinic?”

“Someone go call Hyacine.”

“Do not call her,” he manages to grit out before someone can go do just that. “I said, get back to your seats.”

“Professor, is there something wrong with your legs?”

A perceptive one, it seems. Anaxa wonders how far deflecting will get him. Lies will certainly not work, not when he has practically collapsed this publicly. 

“Um, how about a chair?” a young student of his says. “He can have mine. I'll sit on the ground.”

That suggestion gives Anaxa pause. The mere idea of a chair is already enough to send relief rushing through him. 

“… Your offer would be appreciated.”

He still has over half his lesson to cover. He would have to be delusional to believe he can finish it while continuing to stand. 

“Alright!” For some reason, his agreement has her looking elated. “I’ll go get it. The rest of you help him up.”

The chair is brought over and placed near the furthest chalkboard that is still empty, conveniently in reach of where he had been planning to continue writing. Anaxa tries to brush off his students helping him up to the chair, only to be forced to accept when his legs simply refuse to cooperate. Eventually, everything does settle down. Anaxa makes himself comfortable while his students return to their seats. Except that young girl, of course. She smiles up at him brightly from the ground, pen and paper balanced in her lap, all ready to take notes.

Anaxa looks away.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says. “Don't any of you dare trouble Hyacinthia with this.”

Someone tattles on him immediately the next day. 

He had seen it coming. This silly song and dance, he has performed it many times with his students already. Anaxa has half a mind to punish the entire lot of them with three extra essays to write. Not even that girl who gave up her seat to him would be spared.

… He would make it up to her in a different way.

“Professor Anaxa, what happened to you?” Hyacine looks beside herself with worry, checking his pulse and other vitals. “They said you collapsed in class!”

“Dramatic as usual,” he says. “I merely hurt my leg while experimenting.”

“To the point that you couldn't stand?”

“Yes?” Anaxa looks at her daringly. “That is the whole point of having a leg injury, no?”

Hyacine bites her lips, putting away her stethoscope. Anaxa starts putting his outer layers and coat back on, watching her work. The consultation room they are in is pretty barebones, nothing like what he had seen even a few months ago. He can only assume they had to rearrange furniture again, likely in response to some new influx of patients. 

“Was there another Black Tide attack?”

“Hm?” Hyacine looks up from her notes.

It rather piques his interest in just what kind of medical records she keeps on him. Anaxa has been to the Twilight Courtyard enough times at this point to have racked up quite the collection, he can only assume.

“No, it’s a plague this time. Transmitted by bodily fluids, it affects the liver and kidneys, among other organs. And even if someone survives, organ damage usually ends them soon after…”

“You should be careful as well.”

“We are taking all the necessary precautions. It’s not like this is the first time, though…” She seems unsure. “I think it might have spread from Okhema this time. I should probably take a trip there to verify things with the healers there as well. Perhaps we can consolidate our notes and come up with something, or maybe Clementine can go instead since things here are… hectic.”

“From Okhema…” Anaxa considers this new information. “Hyacinthia, have any of your patients been going missing recently, especially the healthy ones?” 

“Patients?” She seems surprised by his question. “I don't think so? Or actually, there are a few that left suddenly without warning. They arrived alone, so it was impossible to verify with friends or family. We could only assume that they left quickly in good faith, knowing the strain the Twilight Courtyard is under.”

“Unless…” Her face twists with concern. “You have your suspicions, Professor?” 

“I can't say anything for sure.”

“Would you be willing to share your theories with me?” Hyacine looks eagerly at him. “Maybe together we can— No! Professor Anaxa, you’ve done it again, distracting me with all these other matters!”

Anaxa holds up his hands in surrender as she approaches with all the ferocity of a lion scorned. 

“I-It wasn't intentional.”

He isn't even lying, although he doubts Hyacine would believe him at this point.

“Hmph, your vitals are mostly fine. A bit anaemic but that’s normal for you,” she huffs. “Let me examine your leg injury.”

Anaxa tenses.

“... It’s not worth looking at.”

“Why not?”

“Just give me some painkillers. It won't happen again.”

“You know that’s not how this works.”

“...”

“...”

Their silent stare down is becoming unbearable.

“Hyacinthia,” he starts softly. “You should go check up on your patients. Make sure all of them are accounted for until the moment they step out of the Grove. Anything further, and their fates are beyond our ability to be concerned over.”

“You—” Realisation of what he is implying seems to sink in. “You mean, the healthy patients, organs…”

“There is always a market for everything,” he says simply. “But as I said, I can’t be sure.”

“Fine.” She relents. The anxiety is clear in her eyes, and Anaxa knows that he has crossed the most difficult part. “Just, please come back to see me if the pain gets worse?”

“... I will.”

Anaxa sighs to himself, watching as she hurries out of the door. 

Even with this settled, he still has to go fight another battle very soon.

Today, someone takes the effort to painstakingly steer the discussion away from their usual topics. The attempt is almost cute in the way it is borne from wariness towards him. Anaxa humours the attempt for a quint, waiting for the perfect moment. Once the other sages have let their guards down, he strikes.

“Anaxagoras, why are you bringing this up again?”

“Why?” Anaxa says. “Because the matter has yet to be settled.”

“The matter has been settled!” the Venerationism sage says. “Why rock the boat? Things have stabilised for now. The lot of them must be preoccupied with something, for they haven't been causing any fuss for the past few weeks. Or better, they might have finally settled down.”

Anaxa snorts.

“They’ve simply gotten smarter, more cautious… Or perhaps age is finally catching up with all of you, turning your eyes blind?”

Unfortunately, the Venerationism sage doesn’t rise to the bait.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you know, there’s a plague spreading in Okhema now.”

“Okhema?” The Caprism sage blinks questioningly at him. “What does the holy city have anything to do with this?”

“O’ great sages, please do hear me out,” Anaxa pleads mockingly. “I was always under the impression that the Grove of Epiphany is a place for enlightenment and attaining wisdom. I’m not sure at what point it turned into a farm, raising humans with utmost care and meticulousness, fattening them up like pigs, only to be delivered right to the slaughterhouse to be killed.”

“You—!” In a rare case of losing her composure, the Helkolithism Sage jumps to her feet in rage. “Such vulgar language!”

“Heh.” 

“In the end, it always boils down to your favourite student! Is this matter not the responsibility of the Twilight Courtyard? Let them take care of it themselves!”

“Assuming that she is my favourite student, is there something wrong with that?” Anaxa tilts his head. “Which one of you doesn’t have one of your own, multiple ones even? Had she not been my student, I would still do my utmost to support her efforts. Perhaps the good, recent years of having the Twilight Courtyard at hand in the Grove have erased your memories of the past when it had yet to exist.

Ah, also, I’m not sure when I ever mentioned the Twilight Courtyard? Have you been thinking more about the matter than you’re letting on? Or do you perhaps know more…?”

“You—!” 

The Helkolithist School is in charge of physical training for the entire Grove, staffing for security and safety, as well as playing a part in maintaining the overall health of all members of the Grove. As the sage of said school, Anaxa isn’t willing to believe that she doesn’t have the slightest inkling of the ugly truth as to what is going on.

“Sage Anaxagoras, do not speak in riddles now,” the Venerationist sage says, voice calm yet filled with disdain. “Are you implying people are being kidnapped under our very noses to be sold for their… bodily components?”

“And if I am?”

“Pure conjecture, Sage. You have no proof of such accusations.”

“Oh?” Anaxa blinks innocently at the man. “Did you not admit it yourself that those criminals seem distracted by something?”

“That— ” The Venerationism sage hesitates. “It could be any number of things. And besides, those people… patients, they aren't part of the Grove.”

Not one of ‘us’.

Anaxa barely resists the urge to roll his eye.

“Just because they aren't officially part of the Grove, suddenly their existence doesn't matter?”

“Sage Anaxagoras, do not twist my words in such a fashion—”

“Let’s not fool ourselves now. All those missing people, including children, are most certainly dead or enduring a fate worse than death.”

Silence. 

“Then what do you propose?” Sage Medea speaks for the first time in the meeting, sounding frustrated, desperate even.

Anaxa gives her a hard look.

“I’m not sure how many times I have to repeat myself. Perhaps in the future, I should simply send a recording of my voice to the sage meetings.”

“You know we can't do that!” 

Anaxa doesn't know how else to drill the truth into their heads. So what if they are faceless nobodies being killed off? He wouldn't even lie and say he is a saint who cares whether strangers live or die. It is just that the greed of those people knows no bounds. What will stop them from touching students and other professors in the future? They have already had a taste of unchecked power. While he doesn't know why they have suddenly stopped messing with the Grove scholars for now, there is no saying when they will resume their usual activities. 

Or perhaps the truth is even worse: there are some already suffering in silence, and they simply aren’t aware.

“Sage Anaxagoras,” the Nodism sage says. “You are aware that the Twilight Courtyard is heavily dependent on their… charity to operate, yes? If we suddenly cut them off, by my estimates, the clinic will only be able to operate at half its capacity. Our ability to take in refugees will also be greatly diminished.”

“I know.”

“Our research budget will have to be cut. Your planned projects will be affected as well.”

“I know.”

“Then?” If looks could kill, Anaxa would have died to the Venerationism sage several times over. “If even the Titans haven't found a solution to our plight, what makes you think you will be able to do anything?”

The sheer hilarity of his statement actually has Anaxa breaking out in laughter.

“The Titans, what are they if not some variation of entities adjacent to us? When have they ever helped anyone? How long are you going to willingly cripple yourselves, limiting the capacity for human ingenuity through such artificial means? How long are you going to beg them for a salvation that will most certainly never come?” He laughs, unable to hide the sheer incredulity in his voice. “Perhaps one day you will learn to free yourselves of that rigid thinking. But I suppose today is not that day.”

“Watch yourself, Anaxagoras.” The Erythrokeramism sage says, his voice deep in warning. “Proclaiming such heretical things, not to mention the impossibility of your claims.”

“If I say so, then there is no such thing as ‘impossible’,” he tells them confidently. “I alone am sufficient in leading us out of this mess of our own making.”

Of course, things wouldn't be as easy as he implies. Alchemy could do a lot, but not everything. He would still need their support, and he would get it, whether they were willing or not.

“I suppose it’s time we vote on the outcome of this matter.” The Nodism sage finally speaks up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

“The lot of you bore me.” Anaxa tosses his vote carelessly across the table. “You know what I’m voting for. Don’t bother calling me back for another meeting unless you decide to give my suggestion some thought at the very least.”

Anaxa stands from his seat and leaves with a flourish of his caplet. His hips only give the slightest twinge of pain as he starts walking. 

Nobody but themselves can help them out of this mess. Okhema is too tangled up in its own issues to potentially lend a hand. In fact, a great deal of their problems stem from the city itself. That inhuman woman might be capable, but the golden era of her reign has long waned. Unless they have something of great worth to offer her, they wouldn’t even stand a chance at negotiation. The Elder Council is even more out of the question. Anaxa suspects they are probably partially in league with the rot infecting the Grove.

At the end of the day, no matter what solution they come up with, they would have to become self sufficient and advance, fast. 

Ever since that day he had first seen those photographs, Anaxa would find himself visiting the Twilight Courtyard whenever he felt too… stressed.

He doesn't go there with the intention of receiving treatment. That is a rarity, if ever. He would keep his distance, watching from afar. His subject of interest is, undeniably, Hyacine. No amount of denial would convince him otherwise. Simply watching her go about her work, treating and cheering up patients is enough to restore some modicum of peace to his heart.

He never lets her see him, and he never stays long. His trips here are simply to remind him that she is fine and whole, that the looming threat hanging over her head has been stalled again ever so slightly. 

Hyacine is beloved by most, but not all. And for someone standing at the pinnacle, at the very top through nothing but sheer hard work and determination, oh, how many would love to see her fall. They would rejoice, salivating and revelling in her misery. Like vultures, they would dive, tearing into what pitiful, easy pickings they could find. It is an ugly side of humanity that cannot be denied. 

The Grove might be more open than most places when it comes to embracing new ideas, but even it is not perfect. Okhema is practically a joke in comparison, and so are the remaining few small cities and villages in Amphoreus. None of them would be kind in the face of that sort of knowledge, of that sort of violent demise.

