Rowan's feet were rocking side to side on his desk, his hands laid behind his head to allow himself the most relaxed posture possible.
The dim that overcame the room from the night sky and left only the purple glow from the ceilings gave it an ethereal, otherworldly aesthetic, calming his mind in the same ways silence and poem allow.
The silence wasn't total, however, the shallow breaths of the guard outside allowing himself just enough stimulus to not suffer sensory deprivation, although it was still enough to shrill a sharp ring in his ear--his mind trying to make up for it.
Patter, patter, patter!
Someone's feet slammed against the ground as they grasped for air, running as if there were a marathon of people approaching them.
It completely caught Rowan off-guard, causing his neck to snap in the direction of the sound, even holding onto his grimoire off of pure instinct before hastily putting it back down.
At the same time, he could hear the faint speech from his guard, stepping a few feet from his door and resting his shoulders against the wall with a light thud.
As soon as the door creaked open, Rowan stood up, the taut in his limbs easing as soon as he saw who it was.
It was Liora, wearing a white, loose nightgown and frizzled hair popping from her scalp.
Obviously, she'd just gotten up from her bed, rubbing her eyes with a sluggish drowse.
"Hey, Rowan," she said, closing the door behind her, "having a hard time sleeping like me?"
Rowan stepped back, latching his bottom to his chair while pulling back a few of the papers that were on his desk.
"Yeah, it's just hard to get some rest after knowing what we'll be doing tomorrow. Plus, as you probably know, this day hasn't really gone all that great for me."
Liora inched closer to Rowan, taking a seat on his bed to create just a little bit of distance, but still forming a sort of intimacy that almost stole the words from his mind.
"U-uh, anyways, what's up," Rowan questioned, tilting his head to express his curiosity, "and why did you sound like you were in such a rush, running through the halls like that?"
"I didn't run anywhere, what are you talking about?"
Rowan didn't speak for a moment, his head free of whoever was pattering against the floor just a minute ago.
"Sorry, forget I mentioned it."
He looked down, unsure of what to say, but it wasn't uncomfortable--no, not the way Liora scooted further down the bed to get a tiny bit closer to Rowan.
"I came to ask how you're doing, especially since we've all been transported to this world as heroes, but you're the only one without arcana."
"Hm, I guess I don't feel as sad as I should. I don't know, I guess it's because my experiences here aren't that much worse than my life back on earth, although it is a bit dispiriting that I can't enjoy this new life."
Rowan crossed his shoulders, turning his gaze to his grimoire for just a moment and noticing a black flare extend, then instantly retract from his attention.
Weird, he thought, what is that?
Liora didn't respond, looking down at her waist with narrowed eyes.
"Look, I'm sorry about last night--"
"Hey, let me see your hands."
She cut off Rowan's words, raising her right hand forward while gesturing him with the repeated curling and uncurling of her fingers.
Hesitantly, he brought his hands forward face-down, turning his palms down inward to face him.
"No, your palms, goofy," she added once his hands reached her own.
Rowan's eye twitched, something clearly bearing down on his mind.
It was only after she gripped onto his hands as tightly as she could and turned them over that she revealed her greatest suspicion.
There was red streaking all through his hand, hardened blood covering grotesque cuts that exposed bright yellow, squishy globules that squirmed in conjunction with his pulse.
She almost reeled from the imagery but looked back up at Rowan, talking a little bit more plainly than before.
"This happened when the sword shot out from your hand, didn't it? Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Rowan looked down in shame to contemplate her words, looking up only once he'd finally put words to his mouth.
"I... I suppose I didn't want to hold you guys back. It would've been embarrassing, getting my hands torn by the hilt of a blade. Plus, there was never really the right time to ask for treatment."
He winced once she squeezed his palms even tighter, but as she moved up palms out and about as she so wished, he felt a great wave of warmth begin to overcome his skin and quell the blaring flame burning his nerves and stilling his movements.
Her grimoire was open by her side, her eyes closed as green shot out from her hands to meet his.
In just a few moments, Rowan was completely healed, the only remainders of the damaged tissue being small flecks of gray scar tissue.
"You forget who I am, don't you, Rowan?"
She was smiling now, still holding onto his hands even after the green scattered into the air.
Their gazes met for a few moments, although it wasn't with the same tension as before.
"And as for last night, I understand."
"You do?"
"Yes, I was too hasty with my approach, and you saw me as weird, right? I'm sure this purple hair of mine didn't do many wonders, either."
Rowan's eyes threw open, his hands withdrawing from hers to turn into waving fists.
"No, that's not true at all--"
"It's fine, you don't need to make me feel better. After all, we're heroes, our relationship is more akin to the 'work buddies' type, right?
She got up, turning to his desk of poems that he'd been presiding over, reading just a couple while stepping towards the door.
"Your writing--it's nice. I think that regardless of whether you have power, your ability to create writings that sparkle and dazzle its readers will live on far longer than us. Maybe even that is the purpose the people here keep talking about, to write account of our stay here and create documentation that will last generations. That would be the greatest outcome for me, someone who has no legacy in this world."
A tear welled in her eyes, dancing into the air once she suddenly twisted to look away from Rowan.
The door behind her slammed shut, leaving Rowan once again in the silence of his room, although the quiet he felt in his heart was far more debilitating an ailment.
...
'--ust him...'
The voice slithered through Kaia's dream, encroaching upon her psyche to wriggle its words.
"Don't trust the Wordless One--not unless you wish for the world's destruction."
She'd been in her bed, dreaming wild fantasies of world domination and roleplay as a demon queen.
Her battle with the king of vampires was interrupted with flashes of flaring, real images of the heroes' corpses and Larona's burning into ash.
'Who,' she called, looking out into the void.
'Rowan, the bringer of of your imminent death.'