The knowledge of her ruin burns in his mind. If it ever leaks, if it ever spreads, if even a hint of word of their existence got out…

It would all be over.

Even though he knows it will not last, for now, this tentative state of balance would have to be enough.

For scholars who practically lived their whole life at the Grove of Epiphany, being laid to rest beneath the roots of Cerces’ divine body is essentially a benediction. Anaxa, too, has a grave of his own already prepared. It isn't in any sacred place with special meaning. He had merely picked out what seemed like a quaint little area in the Grove, one not too out of the way for his students to visit. 

But today, he is not here to visit his own grave and make further preparations. Today, he walks along a well trodden path to a small courtyard. Within it lie the many graves of various scholars, their final, parting words of wisdom engraved on those marble headstones.

“Teacher, I’ve come to visit you.” 

He crouches down, wincing at the strain it puts on his lower half. Ignoring the pain, Anaxa brushes aside a few dried leaves that cover his teacher’s grave.

The courtyard is a well maintained area, receiving many guests every day. Be it to visit and reminisce about departed friends and relatives, many more simply come to honour their forefathers, perhaps wishing to glimpse even a spark of their brilliance when they were alive. 

“I still remember your lessons,” Anaxa says, eye downcast. “Things at the Grove have not been… well.”

Even then, he is being generous. The more he looks, the more horrific secrets he seems to unveil. 

Two students said to have left the Grove to return home wind up dead a distance away from the main roads. An unfortunate death of a Venerationist scholar, said to have been a freak accident of rarely seen magnitudes, turns out to be a death by her own hands, driven by unknown forces. A group of refugees are drugged with something unknown, making them abnormally suggestive and pliable. They shuffle around like living corpses, seemingly unaware of their gruesome wounds, poorly stitched together with crude techniques. 

“I failed to take care of my students.” 

He thinks of his students who might be being bullied. There is a young one in particular, with looks bordering on androgyny, who has not shown up for his lessons for a long time. Anaxa had spent countless weeks looking for him, only to be met with dead ends every time. Nobody knows where he has gone. He knows that the boy has no family and few friends to speak of. His absence would not be missed. He is probably already dead.

And then there is Hyacine.

“I used to think that all sages were wise and broad minded, understanding and kind, but maybe that was just you.” Anaxa spends a few more moments just tracing over the cold stone of his late teacher’s gravestone. “Teacher… I wish you were still around.”

If he listens carefully, he can hear the gentle hum of energy pulsing around him. It is ever present and yet often forgotten, courtesy of the Grove being built around Cerces’ divine body. A hint of wind blows through the empty courtyard, ruffling his hair and clothes.

Come to think of it, the courtyard is rarely ever this empty. Although given his odd choice of hour for a visit, maybe he shouldn't be surprised.

With a sigh, Anaxa stands, ready to head back to his office to grade assignments—

A body presses into his, arms embracing him in a hug from the back. 

“Anaxa, who’s this?”

Anaxa’s breath hitches as the familiar voice and smell wash over him.

He is completely trapped, his body held in place by one much larger than his own. The person had approached him quietly from his blind side while he was distracted. Anaxa never had a chance to respond. 

“My… late teacher.”

“Oh? Anaxa’s teacher? The great Sage Anaxagoras had a teacher?” Nikomedes sounds surprised. “I suppose that makes sense. Even geniuses must have their humble beginnings.”

He can feel himself beginning to shake, head spinning as his breathing picks up. His head jerks, an attempt to protect his left side, but it is futile given his current position.

“Woah, I can hear your heart pounding like crazy.” Nikomedes says, resting his head on Anaxa’s shoulder. “How long has it been since then? Three, four weeks? Are you that excited to be with me again?”

Pushing into him, ripping him apart, that huge body crushes him with its weight, heedless of how he trashes. Liquid agony runs through him, down his legs, dripping onto the ground. He can't move, can't escape. He moans. His left eye pounds in symphony.

“I heard you collapsed during a lecture the other day, Anaxa.” A hand plays with his hair, tucking strands behind his ear. “Have you not been taking care of yourself?”

“Y-you’ve been busy.”

“Hm? That’s true.” The man blows into Anaxa’s ear, biting down gently on his earlobe. “I haven't seen you take so much interest in my matters before. Could it be that you really like me or, is there something more, Anaxagoras?”

Anaxa tries to open his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. There is something, an unidentifiable emotion, lodged in his throat. It is suffocating. 

“Well, let’s see,” Nikomedes hums, considering. “My friends said they’ve seen you around the Twilight Courtyard recently. I assume a smart man like you must have already figured out what’s going on. Oh! I also managed to convince everyone to stop, hm, playing around for a while? Between work from business and those pretty pictures of yours to keep them entertained, it wasn't too hard.”

He can feel the man smiling down at him.

“Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied, Anaxa? Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“I…” Anaxa nearly chokes on the words. “... Thank you.”

His hands are placed awkwardly, one pressed against Nikomedes while the other grips down on the arms restraining him. Anaxa shifts slightly, the pain in his hips flaring with a jolt as he feels something hard pressing against his ass.

“Oh, oops. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to fuck you now. Just got a little excited from feeling you against me.”

Despite saying that, Anaxa can feel the man behind him rutting into him in slow, languid strokes. Anaxa takes in a shaky breath and exhales.

“Evander, he…” His voice turns very small. “Scares me.”

Thankfully, Nikomedes is close enough to have heard him.

“Evander, huh? Can't say I’m surprised.”

He nuzzles into the crook of Anaxa’s neck, taking deep inhales of his scent. The red gem of his earring is toyed with. The speed of the man’s thrusting grows faster, and Anaxa can do little but hold on and bite his lips. 

“He scares me sometimes too you know, despite us growing up together and being best friends. Theron joined our pair later, but don't get me wrong, he’s still a great friend. Don't know how many times he saved our toys— sexual partners from being broken by Evan prematurely. Probably comes with running his family’s organ business. Things like that tend to turn you into a pseudo doctor of sorts.”

“Whatever it is, you don't want to see him truly angry.” Nikomedes’ speech is punctuated by the occasional pant. “Just make sure you follow whatever he says and you will be fine. Evan hates it the most when things don't go his way.”

Anaxa is jostled by the force of the other’s erratic rutting despite his best efforts to stay still. After what feels like forever, he finally lets out a grunt, spilling his release all over Anaxa.

“So, how’s that?” Nikomedes says. Satisfaction laces his voice. “Have I sated your curiosity?”

“I… need to go.” Anaxa squeezes his eye shut, feeling the wet heat soak into the fabric of his pants. “Assignments.”

“Mm, my Anaxa is a very busy man.” There is the sound of rustling clothes. Nikomedes is probably tucking himself back into his pants. “I’ll let you go, wouldn't want you to fall behind on your work now.”

Giving his hair a last tousle, Nikomedes finally releases Anaxa. 

He staggers from the lack of support, disoriented by the sudden sense of freedom. The world seems to wobble around him, his perception tinged with black spots. When he is sure that the man is out of sight, Anaxa finally allows his legs to buckle, collapsing into an ungraceful heap on the ground. 

It takes several moments for his uneven breathing to steady and for the dizziness to clear, the knowledge that he is in a public space urging him to hurry and leave. When he eventually gathers his thoughts and looks up, he is greeted by the sight of his teacher’s grave.

Mortification fills him.

Anaxa flees the courtyard. He doesn't return for a very long time. 

Today is not a good day.

The headaches come and go with varying intensities. There is no warning. One moment he can be perfectly fine, walking down the winding passages of the Grove and the next, he would be doubled over, lights flashing in his vision as he feels the urge to claw his brain out and vomit. Sometimes, the hollow space behind his eye patch would throb in sympathy. Phantom pains dance along once dormant nerves. Anaxa can almost feel the touch of his knife again, reliving the moment he pressed it in and sliced down.

Sometimes he would relive a different kind of sensation, one that is wet and blunt, fleshy and hot. Sometimes he would have to press his hands to his eyepatch, clutching at it as though it would make him forget.

Today, his headache verges on something deliberating. Anaxa is forced to take a seat in the library despite wanting to leave, hands fumbling for his bottle of painkillers. If not for Hyacine’s warnings of their side effects when taken too frequently, Anaxa would have taken them religiously every day whenever he could. 

For now, he rests on a bench, half slumped over its accompanying table and closes his eye. His hands squeeze down on the scrolls he is borrowing to ground himself. He controls his breathing with utmost vigilance, slowly fighting down the urge to hurl.

“Anaxa?”

“Anaxagoras.” He corrects the person out of habit.

The person doesn't try to call him again. Instead, he hears footsteps drawing closer, and then the person touches him.

“You—” Anaxa’s eye shoots open. He almost regrets the action as the world swims before his eye. “What do you think you are doing?” 

Flinging the hand off his shoulder, Anaxa tries to get a good look at the person. It isn't someone he recognises. Brown hair, average face, wearing the uniform of the Lotophagist School, he can't think of what business the man might have with him. 

“If it’s about a project…” Anaxa hesitates, feeling the throbbing of his head beginning to die down. The painkillers must be kicking in. “Give me a moment, I’ll look over it.”

“Anaxa, I can't take it anymore.”

“—!”

Suddenly, the man is throwing himself at him. Anaxa finds himself pinned to the table, back digging uncomfortably into the edge where he is bent over.  

“Those pictures and videos, they aren't enough.” The man pants on top of him like a dog in heat, pawing at his clothes. “Ever since I saw you that day, I’ve dreamt of you every night.”

His mind turns. The truth of the matter becomes clear immediately.

This person—he must have been present that night. 

“You—” Anaxa, still distracted by his headache, takes a moment to respond. “Are you out of your mind?”

They are in a public place for Cerces’ sake. Even if is going to let the man fuck him, it would never be somewhere like this. 

“Anaxa.” The man breathes, burying his head into his chest. “Anaxa.”

This is insanity. 

Desperately shoving down the mounting panic that threatens to render him immobile, Anaxa pushes at the man even as memories flicker at the edge of his vision. His headache slams back into him with a vengeance, making everything he does feel incredibly floaty and off balance.

“Get.” He grits his teeth. “Off!”

His threats fall on deaf ears. 

The man pulls off Anaxa’s caplet, licks his bare shoulders and bites down.

“?!”

This bastard, he really is a dog!

Trying again, this time Anaxa digs his elbow into the man’s side. The angle is awkward, but it should still hurt enough to wind the other. Unfortunately, the man is undeterred. He barely seems to register the blow, instead reaching to undo Anaxa’s belt and shirt. 

“Calm yourself, you imbecile!” He tries one last time. “Do you even know where we are?!” 

Their struggle of flailing limbs and rolling around must be causing quite the commotion. Anaxa feels as several books and even a lamp go crashing to the ground. His leg catches the edge of the bench, causing it to let out an awful sound as it drags against the floor. It makes his head feel like it is about to explode from the pain. His stomach lurches, and Anaxa almost throws up.

Someone is bound to come over and check soon. 

Finally, unable to take it any longer, Anaxa summons his gun, shooting the man square in the shoulder. The man goes down with a shout, crashing into a bookshelf and sending several books falling.

“What’s going on here— Sage Anaxagoras?”

Anaxa rolls over, holding his stomach and gags. Thankfully, nothing comes up.

“I—” he starts, trying to catch his breath. “I asked him for some help to get some books high up. He… was clumsy and tripped, knocking things over.”

Anaxa can finally see properly again. The first thing he does is take in his surroundings. It is in disarray as he expected, scrolls, books and other stationery scattered messily about. The bench and table they had been struggling on are lying askew, blocking off entry to the aisle on one side. 

Next is the person who came running. Holding his head, Anaxa blinks at the two of them, a familiar pair of Nodist students who like to do their librarian shifts together. They are staring at him with varying degrees of shock and horror.

Anaxa grimaces. He can only imagine what he looks like for them to be showing that kind of expression. Pushing himself up, he feels around for his caplet while adjusting his clothes back to their usual state. Then he stands on wobbly legs, walking over to the man who is still on the ground with fallen books surrounding him. 

“You,” he says, giving the man a kick. “Pick everything up now.”

Fortunately for his assailant, the shot he fired isn't lethal, merely charged with a potent dose of electricity. Even if he can move his arm awkwardly right now, he will be feeling the tingling aftershocks for days to come. 

Perhaps cowed from the shot earlier, the man actually does as instructed, picking up all the scrolls and books lying around and stacking them neatly on the table.

“And those,” Anaxa gestures to the scrolls he had been intending to borrow. “Take these with you. I’m borrowing them.”

“Sage, you’re leaving with him?” 

The female librarian looks aghast at his words. 

“Like I said, I enlisted his help. Is it so surprising to have him carry them back to my office for me?”

They probably don't believe him. Anaxa can barely believe himself.

“But he—” 

Her companion grabs her arm, shaking his head at her. 

“We understand, Sage Anaxagoras,” he says. “Please be more careful next time.”

He nods curtly, apologising for the disturbance he caused. Then he marches the man out of the library with his scrolls, feeling all too aware of the two gazes lingering on his back.

“You…” Anaxa massages his head, grateful that the pain is finally starting to abate. “What were you thinking?”

He gets no response.

This time, wary of a repeat incident happening, Anaxa has the man walking in front of him well within his sight. 

“At least wait until we are somewhere secluded…”

Hold on. 

This man, had he even touched him that night? Or had he simply been too low ranked in their hierarchy to even have a go at him? Anaxa runs through all the faces he can remember, despite how it pains him. That could explain his lack of self restraint and intellect, among other things. And besides, weren’t the lot of them supposed to be holding off on any funny business for now? This guy here probably didn't even know why Anaxa was there that night. 

“Anaxa.” 

The man, the absolute infuriating moron, spins around and actually drops all his scrolls just like that. They bounce slightly off the ground from the impact, rolling by their feet, and Anaxa has to try very, very hard not to whip the other across the face with his gun. His weapon deserved better than that. 

“We can do it here, right?”

“...”

The matter of consent aside, this corridor is a mere branch away from one of the main passageways in the Grove. By no metric of measurement would this ever qualify as ‘secluded’.

Anaxa decides he has had enough of this nonsense. 

Smoothly, Anaxa whips out his gun once more, shooting the man in the shoulder again, then the torso, the leg and finally his groin for good measure. The man screams as he crumbles immediately, curling into a ball on the ground as he convulses from a mixture of pain and shock. 

“Who do you even think you are?” Anaxa sneers at him. “You want to have a go at me? Hah, you better continue dreaming.” 

The man continues to roll around, screaming pathetically. Anaxa rolls his eye.

“What’s going on?”

For the second time that day, Anaxa is treated to the same words shouted in a similar way. Turning in the direction of the voice, he finds a group of Helkolithist students jogging over, probably in the middle of their class or security duty. He would never know with them, considering how over half their lessons consisted of physical training of some sort. Then he realises how the two of them look at this moment: Anaxa, standing menacingly over a defenceless person with his weapon out, while said person is doing his best impression of a dying man on the ground.

“He tried to assault me.” He gestures to his gun. “This was entirely out of self defence.”

One of the students, probably the leader of the group, steps out, nodding at his statement. She pulls a pen and scroll out of her pocket, one that is already filled with numerous records. Ah, a patrol group then.  

“Did anyone else witness this?”

Anaxa hesitates, mind going back to those two librarians who had confronted him in the library.

“No,” he says. “You will have to take my word for it.”

Fortunately for him, the man on the ground seems all too happy to prove his accusation.

“You fucking cock sucking whore!” 

Despite all the shots he endured, the man still finds it in himself to lunge at Anaxa. It is a clumsy attempt, more of an uncoordinated stumble than anything else. It is enough, however, to get the other students to dogpile him immediately, holding him down on all sides. 

“I know what you are! You’ll spread your legs for anyone! Sucking dick like a champ, bouncing on any cock presented to you, I’ll fuck you on the ground like the bitch you are! I’ll fuck your slutty eye hole, I’ll fuck it till all your brains spill out!”

Unfortunately, they do not have a gag to silence the man with, allowing him to continue spewing vulgar, obscene words about all the things he wants to do to Anaxa. It doesn’t take long for the atmosphere to grow incredibly uncomfortable, even as Anaxa stares down coldly at the man. The face of the poor girl taking his statement has turned somewhat green, her gaze flicking back and forth between Anaxa and the downed man. 

“Excuse me for a moment.”

Anaxa summons his gun again. This time, he aims it right at the man’s face and fires without hesitation. The man slumps immediately, hitting the ground like a sack of bricks out cold.

“Sorry for all that.” Anaxa stores away his weapon, dusting his hands off. “Don't worry, it’s not lethal.”

“It was… probably for the best,” the girl says slowly. “And don't worry about witnesses, it’s just a routine question we always ask. We trust a sage wouldn't attack someone unprovoked, and besides, this man here has quite the track record already…”

“Mm.” The news doesn't surprise him in the least. “I don’t believe that record will be seeing much improvement after this.”

“Ahahahaha…” She laughs nervously. “Well guys, let’s bring him in for punishment. An attempted assault on a sage, we can probably push for him to be locked up for a month? Two months?”

“Push for his expulsion,” Anaxa says. “Surely, he has done enough to warrant that.”

“He does, but…” The student leader looks troubled. “I don't know if that is a good idea.”

Of course. He should have expected as much.

“Use my name to push for it,” he says. “I’ll come with you to settle the paperwork if that helps.”

“Really?” She perks up at his suggestion. “It won’t get you in trouble?”

“It’ll be fine.” 

“Alright! Let’s go!” 

The rest of the students cheer at the decision as well, sharing her excitement. Anaxa can't help but smile a little at their enthusiasm. 

Clearly, they have been wanting to do this for a long time.

Settling the paperwork had been a bit more troublesome than he expected, especially when he had to deliberately omit all the names of those Helkolithist students involved. But with the experience of expelling Evander’s brother before, he manages to get it done in the end.  

“Professor Anaxa!”

The moment he steps out of the administration building, Hyacine comes running up to him. She is panting heavily with sweat beading her forehead, likely having rushed over from the Twilight Courtyard without a break.

“Pro, hah, fessor.” She gulps down a lungful of air. “I heard what happened. Are you, hah, alright?”

Anaxa nods, giving her time to catch her breath.

“Professor, your hair…”

“?”

Curiously, Anaxa feels around his hair to see what Hyacine is talking about.

Oh, the metal clasp that normally ties his low ponytail is nowhere to be found. Maybe that is why people have been looking strangely at him. 

“I seem to have lost it.”

“Um, you can have one of my hair ties for now,” Hyacine says. “I think it’s about time I have a change of hairstyle anyway!” 

“You don't have to…”

But Hyacine is already undoing her twintails. She gathers up all her hair into a bunch, tying it up high on her head. Then she holds out the fluffy hair tie to him expectantly.

“...”

Reluctantly, Anaxa takes the offered gift, using it to adjust his hair to its usual appearance. 

“Thank you, Hyacinthia.”

“It’s no problem, Professor,” Hyacine says, eyes searching as they look into his own. “Did that guy… really not do anything to you?”

“No,” he says, gripping the scrolls in his arms ever so tighter. “I shot him before he could.”

“Ah, that’s good, that’s good…”

Her shoulders sag in relief as though a huge weight has been lifted off her. As always, her unwavering concern towards him disquiets him.

“I’ll be on my way first,” he says. 

Thinking about the numerous research proposals awaiting his approval, Anaxa takes a few steps only to abruptly turn back. The memory of what Nikomedes said to him flashes by.

“Those people from that group, have they been bothering you?”

Despite the vague allusion, Hyacine understands who he is referring to immediately. 

“They haven't been bothering me. While they do linger around the Twilight Courtyard occasionally, I’ve never interacted with them directly.” 

She cringes, face scrunching up into something unpleasant.

“But I… I know what they’ve been doing, but I can't really stop them so—” She shudders. “I followed your advice of watching patients as much as possible, guiding them out of the Grove as far as we can when they are ready to leave. Otherwise, we just try to ignore the men from that group…” 

Her voice tapers off, growing increasingly softer. Anaxa nearly doesn't catch what she says at the end.

“That’s good enough.”

“Is it, Professor? Is it really enough?”

He can hear the unspoken plea in her voice, the guilt that eats away at her inside as she turns a blind eye to the suffering and atrocities committed under her nose.

“Yes,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “It is enough.”

With Hyacine, it has always been enough. 

Chapter Text

It starts off with small things.

Casual little bumps, intentional loud sounds, light touches and more, Anaxa finds himself being subjected to all of them. 

It is always the same few people. They seem to go out of their way to get close to Anaxa, finding any excuse at all to initiate contact with him. Be it a forceful handshake, a harsh bump in a crowded area, or even going as far as to slide their hands down his sides when no one is looking, no part of him is spared. Once, a group even squeezed themselves onto the same waterwheel platform as him, pressing themselves so closely to him on all sides that Anaxa nearly jumped off just to escape. 

Anaxa is on edge, feeling as though there are people constantly around the corner ready to ambush him. His mind is tired, frazzled. Sleep has never come particularly easily to him, and all this only aggravates his persistent insomnia. The headaches come and go. His appetite fluctuates. He resorts to sleeping pills on some days, if only to get some rest for once. 

His classes are unsettling. The three of them are back, attending his lessons with a painfully perfect attendance. But none of them has said a word to him. They simply show up, laugh their loud, obnoxious laughs that make him flinch when done suddenly, and even attempt to hand in assignments. Granted, none of it is of any reasonable quality, instead seeming to be copied texts from raunchy novellas.

The subject of those texts always has one thing in common—a petite, green haired professor with one eye, forced into doing all sorts of obscene and vulgar acts, some bordering on outright dangerous. But that character never once complains, always crawling back for more with hearts in his eye.

Anaxa destroys all of them after making the mistake of reading the first few. His hands continue to shake for a while even after doing so.

His mind wanders to the incident at the library with that man trying to solicit sex from him for the umpteenth time. He had been so sure he was a low level grunt of no importance; he was so confident in his calculations.

And yet, he can't help but begin to doubt himself.

Anaxa waits patiently outside the office. 

He can hear vague voices from inside, discussing some last minute arrangements, he presumes. It comes as no surprise, given the suddenness of her situation.

Thankfully, the door opens soon enough. Two students walk out, one of them carrying a scroll in his hand. They seem surprised to see him standing outside, even as he gives them a small nod before walking in.

“Sorry, Anaxagoras! Did I make you wait?”

“A little.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, especially after you took the time to come all the way here and agreed to cover my lessons…”

Anaxa looks at his fellow Grove professor. The edges of her eyes are slightly red, and her hair and clothes are slightly dishevelled. She is clearly still in the process of grieving her mother’s situation and the funeral that would follow soon after.

“Covering each other's classes is a basic requirement for all the Grove’s instructors.”

“I know that, but you must know my classes…” she says. “My classes have ten of them.”

It is no secret that the reason no one had agreed to help her is because of their presence. She had received plenty of sympathy and encouragement when they first arrived, even more now that her mother is dying of terminal illness. But there had been no volunteers when she asked for help. 

He understands. Even if it is never said out loud, most of the Grove has been living in quiet fear of that criminal group ever since they showed their true colours. Rumours do have their way of making rounds after all. No one would ever want to get involved with them if they could help it.

“I’ll manage.”

“Anaxagoras, actually I—”

She seems to be struggling with something, gripping so tightly onto a pen that he is surprised it has yet to snap. Sensing that he might have to wait for a while, Anaxa picks one of the two chairs dragged up to her work desk and sits down.

He has never really been in another teacher’s office before, at least not for any prolonged period of time. His late teacher’s one hardly counted. Now that he has the opportunity, Anaxa finds his eye wandering, taking in the various sights. 

Overall, the layout is largely the same as his. There is the standard desk, shelves and other miscellaneous furniture. The main difference lies in personalisation, he supposes. Anaxa has never found the need to put much on display apart from an occasional dromas plushie. It seems like his peer has the opposite idea, for her office is absolutely filled with small trinkets and other embellishments. 

There is also a bronze framed picture on the wall behind the desk. It shows a far younger version of the teacher he is covering for, standing next to a middle aged woman with a kind smile. Scribbled next to them are a few words: ‘Pythia, my brightest star’. The two women share a striking resemblance.

“There was once, actually, that the ten of them tried to…” Pythia doesn't finish her sentence. “They waited after class before blocking the door. And then they surrounded me and tried to—”

“I-I got lucky,” she says. “They covered my mouth when I tried to scream, but one of my students came back to retrieve something they left behind… So I took the opportunity to run.” 

Her face is very pale. Sweat beads her forehead.

“It just felt like the ground was falling away beneath my feet, you know? I could hardly sleep for nights after that. Everything felt so wrong, and I felt so weak for letting that happen that I almost left the Grove on the spot—” She takes a shuddery breath. “W-what I’m saying is that you can’t know the extent of heinous things they are willing to do. You… You need to be careful around them.” 

Her lips are bitten red, and there is a distant, faraway look in her eyes. She sways, looking like she might fall at any moment. Anaxa doubts she is entirely here at the moment.

“This is your office,” Anaxa says, voice neutral. “You should be making yourself comfortable first.”

She blinks, seemingly broken out of whatever flashback she had been trapped in.

“Oh.” She doesn't seem to have realised that she has been standing the whole time. 

Slowly, as if reminding herself how to move again, unclenching stiff muscles locked up from fear, she gingerly eases herself into her seat. Once she looks as well as she can possibly be, Anaxa continues the conversation.

“This kind of thing cannot possibly be your fault,” he says. “You are by no means weak. Braving the pain to warn another is not something a weak person would do.”

“I— Ah?”

She looks at him, dazed. There is a tinge of disbelief in her eyes. 

“Is this not basic human dignity?” Anaxa turns away. “If one can't even comprehend this much, then they have no business calling themselves a scholar of the Grove of Epiphany, let alone a sage.”

Silence so thick it could suffocate fills the air, and for a moment, Anaxa almost fears he said the wrong thing.

“Hah, ahahaha!”

To his surprise, she actually laughs.

“You know, everyone around me always tells me that you are arrogant and callous. I didn't even think about it before accepting it as fact,” she says. “But it turns out in my time of need, you were the only one willing to lend a hand.”

“I was so shocked when you agreed to cover my classes, and now, even offering me these nice words…” She smiles at him. “Anaxagoras, you really aren't that bad at all.”

“...”

Anaxa leans away from her minutely.

“The last dromas ride will be leaving in a quint. We still haven't gone over all the material you’ve already covered.”

“Right!” Her eyes widen in panic as she grabs one of the parchments on her desk. “Um, so here, this is where I left off last lesson. I plan to take them through the theory in this order…”

The atmosphere of the tutorial room is strange.

Anaxa isn't one to frequent tutorial rooms much, preferring to give lectures. As such, he is rather unused to the reduced size of the room and the proximity of all the students to him. Even from where he stands at the entrance, he can see every student looking at him from their tables. But he supposes this format of lessons does have its uses, especially when it comes to promoting teamwork and group projects among students. 

It’s just, their gazes feel a little odd.

Anaxa chalks it up to him being an unexpected face. Unfortunately for them, they would have to get used to him soon enough, whether they liked it or not. After all, he is here to stay for a good few weeks. But then the whispers start, followed by some snickers. Anaxa traces the rude sounds to a table seating ten students. Yes, those ten lovely students he had been warned about. He recognises some of their faces from that night. His stomach churns against his will.

Ignoring them, Anaxa strides over to the teacher’s desk to place his things down. That is when he sees it, two bottles sitting innocuously on the desk. The first is a bottle of common painkillers. The second is a bottle of lube. They are placed in a way that is impossible to miss, clearly intended to be seen by the entire class. 

“Professor, I hope we didn't hurt you too much that day!” One of the ten men calls out. “Take that gift as our apology to you.”

Ah, so this is how it's going to be.

Wordlessly, Anaxa picks up the two bottles and places them aside. Then he arranges his notes and begins the lesson amidst the thundering guffaws of those ten men. 

The book is gone.

Anaxa frowns at the empty space on the shelf. 

It has been three days since he came by to find that particular book, every time hoping that whoever borrowed it would return it soon. The nature of the library made it such that most books only had a single copy. More popular books have the privilege of having several backup copies stored somewhere, some even becoming household names that are mass printed. 

But an obscure tome like the one he is looking for? Anaxa should be feeling lucky that he even manages to procure a copy. 

However, said copy is currently missing.

Normally, this wouldn't be an issue. After all, everyone is entitled to knowledge and materials from the library can be borrowed for up to a few weeks. This, however, is too much of a coincidence. No one but him has come to this section for a long time; the thin layer of dust on all the books and shelves is more than enough proof. Due to that, Anaxa has the luxury of borrowing a single book at a time, only taking what he needs and can read. He had not anticipated anyone fighting him for said opportunity. 

So why this particular book? It is not even a book at random, but the perfect one next down the line of books he has been perusing. 

Unless this is not a coincidence at all.

Strolling up to the familiar librarian on duty for today, Anaxa notes the way he holds himself. The Nodist student appears haggard, hunching in on himself as if he is hurt or hasn't had a good night of sleep for a few days. A faint sense of unease takes hold of him, but Anaxa persists in his objective.

“Excuse me.”

The student jumps visibly.

“S-Sage!” he says. “How can I-I help you…?”

Anaxa purses his lips.

“You must be aware of the obscure series of books I have been borrowing over the last few days. Could you tell me by any chance who took the 6th part of the series?”

“...”

Waiting patiently for a response, Anaxa’s eye roam around the half filled library. The usual group of men that would come to follow and harass him is nowhere to be found. The observation is nothing short of suspicious. 

“... That book, it’s better if you give up on it.”

Anaxa’s brows furrow. 

“Where is your friend, the one who does shifts with you every time?”

“A-ah?” The young man appears surprised, as though not having expected Anaxa to remember this small detail. “She um, she…”

The Nodist student turns away for a moment, his uniform shifting such that it reveals a patch of skin on his neck. Mottled bruises in the shape of fingers line his neck in a neat ring.

“...” 

Anaxa sighs, an inexplicable feeling running through him.

“Is it that group that follows me around all the time in the library?”

From the way the student grimaces, Anaxa knows he is right.

“Sage, it’s just a book. Don't go after them for it,” he says in a rush. “My friend, the other day she confronted them about that behaviour and their vandalism of library material… T-they broke her leg for her efforts.”

“And you confronted them with her?”

The student flinches but does not reply.

Anaxa first looks up at the ceiling, then back to the shivering form of the librarian. The last time there was a confrontation involving Anaxa and that dog like bastard, this student had managed to restrain his friend from prying any further. He can only imagine something terrible had gone wrong this time, something like…

He turns around.

“I’ll go get the book back.”

It doesn't take too much effort to locate the group. 

They are sitting in an open area, one that is commonly frequented by students looking to eat meals together or study. Their table is piled high with an excess of food and drink, most of which will surely go to waste. Trying his best to rein in his disgust, Anaxa approaches them.

As he gets closer, he can feel his anger grow as he realises just what is being used to line the table as a tablecloth.

“I hope you’re aware that such treatment of library material is a punishable offence.”

Countless scrolls, bundled parchment, yellowing documents and books are spread across the large stone table. Most of them are already soiled or soaked beyond salvation by unknown liquids.

“Anaxa! Come, come join us.”

They actually scoot to the side, leaving a spot between them for him to sit.

Anaxa stares at them incredulously.

“Is something wrong?” One of them has the audacity to ask him.

“The books, if you are not going to read them or treat them properly, I would like to retrieve them.”

“What? You mean this one?” Another of the group, a blonde, pulls the book Anaxa has been looking for out from under a plate of ribs. “But I just borrowed it! I even went through the proper channels this time.”

Anaxa winces at the large splotch of sauce staining the book's spine.

“I doubt you can even understand its title.”

“Hahaha. I suppose you got me there.” The man smiles sinisterly at him. “But just because I can't understand it, what makes you think I will give it to you?”

Eyeing all of them warily, Anaxa considers his words. He is aware that this is part of a coordinated effort to harass him. What he doesn't know is what triggered it or how to rectify it. No, he does have a suspicion, but it wouldn’t help him in this situation.

“How about this?” The blonde suddenly speaks up. “You can have the book back but—”

He rears his hand back.

“—only if you can catch it.”  

The book goes sailing across the air, straight towards a nearby fountain. 

Anaxa is moving before he even registers it himself. He runs towards the fountain, stretching his hand out to grab the book before it can hit the water. By some miracle, he manages to catch hold of it just as it brushes the surface. Retracting his hand, Anaxa breathes a sigh of relief as he turns around.

The blonde man is standing right behind him. Before Anaxa can even react, he is tumbling backwards.

The world spins. There is the sensation of falling and— 

Anaxa hits the water.

He sputters from the shock, limbs flailing wildly. The water in the fountain isn't very deep, only reaching up to his midsection when standing. However, his current situation is very different. The force from the shove has him falling in back first sending water rushing past his face. By some luck, his head does not bang against the stone bottom; the disorientation from being suddenly submerged is already more than enough. 

Coughing harshly, Anaxa manages to roll over and get to his hands and knees. His clothes are completely soaked. Cold water streams down his face in rivulets, dripping off his hair and chin. His eye stings. The book he had tried to save is nowhere to be found. 

Hope fills him. Maybe he had lucked out and dropped it onto dry ground as he fell in. He doesn't get to contemplate the thought for long. 

A hand grabs his head from behind and forces him back down.

“!”

At once, he is underwater again. 

He is just as unprepared as the first time, except now, no matter how hard he struggles, Anaxa finds it impossible to surface. Twisting his body, he can only make out blurry shades of grey and rippling water. Anaxa does his best to hold his breath even as he fights his assailant, grabbing at the hand holding him underwater, tugging and scratching. The only response he gets is a harsher grip as he is forced down harder.

Everything sounds strangely muted, making the pounding of his heart and the roaring rush of his blood deafening in comparison. He can feel his legs kicking against the edge of the stone fountain, but the position of his body makes it impossible for him to find any leverage. 

He tries to summon his gun, grasping at it with weakening fingers, only for it to be smacked out of his grip before he can fire a shot. Undeterred, he activates the spell carved onto his arm and fires it somewhere behind him. The grip on his hair immediately loosens, and Anaxa desperately tries to push himself up— 

He is slammed back into the water, another hand taking its place. His head smashes into the bottom of the fountain and bounces off the stone. His consciousness whites out. 

The lack of air doesn't let him stay down for long. 

He wakes to a horrible, burning sensation filling his lungs. Against his will, his mouth opens. Water rushes in immediately. 

Bubbles escape his mouth. Black spots dance before his eyes. Struggling weakly, Anaxa makes one last attempt to do something— anything, but his mind is starting to fail. He starts, then loses track of the activation sequence. His alchemy spell flickers and dies out. 

His body sags. The splashing of water grows quieter. His limbs feel like they are made out of lead. Everything starts to fade.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Movement.

Dragging across dry ground.

Pressure on his chest.

Something is coming up his throat—

Anaxa coughs, hacking up huge mouthfuls of water.

“Sage, Sage? Can you hear us?”

“Is he breathing?”

“Keep him coughing. He took in a lot of water.”

The world is slowly coming back into focus. There is the familiar din of people arguing around him. The floor is cold against his cheek. Someone smacks him on the back. He spasms weakly, more water exiting his mouth and nose.

“I think he’ll be alright now.”

“Keep him on his side regardless.”

He shivers. Everything feels so heavy. Anaxa fails to focus on anything, the world spinning in dizzying circles. He can barely tell up from down. 

“No!”

“What do you mean no? He clearly fell in on his own!”

That voice— 

Even amidst the sound of nosy onlookers and his wavering consciousness, Anaxa could never forget that voice. 

“He almost died!” Hyacine screams. “You tried to kill him!”

Anaxa stares at her. Everyone around him abruptly falls silent, even the group of men who had been trying to drown him. Their mouths are agape, clearly taken aback by her sudden outburst.  

Hyacine she… 

Anaxa has never seen her this angry before. 

The blonde man is the first to react, stepping closer to Hyacine. There is a nasty burn on his face that was not there before. Anaxa allows himself to revel in the small sense of satisfaction before acting. 

“Stop.” He reaches for Hyacine’s shoe, tugging weakly on it. “It… was an, cough, accident.”

Danger. Anaxa recognises the dangerous glint in the blonde’s eyes. If he lets her continue, things will not end well.

Her attention immediately snaps to him. Relief floods across her face for a split second before it is replaced by disbelief. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“I… dropped a book into the… fountain… cough, tripped when trying to…catch it.”

There must have been at least ten other people present when he first fell into the water, witnessing the full truth of what had happened. Yet not one of them steps forward to contradict his obvious lie. Anaxa can hardly believe his good luck. 

“I tripped and, cough, fell in.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Professor Anaxa, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Hyacinthia, let it go.”

“No, Professor, I cannot,” she says. Her expression is anguished. “These men, they clearly tried to—“

“Hyacinthia,” he begs. “Please.”

She wavers, eyes filling with some inexplicable emotion. Anaxa continues to clutch onto her shoe, squeezing down. 

“Then,” she says, voice unnaturally calm. “Let me take you back to the Twilight Courtyard at least.”

He nods. 

Together with the help of another healer, Anaxa staggers to his feet, leaning heavily on Hyacine the whole time. The uninvolved bystanders have mostly dispersed by this point, having either lost interest or their sense of self preservation kicking in and telling them to run. 

That group of men are watching him silently, tracking his every cough and stumble.

He is surprised when they don't try to stop him from leaving.

The silence is suffocating.

Ever since dragging him to the Twilight Courtyard, Hyacine has not said a word to him. She forces him to change into a dry set of clothes, checks his vitals, and makes him sit down to rest. The dizziness has mostly passed for now, but he still coughs occasionally, feeling the last remnants of water irritating his lungs. 

Still, he has no idea how to break this oppressive silence of his own making. Hyacine seems dead set on ignoring him as she sorts through medical supplies in boxes and organises paperwork. He isn't allowed to leave, to help or do anything. All he can do is sit as she continues to work while keeping a watchful eye over him. Several times, he attempts to say something. The words die in his throat before they can leave every time. 

Eventually, he starts to come down from the high of adrenaline. Small tremors turn into outright shaking and aches as exhaustion kicks in. Head in hand, he attempts to resist the pull of sleep, but his body betrays him, his eye slowly slipping shut as Anaxa dozes off to the calming lull of Hyacine’s presence. 

“Professor Anaxa.”

Blearily, Anaxa blinks a few times as Hyacine’s form comes into focus in front of him.

She is sitting opposite him. The table between them is messy with half filled paperwork, spare medical tools and other odds and ends. The door to this small medical room is shut, giving them privacy they will likely need for the coming conversation. He cannot help but notice how her fingers are interlocked with each other and tremble ever so slightly.

“Professor Anaxa, what's going on?” 

Anaxa presses his lips together.

“They clearly tried to kill you! How could you defend them?”

He wets his lips.

“I made a… miscalculation.”

“Miscalculation?” She leans back in shock. “That student you recently expelled…?”

“Possibly.”

“...”

She stares at him for several long moments. The myriad of emotions crossing her face pains him with their intensity.

“What do we do?”

“I’ll...” Anaxa fiddles with his clothes. This chiton is one size too big for him. “Fix things.”

“ …Can this be fixed?”

“ …I don’t know.”

Anaxa shifts uncomfortably on his seat under her scrutiny.

“Then what should I do?” she says. “What can I do to help you?”s

“Continue with your normal routine. Don't let them get to you.”

Hyacine suddenly stands. She walks a few circles around the room, mumbling something to herself. Anaxa watches her warily, an uncomfortable feeling unlike the sensation of water entering his lungs filling his chest. 

The same suffocating silence is back.

Eventually, she sits back down and draws in a shaky breath.

“I… don’t understand, Professor, I really don’t,” she begins, slow and unsure. “But if you think it will help, then…”

She gives him a wobbly smile.

“I’ll do as you say, alright?”

This… This isn't the answer he wanted to hear.  

Anaxa looks away stiffly, suddenly unable to bear the sight of her.  

“I know you want to leave, but can you maybe, stay for a while more…?”

It is that same inexplicable emotion in her eyes again. 

It is as if she is staring down despair, affection and a deep seated regret all rolled together into one. It is as though she is mourning something precious and dear that is slipping through her fingers. It is as though she sees something that pains her, something that she wishes to hug tight and never let go, only to be disappointed again and again.

He detests the sight. 

Anaxa opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. 

In the end, he stays. It is the only definite answer he gives her.

He can't afford to wait for them to turn up during his lessons. Instead, Anaxa searches for anyone part of their group.

Like usual, it doesn't take him long to find some of them. While there had been only twenty eight of them there that night, their true numbers definitely counted over fifty. It is hard to keep track of them when new faces keep appearing while some disappear for weeks on end. They are truly treating the Grove as an extension of their territory, freely conducting their depraved business while coming and going as they please. The fact infuriates Anaxa as much as it rattles him.  

Anaxa approaches the group of five, currently in the process of dragging a young child to Cerces knows where. They almost seem to be anticipating his arrival from the way they give him knowing looks. 

“I’m looking for Evander.”

“Oh, the boss.”

The man who answers him conveniently loosens his hold, allowing the young boy to scamper off immediately. Instead, he reaches to pull Anaxa closer to them, wrapping an arm around his waist. Anaxa tenses but doesn't resist the action, feeling as hands move to feel up his ass. 

“You guys remember which room he’s staying in today?”

The group of them make a show of loudly throwing out different possibilities. The whole time, they grope Anaxa relentlessly, causing his breathing to pick up as he squirms. Eventually, having run out of pointless drivel to stall for time, they direct him to a seemingly random room. Anaxa forces his way out of their group the moment he obtains the information, training his gun on tsheir heads for good measure. 

They laugh at him, cooing about his cute show of defiance as he runs off, their words burning despite his attempts to ignore them.

Perhaps he had truly miscalculated after all.

Has he already begun to falter? Have they already compromised him so much? It hurts his pride a little to admit as such, but the alternative is far worse. He knows he should be better than this, and yet, the proof of his inadequacy lies right before his eyes.

The three of them are lounging casually in front of him, resting on klines and snacking on some assortment of nuts. There is a bottle of half finished wine on the low lying table with empty glasses surrounding it. Anaxa is careful to shut the door behind him as he enters, contemplating whether he should lock the thing. 

“You can lock the door if you want.”

Anaxa locks it after a second of hesitation.

“Anaxa, it’s been a while. Hope you had a good rest.” Evander greets him, popping a few nuts into his mouth.

“I’ve been fine.”

His body is tense, heart rate spiking as his eye flicks between the three of them, trying to pick up any clues from their body language. Unconsciously, he has been pressing his body against the door. Anxiety perhaps. A subconscious desire to flee and escape. 

“So, what are you here for? I don't remember calling you.”

What does he say?

I’m sorry for kicking your underling out? I made a mistake and am here to repent? Please stop harassing the other staff and students in the Grove? 

None of it feels right. To think he had spent a good day or so brainstorming every single angle he could tackle the issue, testing different lines and predicting possible responses too. Even now, he hates how he cannot entirely let go of the fact that he had misjudged the importance of the man he expelled. 

“I…”

Anaxa forces himself to stand upright. He places his arms by his side in what he hopes looks like a natural posture. 

“That man…” He wets his lips. “The one I expelled…”

“Oh, that guy,” Evander says. “I heard you shot him quite a few times too.”

“Five shots in total,” Theron answers.

“Ahahaha!” Nikomedes laughs. “Honestly, serves him right for trying to fuck you. Wish I could have seen him rolling around screaming though.”

Their response is all wrong.

Something isn't right.

“Someone of his status has no right to touch me,” Anaxa says, trying to probe for more information.

“I know, tell me about it.” Evander groans, reaching towards the table to pour himself some wine. “That guy, I think he joined us around a month ago? He was so pathetic though, always trying waaaay too hard to catch our attention by doing unnecessary things all the time. In fact, didn't he screw up one of our orders that time from over enthusiasm?”

“He did. He let over fifteen slaves escape the other day.”

“Urgh, why did we keep him again?” Evander says. “I don't even remember his name.”

“Why don't we just kill him now?” Nikomedes says. “Besides, he tried to touch our Anaxa. What do you think, Anaxa?”

All eyes in the room suddenly turn to him. Anaxa has to resist the urge to take a step back.

“Would that not be troublesome?” 

“It can be arranged,” Theron says. “Won't be hard.”

“... I don't particularly care what happens to him.”

Had the proper channels been involved, Anaxa would love to see the man locked up in Okhema’s jail, suffering a fate worse than death. He isn't someone particularly obsessed with justice or righteousness, but even he can see the need for dangerous individuals like him to be locked up. In this situation, however, Anaxa doesn't feel confident about how much sway he even has over that man’s fate.

Theron gives him a nod of acknowledgement and pulls out his teleslate to type something down. Anaxa wonders if he has just indirectly sent someone to their death. 

But while this is all nice and good, the root of the issue has yet to be found. Forget miscalculating, Anaxa is feeling the looming dread of having overlooked something altogether. The only question is, what is it?

“Now that that matter is settled, is there anything else you wish to tell us, Anaxa?”

“...”

He can't say no. Although he fails to get much out of observing the expressions of the three men in front of him, the fact that there is another glaring issue needing to be addressed is not lost on him. Anaxa tries to school his expression to one of careful neutrality, but he suspects his prolonged silence might have already given away his anxiety from a lack of an answer.

Perhaps pitying his slowly crumbling composure, Nikomedes decides to throw him a hint.

“What do you think of the latest sage meeting?”

The sage meeting?

Anaxa blinks at them uncomprehendingly.

The sage meeting… He isn't even mildly surprised about them learning the contents of what is supposed to be a private meeting. There are a few rotating scribes that record their conversations, and plenty of locations to hide hidden cameras to record the whole thing. Bribes and threats of bodily harm would do it for the first option, while the second is not something Anaxa has ever considered guarding against. It is not like the content of the sage meetings is a secret. Transcripts of their conversations are usually released a few weeks after each meeting for anyone bored enough to read through. As for the latest meeting they just had, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred? It had been the usual back and forth, Anaxa making noise and getting push back. The three of them must know what the usual sage meetings are like. Why would they choose to take issue with it now?

Just what is he missing here?

“I know you left early that day, so you probably missed the results of the voting,” Nikomedes says. “But did you know the Lotophagism Sage decided to vote in favour of kicking us out of the Grove?”

“.”

“Anaxa?”

The news blindsides him so badly that for a moment, his mind goes completely blank. 

Medea, she actually— That fool! 

“Hah!” 

He laughs to cover up his shock. Forcing his hands behind his back to hide their trembling, Anaxa continues with his performance. 

“That woman? That's to be expected, of course.”

“Oh?”

Lifting his head arrogantly, Anaxa squares his chest.

“Isn't it obvious? The Lotophagist school has been stagnating for the longest time. Without my intervention and expertise in alchemy, their school risks becoming obsolete and replaced by a new school. The Grove only accommodates up to seven different schools after all. And then there is also her favourite student, the one your brother led to ruin. Without my help, what hope does she have of ever saving her?”

“That woman has always been a timid and weak willed person. I was thinking I would have to threaten her a few more times before she would fold and vote with me…” He smirks. “It seems our initial conversation scared her more than I thought.”

Slow claps ring out in the room. 

Anaxa watches the clapping man warily, trying his best to anticipate the questions that are sure to come.

“That’s lovely and all, but I’m not sure what game you’re trying to play here, Anaxa,” Evander says. “It’s starting to feel like you don't care about those photographs anymore.”

“Because it’s a lost cause regardless,” Anaxa says. “You already know that for major decisions like this, at least five sage votes are needed for the decision to go through.”

“I don’t know, Anaxa. You seem pretty convincing to me.” Evander swirls his glass of wine, taking a quick sip. “You’ve already gotten the Lotophagism Sage under your thumb. What’s to say you won't get the rest of them to agree eventually?”

“I… have always been disliked by the majority of them,” he says. “Some, like that woman, tolerate me at best, making cooperation easier. As for the rest, it’s unlikely I will be able to convince them for a long time. They are also not as easy as her to manipulate, coerce or blackmail.”

“And we just have to take your word for it?”

“The Venerationism sage is the oldest and most influential of us all. Under his guidance, many have come to despise me as well.”

“Whatever did you do to incur such hate?” Nikomedes seems genuinely interested.

“Probably fucked his mother or wife or something,” Evander snickers.

“It’s partially because of the clash of our ideologies, but mainly…” Anaxa purses his lips. “He has always accused me of causing the previous Venerationism sage to die an early death, poisoning his thoughts with my heretical and blasphemous ideas. The previous Venerationism sage… He was my late teacher.”

“The previous Venerationism sage was your teacher?” Evader raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn't you say it yourself that your ideologies are incompatible?”

Anaxa’s mind immediately turns to several old research papers and documents that can easily prove his claim. There too are numerous people who can confirm this fact as long as he is willing to get them involved. The true issue lies in whether the man will believe him, or if he has already decided on a verdict in his mind before Anaxa even entered this room.

“He’s not lying,” Nikomedes says suddenly. “I saw him the other day visiting the previous Venerationism sage’s grave. They seemed quite close.”

Anaxa’s head snaps over to the man. 

“Alright, since Niko is willing to vouch for you, I’ll believe you for now.”

He gets a knowing grin in response. The timely help fills him with… not quite gratitude, but something disgustingly close. 

“But, it doesn't mean I’m happy,” Evander continues. “I’m hurt, Anaxa. How long have we known each other now? Some months? A year? How can you possibly bear to kick your dear students out? I thought we were closer than this.”

“... It’s not like the decision was passed.”

“Yes, but it’s the thought that counts, you know?” he says. “So tell me, Anaxa, how are you going to make it up to us?”

“...”

What do they want to hear? Is Anaxa supposed to grovel on the ground for forgiveness? They probably want sex of some sort again, or maybe they would inflict pain on him this time. Should he start taking off his clothes?

“You,” Anaxa says, grimacing. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“Can we now?” Evander looks to be in a good mood, smiling as he places his now empty glass back onto the table. 

Anaxa looks the man straight in the eyes.

“Whatever you want.”

Evande grins.

“Come.”

He beckons Anaxa over to him. 

Bracing himself, Anaxa begins to walk, trying not to let any vulnerability show. It is probably an exercise in futility when he is handing himself over like this without protest, but some part of himself just can't bear to let it go. Evander places his hand on Anaxa’s shoulders when he reaches his destination, forcing him to kneel.

The man slides his hands up his left arm, reaching under his capelet and finding the start of Anaxa’s sleeves. He peels the garment down slowly, only stopping when it snags at his wrist and where Anaxa’s glove starts. Anaxa can barely hold himself still, goosebumps rising along his skin wherever Evander touches. The rising unease in his gut only continues to grow as his glove and rings are removed. When his arm is finally bare, Evander picks up his hand and studies it.

“You have such pretty hands, Anaxa.” Evander holds his pointer finger, pressing down on it slightly. “Such long, elegant fingers.”

He moves on to Anaxa’s other fingers, rubbing over joints, caressing the sensitive pads of his fingertips. Then he starts to press harder, bending one of them backwards. Anaxa’s breath hitches as the pressure on his fingers mounts.

“Are your fingers very important to you?” Evander asks, stroking up and down his finger. “You need them to write, to carry scrolls and teach, right?”

Trembling, Anaxa can practically already hear the sound of crunching bone as each of his fingers is snapped cleanly in half.

“Aren't you going to answer?”

“... Yes.”

“Mm, so very important to you.” Evander nods. “I guess I’ll break something else then.”

Before Anaxa can even fully process the words, a wet crack echoes in the room.

Pain isn't the first thing to hit him. Maybe it is because of the shock or the adrenaline. Whatever it is, Anaxa first feels the hair rising sensation of something in his wrist shifting, tearing and moving in a way it is never meant to move.

Then the agony slams into him.

White hot pain snakes up his left arm, travelling through his nerves until his entire body is trembling. Against his will, his arm spasms, fingers curling uselessly at nothing. He gasps, heart hammering erratically as he falls forward, body giving up on him. The only thing holding him up is the other’s grip on him. Beyond the tears blurring his vision, Anaxa can see the way his hand is bent at an unnatural angle. 

“Oh? You managed to hold in your scream? Impressive.”

The fingers pressed against his injured joint rub idly. Anaxa can feel the way bone, his joint, tendons—something, grinds over each other. He nearly throws up.

Suddenly, his wrist is released. Anaxa crumbles to the ground immediately, curling into himself and tucking his injured arm to his chest as he cradles it in a protective manner.

It… It’s probably not broken. At least, he hopes so. Already, the joint is starting to swell, turning an angry red that is hot and tender to the touch. Anaxa tries to steady his breathing, squashing down his panic and other unconscious reflexes in an attempt to hold his arm still.  

“Give me your arm.”

Anaxa ignores the voice, holding his arm tighter to his chest.

“Anaxa, let Theron look at it.”

“...”

Reluctantly, Anaxa holds his arm out. The movement is slow, his arm shaking from the strain, the entire limb feeling like it is on fire. Even when his arm is held gently, Theron moving it slightly to get a better look at the damage, it still causes waves of pain to wash over him.

“Dislocated,” Theron announces. 

“Huh, really?” Evander gasps in mock surprise. “I swear I didn't put in that much strength. How could I have known that our professor would be so fragile?”

Theron rests his arm against the table, and in one decisive motion, tugs on his wrist. For the second time that day, Anaxa feels his joint shift in his wrist before popping back into place. This time, while the pain is just as bad, Anaxa is somewhat prepared. He sags as the procedure is done, hair falling into his face as he squeezes his eye shut. 

The moment his arm is released, he goes back to cradling it to himself. At least the electric like pain of some nerve being constantly compressed has abated for now. 

“Next time let me do it.”

“But, Theron—”

“Didn't we agree not to damage him in an obvious location?”

Dimly, at the back of his mind, Anaxa registers the fact that they had planned to do this to him all along. No matter what he did or said, the outcome wouldn't have changed. Anaxa doesn't know if the revelation makes him feel better or worse. 

“I spared his fingers! What more do you want?”

“A dislocated wrist is arguably worse.”

“Y-you two are ganging up on me now! He has two hands. He can still write with his other one!”

“How do you know if he can write with that hand?”

“I uh…”

Tuning out their pointless conversation, Anaxa’s thoughts drift to more pressing matters. If his wrist has been truly dislocated, it would undoubtedly be noticed by others easily. Already, he can feel how weak his hand feels despite the joint being forced back into place. His fingers hardly listen to his commands, merely twitching instead of their usual mobility. Forcing them only worsens the throbbing pain. Writing is definitely an impossibility; what a good thing he trained himself to be ambidextrous. Even dressing himself or conducting experiments might be an issue now, let alone weight bearing activities.

His usual painkillers would probably help to a degree, but even if he is willing to keep taking them, their supply is definitely limited. The Twilight Courtyard might be willing to spare him more, but the thought of wasting more of their precious medicine supply has never sat right with him. He doesn't have any experimental projects at the moment that might solve this issue either. Perhaps he would have to start some and widen his scope. He wonders if Medea knows the best way to tackle this injury. Through the systemic route? A topical application? Tissue regeneration or reinjury prevention or simple pain reduction? If only the Helkolithism sage were willing to lend her expertise. 

“Look, does it even matter?” Evander protests. “Even if someone finds out, will they really cut us off just for the sake of one Anaxagoras? He said it himself, they despise him here.” 

For some reason, those words in particular seem to stick with him. Anaxa finds his mind beginning to wander down that path unprompted, going through all the people he knows in his life. Would any of them really care if they found out what happened? He doesn't have any close friends or family left; he only has his job, his students, peers and several collaborators… 

Well, there is Hyacine. But Hyacine cares about everyone.

In the end, Anaxagoras doesn't have anyone for him in this world, no one but himself.

“You will be surprised,” Theron says. “Anaxa is a very polarising figure. Many have strong feelings about him, be it positive or negative.”

“Besides, weren't you the one who wanted to ‘enjoy the student life’ here?” Nikomedes presses him relentlessly. “For now, they are still willing to put up with your behaviour, but even wounded animals have their limits, especially ones with nothing to lose.”

“Alright, I’m sorry! You two seriously…” Evander ruffles his hair in exasperation. “But what’s done is done. Anaxa, you don't blame me for this small slip up, do you?”

A hand falls onto his head, stroking his hair carelessly. Anaxa flinches at the contact but doesn't pull away.

“I knew it, you understand me the best, Anaxa,” Evander says. “Now that those two are finally placated, how about we move to the next part?”

Anaxa feels himself shaking at the declaration.

“What, you didn't think I was done with just that, right?”

“Evan.”

“Alright, alright, no more scaring your precious Anaxa. I swear you’re way too soft sometimes.” Evader rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’m not going to damage more of your fragile body. I just want to release some well, tension for myself. We haven't slept together in so long. Surely you must understand?”

Anaxa wavers for a heartbeat before nodding.

“Great!” Evander turns Anaxa around, manoeuvring him between his legs. “I want you to take out my cock and get me off with your hand.”

Obediently, Anaxa reaches out and starts to undo the other’s pants, only for his hand to be slapped away.

“No, your other hand.”

For several seconds, Anaxa merely stares at the man.

“I’m not joking, Anaxa.”

Eye trailing down, he takes in the appearance of his wounded wrist. The skin of his hand is an ugly grey, while blue purple bruises cover most of the swollen joint. It continues to throb angrily at him even when he makes an effort not to move it.

Gritting his teeth, Anaxa raises his left arm and begins to reach for the other’s clothes.

The process is slow, clumsy and absolute agony.

When his fingers are not trembling to the point of near non control, they are stiff and unresponsive. He misses the other’s pants not once, but twice, fingers failing to grasp onto anything. When he finally manages on the third try, his grip is so weak that he essentially achieves nothing at all. But knowing what is on the line drives him to continue. Anaxa’s vision blurs as he paws blindly at Evander’s clothes, lucking out as his nail catches onto cotton. It is a matter of throwing the burden of movement onto his shoulder, dragging the other’s clothes off just enough.

Finally, the other’s cock is revealed. To his immense relief, Evander is already mostly hard, clear precum leaking down from the slit. From there, it is just a matter of wrapping his hand around it and stroking up and down. 

Anaxa immediately realises the problem when he tries to do just that. Once again, it is a struggle to get his fingers to move. The temptation to use his other hand to force them into place briefly surfaces, only to be shot down just as quickly. But even when he does eventually manage to get an awkward grip on the throbbing cock, Anaxa realises that just the simple up down movement might be too much for him. Forget thumbing the slit or exerting pressure, just trying not to jostle his wrist is already an impossibility. 

Taking a deep breath, Anaxa begins to move. Sharp lances of pain punctuate the perpetual throb of his wrist. Despite his best efforts, he feels the occasional sickening sensation of grinding bone. He uses his elbow to compensate instead, ignoring the uncomfortable nausea building in his chest. Knowing that this can hardly be counted as pleasurable for the other, Anaxa desperately works on serving Evander’s cock in fear of what he might otherwise do.

The only warning he gets is a sharp ‘tsk’ from above.

A larger hand engulfs his own. It squeezes down with little regard. 

Bursts of red mixed with black fill his world. Anaxa nearly falls backwards from the shock as the sharp, grinding pain returns with a vengeance. Eye going wide, his other hand flies up immediately, trying to pull the crushing grip off his injured wrist. Evander ignores him, instead beginning to puppet his hand into jerking him off. 

Splintering agony slams into him. Every little movement feels like his wrist is being dislocated all over again. Anaxa nearly sobs as he tries again and again to still the other to no avail. His breaths are shallow and rapid, in time to the irregular beats of his heart, but his struggles might as well not exist.

Cold sweat drenches his back and forehead. His vision wavers, blackness creeps up the edges, and slowly encroaches. His hand keeps moving; the pain keeps radiating. Everything feels slick and hot in his palm. Bile rises up his throat. Anaxa swallows it back down.  

There is a wounded, pitchy sound filling the room whenever he is moved. He fails to stifle them, lacking the strength to even close his mouth. He closes his eyes, trying to pretend it doesn't come from him. 

By the time Evander finally reaches completion, Anaxa’s consciousness is hanging on by a thread. Hot ropes of cum spills onto his hand, dripping down his wrist and arm. He barely feels it past the ceaseless throb of his wrist and the bitter taste of fear on his tongue. His cheek is resting on the other’s lap, drool leaking from his lips as his entire body shakes and shakes. The aborted twitching of his numb fingers only worsens his current plight.  

“Hm, not bad. Not bad at all.”

The words sound muffled to him. His hearing, too is wavering. His body is limp, supported only by the other grip.

His hand is released. Anaxa fails to cushion its fall. The next thing he knows, he is sprawled out on the floor, left arm mercifully not crushed under his body.

“Get up.” His cheek is slapped. “You still have the two of them to serve.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Seriously Niko? Whatever, your loss.”

Relief surges through him against his will. 

“Go on, go to Theron.”

Seconds stretch into minutes as Anaxa struggles on the floor, gathering up the shattered pieces of his mind and uncoordinated limbs. Eventually, he manages to reach Theron in something between a drag and a crawl. Unlike the other two, Anaxa doesn't have a good grasp of his personality. He seems quiet and subdued, rarely speaking unless spoken to first. While lacking the sadistic streak of Evander, he is nowhere near as ‘nice’ as Nikomedes. His heart clenches as he tries to anticipate what Theron wants him to do.

Theron stares down at him with dark, unblinking eyes for several moments. Then he begins to fiddle with his clothes, pulling out his cock soon after.

“Do whatever you want.”

The command throws Anaxa for a loop. 

Is this a trick? 

There are no answers to be found on the other’s face. 

Hesitating, Anaxa worries his lips between his teeth with indecision. The ever growing loom of urgency to do anything finally forces him to act. Pushing himself up on his good arm, Anaxa moves himself forward gingerly, trying to get as close to the other’s cock as their positions would allow. Theron spreads his legs wider, and Anaxa leans forward slightly on his knees only to almost pitch forward. 

Theron sighs. He shifts forward slightly, bringing his cock nearer to Anaxa’s face.  

With only one arm to use, he would have to forgo using his hands altogether. Resting his bad arm on his lap, Anaxa begins to blow the man with stiff, jerky movements, fearful of aggravating his hand any further. His right hand grips onto the edge of the kline for balance, the polished wood cool beneath his touch.

Thankfully, Theron doesn't take too long to find his release. Anaxa doesn't know if it is the previous experience clouding his judgment or if he has gotten really good at using his mouth. All he knows is that soon enough Theron is thrusting his hips in time with Anaxa, the tip of his cock bumping into the back of his throat. His release is controlled as he sheathes himself fully into Anaxa, pouring all his cum down his throat. Every drop is drunk down by Anaxa dutifully, and he even licks the man clean before drawing back.

“Seems like we’re done for today.” Nikomedes sighs.

“Please, you didn't even start. I for one, feel up for another round.”

“Evan, don't go overboard,” Nikomedes says, his tone carrying a note of warning. “Anaxa still needs to work, unlike a certain someone who just plays around all day.”

Anaxa slowly shuffles his way away from the three of them. The throbbing agony of his hand has abated somewhat, a constant sensation that he has somewhat grown used to. He hugs it close to himself, regardless, glancing around the room for somewhere to retreat to. The room isn't very big, and it's not like he can just get up and leave, and yet he finds himself unconsciously backing towards the door. Anaxa cringes at his behaviour.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Evander says. “I’m just gonna bring the professor back to his office now, watch him do some work and maybe even help?”

Nikomedes shoots him a suspicious look.

“Whatever it is, just take things slow and don't go overboard.”

Evander clicks his tongue as Nikomedes exits the room. 

“How about you, Theron? Wanna join?”

“I have someone to kill.”

“Right, that guy.” Evander nods. “You best be on your way then.”

The door opens and closes again. Anaxa stifles his urge to throw himself out. 

A tall shadow looms over him. Heart beating so hard it feels like it would burst out of his chest, Anaxa painfully gathers the courage to look up.

“So, it’s just going to be you and me.”

The other’s smile is far too wide and fake. 

Anaxa’s heart sinks. Despite his exhaustion, he finds it in himself to shake even harder.

His office is neat and minimalistic. The earthly scent of wood, dirt and other plant matter is the main scent that permeates the room. Sitting on one of the few empty spaces on a bookshelf is a dromas plushie; he had made special care to clear out that spot for it to sit where it is always within sight. A smaller, blue variation of the toy is at the far end of his desk, leaning against a pile of books that never seem to reduce.

Anaxa flinches as the man he is sitting on takes hold of it.

“Dromas?” he asks. “Right, you really like them. Wonder why.”

Thankfully, Evander doesn't maul the poor thing, nor does he press Anaxa for an answer. He seems content with simply feeling Anaxa clench around him and using his teleslate. Several times, Anaxa contemplates sneaking a glance at the screen, but it is held firmly on his blind side. Twisting his body would be far too obvious. 

Instead, he turns his attention to all his work spread out on his desk.

In front of him is a research proposal, a three way effort between the Erythrokeramist, Caprist and Venerationist schools. He knows there is some issue with the proposed methods. They aren’t as safe or as efficient as they could be. But even if his eye takes in the words, they have stopped making sense for a while now.

He—  He can't focus on anything at all.

“!”

The cock inside him fucks deeper into him as Evander rolls his hips. The little action alone is enough to throw him off balance, forcing Anaxa to steady himself with his hands. The unintentional use of his bad arm aggravates his injury again, causing him to suck in a sharp breath. 

His shirt and capelet are drenched with cold sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his clammy skin. His pants have been dragged down to his feet, pooling in a crumpled heap around his shoes that don't touch the ground. Evander had purposefully adjusted his chair such that it is just far away enough from his desk that every time he moves, Anaxa feels like he is about to fall off. The added elevation from sitting on another person makes it impossible for him to use his legs to ground himself. The result is Anaxa awkwardly trying to work all while the other thrusts into him at the most unexpected times, shattering his concentration with fresh bursts of pain.

Drawing himself up, Anaxa picks up the pen he had dropped and attempts to go through the research proposal again. The walls of his office seem to collapse in on themselves, giving rise to an uncomfortable sense of claustrophobia. He feels delirious, feverish even. Time seems to pass in stretches and jumps rather than a smooth continuation. 

A knock sounds out. Anaxa’s head snaps to the door in alarm.

“Professor, we’re here to consult you on our thesis.”

Then the doorknob begins to rattle.

“Huh? It’s locked?”

“Maybe the professor isn't in now?”

“Idiot, Professor Anaxa never locks his office!”

“Oh!”

Panic grips his heart. His body tenses up against his will. Evander gives an approving hum behind him, his cock seeming to grow even larger as it surges with blood.

“Then why isn't he answering? Is he in a super important meeting or something?”

“Maybe something happened to him?”

“You think so?”

“Haven't you seen Professor Anaxa recently? He looks… unwell.”

“When you put it that way…”

“You have such caring students, Anaxa.” Evander puts down his teleslate, resting a hand on Anaxa’s hips. “How long are you going to ignore them?”

“Maybe we can pick the lock? Bang the door down?”

“Are you crazy?!”

“So?” Evander asks. “Don’t you think you should say something?”

He begins to bounce Anaxa on his lap, straining his pelvis despite how small the movements are. Shoulders hunched, Anaxa tries to ignore it, letting himself be fucked like he is one of those mindless golems he had once created and destroyed out of disgust. Pain continues to radiate up his tailbone; it is as he feared, something didn't heal properly ever since the first time. 

“Or shall I carry you to the door so you can unlock it? Maybe they will want to join in after seeing you like this.”

Arms hook themselves under his thighs, and Evander begins to stand.

“I’m busy,” Anaxa says in a rush, directing his voice at his office door. “Come back anoth—”

His vision turns white. 

By the time he manages to claw his way back to sobriety, Anaxa finds himself half slumped over on his desk. Black spots fill the edge of his vision. His arm is still spasming, red hot flashes of pain running through it. There is a hand curled around his left wrist gently, barely touching. It is a warning, a threat of a repeat should he do something wrong. 

Past the ringing in his ears, he can make out the sound of someone trying the doorknob again. His students must be growing quite concerned now. 

“Professor? Professor Anaxa? What’s happening?”

A few drops of gold drip onto his work.

Anaxa’s lips tremble.

“I-I’m busy.” He struggles to force the words out. “Come back… another day…”

“Eh? But Professor, are you sure you’re alright—”

“Tomorrow. Same time.”

His students go silent. Anaxa very nearly finds himself praying to the Titans that they will let the issue drop.

“Um, we’ll come find you tomorrow then, Professor Anaxa. Have a good night.”

It is only after he is absolutely sure that his students have left, their footsteps fading into nothing, that Anaxa allows himself to release the pained sounds that have been building up in his chest. His entire body is trembling uncontrollably. He can't seem to push himself off his desk. 

“Aw, Anaxa.” Evander swipes his fingers across Anaxa’s lips. “That must have hurt.”

Anaxa wants to grimace at the sensation of his blood being smeared around and the aggravation of the bite wound, but his body is far too exhausted by the constant pain and stress running high in him. He tries and fails to push himself up one more time. Despite being perfectly healthy, his right arm betrays him at this moment too.

“Poor, poor Anaxa, all alone.”

Arms wrap around him, pulling him upright. Anaxa struggles more out of instinct than anything else, dropping his pen and only managing to hurt himself more in the process. The sudden vertigo from the shift in position makes his head swim. He chokes, feeling bile rise up to his mouth. From this angle, the cock still lodged inside him seems to reach deeper than before, spearing him open. The burning pain of the stretch pales in comparison to everything else. Anaxa nearly forgets it is even there to begin with. 

“Well, not actually. You have us, me, Niko and Theron. Oh, and I guess the rest of them.” Evander hugs Anaxa close to his chest and begins to thrust hard. “Did you know, Elias has been pestering me to organise another party with you again? You've been really popular with everyone ever since that night.” 

Eye slipping shut, Anaxa tries to relax and go limp as much as possible. The pace Evander sets is harsh and unrelenting. His whole body is exhausted from his muscles being constantly unable to relax. His mind begins to drift, only pulled back whenever his left wrist knocks against something especially hard. If not for the other holding him, Anaxa would have probably long crumpled to the ground.

What feels like an eternity passes before his insides are finally filled with a searing heat. Evander gives a last few thrusts, as though trying to fuck all his cum as deep into Anaxa as possible. Anaxa’s head lolls to the side, resting against the other’s chest. He feels very far away.

“Oh, will you look at the time?”

Evander’s teleslate is shoved in front of his face, and Anaxa blinks, the sudden harsh glare nearly blinding him. 

“Curtain-Fall Hour barely just started. You don't usually sleep this early, do you? How about I accompany you for a few more quints?”

Anaxa can feel the way the once soft cock inside his ass is already beginning to twitch with interest, engorging with blood. 

“Anaxa?”

His bad wrist is grasped softly.

“Y-yes.” The voice that comes out of him is small and pathetic. He doesn't recognise it as his own. “Of… course.”

Ever since she was young, Hyacine has always known that she was going to be a healer. 

She would practice on dolls and inanimate objects at first, later moving on to trailing adults as they practised their craft. The ability to heal, fix and mend never failed to fascinate her. Eventually, she would become a full fledged healer of her own. Somewhere along the line, she had been joined by Little Ica. The little pegasus, a dying out species blessed with the divine powers of Aquila, had allowed her to perform miracles otherwise only believed to be possible in dreams. 

The cute little ‘doot doot!’ sounds it would make as it followed her around was a bonus, of course. Even when it had exhausted all its powers and went to take a nap, its adorable little form was a sort of therapy of its own.

But even then, Ica’s powers have their limits. The human body is amazingly complex, systems upon systems working together to create the miracle that is life, all for better or for worse. It is this complexity that allows humans to heal from the most horrific wounds, but it is also this same complexity that often leads to complications in the long run. 

She never thought she would wake up from a nightmare again, gasping and crying over a life she failed to save. She thought she had long steeled her heart to all the cruel sights and tragedy she sees in her line of work. She truly thought she had learnt to let go. But ever since that day, the sight of Professor Anaxa’s lifeless body spread on the ground, dripping with water and surrounded by those despicable men, had shaken something in her. 

Still, it wasn't that bad. The first few days had been the worst, with her thrust out of her nightmare with her professor’s name dying on her lips. After that, it was a matter of mental discipline and rationalising. Professor had not died after all, and he seemed to know what he was doing…

“...”

Deciding to trust her professor, Hyacine tries to look on the bright side. Today could be considered a good day at the Twilight Courtyard, tentatively. At the very least, there are no new patients arriving, merely existing ones that need to be monitored. Although among those are several critical cases, a mixture of the plague that is still running rampant and regular Black Tide casualties. 

Hyacine sighs, lifting up the piece of parchment recording the conditions of all the patients in this particular medical wing. Nothing too alarming jumps out at her. 

“The Twilight Courtyard seems less hectic than usual.”

“Professor!” Hyacine squeaks, nearly jumping up in fright. Just when did Professor Anaxa manage to sneak up on her? “Do you need something from me? Did I forget to hand in an assignment—”

Professor Anaxa looks… wrong. It goes beyond his usual tiredness and less than optimal health even on his best days. Despite his appearance being impeccable as always, there is a certain look about him, an unsettling one that she cannot quite put her finger on.

A sudden fear settles over her as she recalls her nightmares. 

“Professor, did something happen to you? Are you… hurt?”

“I…” Professor Anaxa says, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here. “Hyacinthia, I—”

“Miss Hyacine!” Clementine calls out from nearby, her frantic footsteps growing closer until she is standing right in front of her. “The lady in room 24, her leg…”

“It didn't improve overnight?”

“No…”

Clementine’s expression is grim. Hyacine suspects her own is not too different.

“I understand. I’ll head there right now.” 

The moment the words leave her lips, Hyacine realises her mistake.

“No, actually, Professor Anaxa needs—”

“It’s fine,” Anaxa says. “I can wait.”

Hyacine bites her lips, eyes flicking between Clementine and Professor Anaxa. Clementine is clearly confused by her hesitation, the pupils of her eyes blown wide in fear for the patient. The situation must be truly dire. 

“Alright then, please wait for me to return, Professor.”

Having received the go ahead, Hyacine quickly runs to the room with the emergency. Although they called it a ‘room’, they had long run out of proper rooms to house all their patients. Most patients now simply lie on makeshift beds with medical screens acting as walls. The actual clinic is much better. Well built rooms are lined with actual beds and curtains to provide their patients with some privacy. Each room is also limited to four people to prevent overcrowding, unlike the scene outside that was kind of built as the situation evolved…

The moment Hyacine steps into the room, the smell alone told her everything she needed to know. 

Face scrunching up, Hyacine steps bravely into the crowded area. She can hear murmurs of discontent from the patients around her; she can only imagine how long they must have been suffering from the smell. 

“We are going to have to remove her foot,” Hyacine announces grimly after inspecting her patient. “If we wait any longer, it will be more than just a foot having to be amputated.” 

“I feared as much.” Clementine sighs. “The thing is, we don't have any anaesthetic left. The earliest the next batch will arrive is a day or two…”

“Oh.”

Tomorrow is definitely too late for this young woman. Forget amputation, Hyacine is worried she might just pass from sepsis first.

“You can try this.”

The unexpected voice has her spinning around in surprise. She watches as Professor Anaxa pulls out a flask containing a pale blue fluid, placing it in her hands to be inspected.

“Professor, you followed us?” Hyacine studies the liquid in fascination. “What is this?”

“A prototype,” he explains. “Sage Medea and I collaborated recently to find alternative methods of healing, combining medicine and alchemy. This is the fruit of our labour.”

“Does it work as well as our regular anaesthetic?”

“It does for the most part,” he says. “But since it is a prototype, actual studies of its effectiveness on humans remain largely theoretical. It would be best if you consult your patient about the risks and obtain their consent first.”

That… Hyacine understands Professor Anaxa’s reservations better than anyone. It is highly unethical to trial untested substances on patients. However, given their dire situation, it might just be worth a shot in their case. Her biggest worry is obtaining said consent from her patient, who is probably too delirious with sickness to comprehend much and respond. 

“Sage… A s-sage of the Grove made this?”

A weak, hoarse voice suddenly speaks up. Hyacine looks down in surprise, not having expected her patient to be lucid enough to understand their conversation.

“Yes.”

“I-I believe in the Sages,” the woman says raggedly. “They opened their doors for us when no one else would. I… I trust them.”

Her arm snaps up suddenly, grabbing onto Professor Anaxa’s hand. He flinches violently, staggering for a heartbeat before righting himself. She frowns, expecting him to throw her off. To her surprise, Professor Anaxa curls his fingers instead, forming a comforting grip around the poor woman’s palm. The unnatural response does not escape Hyacine’s notice, however, nor does the weakness of his grip and slight tremor. 

She gives her professor a hard look. Professor Anaxa decidedly ignores her.

“Let’s proceed then,” Professor Anaxa says. “Hyacinthia is the best healer in the Twilight Courtyard. You are in good hands.”

“Yes! Miss Hyacine is simply amazing.” Clementine nodss furiously. “So, shall we…?”

“Yes,” Hyacine busies herself with readying her medical instruments, sterilising them to the best of her ability. “Clementine, please prepare everything for the procedure and hold her down while I work. Professor Anaxa, you should leave—”  

“This is an untested prototype.” Even after all this time, he is still holding onto the pale hand of the woman. His eye is trained on the, admittedly, nauseating wound of her patient, as if already calculating how to best ensure the success of the surgery. “This is considered to be part of the experiment.”

“...”

Hyacine isn't sure how to refute that. It goes without saying that she wants her professor, who is clearly unwell himself, to have no part in this surgery. However, it is also true that this being a prototype comes with its own dangers. Furthermore, having not made it herself, she lacks the knowledge to utilise it to its full potential.

“Thank you, Professor Anaxa.” She settles on that at last.

Professor Anaxa gives her a small nod. Clementine’s nod is full of determination. Hyacine calms herself and begins the operation. 

“You did well back there.”

“You too, Professor.”

After the exhausting surgery that felt way longer than it had taken, Hyacine finds herself with Professor Anaxa resting in one of the consultation rooms in the clinic. 

“If you hadn't worked as quickly as you did, I suspect that Clementine and I alone might not have been enough to hold the patient down when the anaesthetic ran out.”

Even then, they had cut things quite close. Hyacine remembers the way her heart had pounded in her chest as Professor Anaxa’s flask slowly emptied, how she had frantically urged Little Ica to stem the blood flow the moment she cut the gangrene flesh off. It had been a harrowing moment as she counted down the last few drops of pale blue fluid.

“Professor Anaxa, you seemed quite calm during the whole procedure.”

Even though it had not been him wielding the knife and getting blood all over his hands, he had still been in the room next to her. Not once did she see his expression waver, even as he watched the entire procedure, his hand steady as he applied his prototype. 

“I may not have witnessed surgeries before, but I have seen my fair share of dead bodies and decapitated body parts,” Anaxa says. “However, I suspect my experience pales in comparison to yours.”

Hyacine nods, finding the explanation quite reasonable. 

“So, your experiment with Sage Medea…”

“Our creation is not without flaws. As you could see earlier, the effects are woefully short lived. It also cannot be directly drunk, and production remains rather expensive.”

Expensive. Hyacine catches the word and sighs with dismay. Expensive is definitely not something the Grove and the Twilight Courtyard can afford now. She could only hope that Professor Anaxa and Sage Medea would find a workaround. 

But enough with the small talk. Hyacine has given her professor more than enough time to wind down from the stress of the surgery. 

“Professor, what’s wrong with your arm?”

The way her professor shrinks back only confirms her suspicions. 

“Take off your gloves.”

“I— I need to go.” Professor Anaxa takes a step back, his face full of regret. “I just remembered—”

“Professor, please.”

“...”

His body is tightly wound up, left wrist clutched tightly to himself, reminding her of a wounded animal being cornered. His eye flicks to the door, then back to her. Hyacine feels her heart clench. 

“Please, Professor. Just, take a seat and let me look at it, alright?”

She tries again, trying to pour as much of her worry as she can into her voice. 

“...”

Just as she fears that he will make a dash for the door and escape, Professor Anaxa actually listens to her. He sits down stiffly, tugging at the material of his detached sleeve and slowly peeling it down. His breath hitches when he reaches his glove, and when he finally manages to pull it off, Hyacine nearly collapses from the shock.

“This— This was clearly dislocated a few days, no, at least a week ago!” She can feel the hysteria rising in her chest as she scrambles to examine his wrist better. “And it’s not healing properly at all! Why didn't you come sooner? Do you want to lose the use of your hand?!” 

The state of Professor Anaxa’s wrist is absolutely atrocious. The joint is completely swollen and slightly misaligned at an odd angle. Shiny skin stretches unnaturally over bone that is mottled with ugly black bruises, and scrapes and half healed scabs line the outer side of his wrist. His fingers tremble slightly even when doing nothing. Part of his arm, where the damage is the worst, is sunken in, the ligaments likely overstretched from repeated injury. 

“No.” The admission seems to take a lot out of him. “That’s why I came—”

“A whole week later!” A sudden thought occurs to her. “Is this your ‘fix’? And the joint is already back in place, what, did they kindly help you set it back after hurting you?”

“I fell. It was an accident,” he says, voice clipped. “I haven't slept much recently. I got careless.”

“Lies.” She shakes her head. “Professor, you’re lying to me again.”

“You can believe what you want.” 

He is closing himself off now. His face has gone eerily cold, his body tense, and his body language unwelcoming. 

“Professor Anaxa!”

She wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. She wants to peer into his brain to figure out just what twisted logic lies in there. She wants to break down and cry, begging him to please, please Professor can't you just share your worries with someone else for once?

Hyacine does none of that. 

Instead, she searches around the consultation room, rummaging through the supply cupboard as she goes through miscellaneous supplies looking for the appropriate medicine and materials to form a splint. She slams everything down on the table a bit too hard, guilt pricking at her when Professor Anaxa flinches at the sound. 

“Whoever helped you set the joint did a good job at least.” She carefully applies a cream to help reduce the swelling before starting on the splint, making sure not to wind the bandages too tightly. “But does it really matter? You haven't been holding it still and letting it heal as it should. Now your wrist is probably worse than when it was first injured.”

Professor Anaxa merely watches her quietly as he works. His expression is unreadable. The only response she gets out of him is a jerk or sharp breath whenever she inevitably puts pressure on his wrist. 

“I would give you a sling as well to hold your arm still, but I doubt you would keep it on for long.”

Now that his wrist is all wrapped up properly, it doesn't look quite as bad as before. But that doesn't change the fact that he had gotten hurt and let it deteriorate to such a state in the first place. 

For a long while, the two of them simply sit opposite each other in silence. Hyacine is reminded of that horrible day when Professor Anaxa had nearly drowned, the way the two of them simply sat and suffered through his suffocating silence together.  

“Professor Anaxa.” As usual, she is the one to break the stalemate between them. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You said you would do as I said.”

“I didn't agree to you getting hurt—”

“Hyacine!” In a stroke of terrible timing, someone calls for her from outside. “The patient from room 19, he isn't breathing anymore!”

On instinct, her mouth opens to respond, only to snap it shut when she remembers that she is in the middle of interrogating her professor.

“You should go,” he says. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“I—”

“Hyacine! He’s flatlining!”

Looking between her professor and the door, Hyacine lets out a frustrated sound. 

“Don’t you dare leave this room.”

Hyacine shoots Professor Anaxa the meanest glare she can muster and decisively locks the door on her way out. Soon, she is too busy to actively think about him, even if the matter gnaws away at the back of her mind. Several times, she considers sending Clementine or someone else to go watch over Professor Anaxa instead. But knowing his tendencies, they would likely only make the matter worse, forcing him deeper into his shell. 

By the time she manages to hurry back, Professor Anaxa is nowhere to be found. The door to the medical room is ajar. Gone together with him is a bottle of painkillers and the remainder of the bandages she had used to make his splint. Knowing her professor, he had likely used alchemy or something to undo the lock.

“Professor…”

An insurmountable amount of sorrow seizes her heart. 

Is she really that unreliable in his eyes? 

Unshed tears well up in her eyes.

Maybe she should just…

“Alright, Professor Anaxa, I’ll trust you, it’s just…”

He is making it really difficult for her to trust anything he says.