Sarkan leaned against a shelf, idly sliding his fingers over the slick leather cover and thick parchment pages of the book in his hands as he read the book's contents: Several Norse poems that were now famous Cyrus's world. He murmured the current verse under his breath, savoring the opportunity to speak the language he had grown up with.

"I can't figure it out!" Sarkan looked up to see Azar standing a few feet away, fists clenched. Before he could raise his eyebrow, she continued. "I've spent hours trying to and I can't! Why is he so important to you?" she asked, frustration etched in every muscle.

Sarkan closed his eyes for a moment before standing up straight and closing his book. He put it away, thinking. If Azar had been simply demanding to know, he would refuse to tell her. He did owe Cyrus an explanation as to why he had chosen to bring him to Kooza. However, that explanation was not going to be held for a very long time if Sarkan had his way. However, it seemed that Azar was just as deserving of the same explanation. Judging from her frustration and well hidden nervousness, she had spent a large amount of time trying to figure out his motives. She was actually trembling from the tension locked inside her muscles. Part of him was tempted to ask if she meant Cyrus, just to watch her reaction…But no. Azar deserved better, particularly right now.

"Walk with me?" he asked in a low voice, extending a hand. Azar stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly before giving a slow nod.

The pair left the library and wandered the bataclan for a time, as they had first done in the beginning of their relationship. Sarkan was still himself but his movements held an element of stiffness as he walked and his mapping out of the bataclan's shadows seemed almost frantic. Azar stayed quiet, trying to lessen the tension in her own muscles and failing. Finally Sarkan led her up to the King's Balcony and leaned against the railing, bracing his arms as he looked out over Kooza. Azar stood near him and waited. Finally, Sarkan spoke.

"Cyrus is incredibly powerful Azar. He may not look like it or act like it-" Azar snorted softly, earning her a wry glance from Sarkan. "He may not seem like it, but he is. As someone with a comparable level of power, I have an obligation to teach him."

"There's no one else?" Azar muttered, crossing her arms.

"Would you rather have Athanasius teach him?" Sarkan replied. Azar shivered from the thought of the Reaper. Beside her Sarkan's spine was a study in tension.

"Fine. So you teach him. But that doesn't explain why-"

"He's mine."

Azar stopped. Turned to face Sarkan, who was staring down at his hands which were clenched around the balcony railing, white knuckles visible on of the fingers not covered with gold leaf. Sarkan's eyes slide over to meet her gaze and he continued, any eloquence he had possessed vanished. "He's blood kin Azar. A descendent. I'm obligated twice over to teach him because of that." Sarkan's eyes shifted back to his hands and he relaxed their grip. "If Athanasius had managed to find him before I did…" Sarkan's hands clamped down on the railing again. "No matter. Cyrus is mine." The last word was little more than a snarl but it was a snarl Azar was familiar with. It was possessive and protective and cared very little for the niceties of the world. She had used it and was comfortable with it. It spoke volumes of how much Sarkan cared for the boy.

Volumes that suddenly made so much more sense...Azar stared down at the far away ground of the clearing, thinking. Sarkan stood beside her, motionless. After what felt like an age, Azar muttered under her breath, "How can he be related to you and still so clumsy?"

Sarkan turned his head and stared at Azar before laughing softly. He leaned his head back as his laughter continued before trailing off. "A mystery that eludes me," he admitted with a sigh.

Azar gave a huff of her own laughter. "…I still don't like him," she warned Sarkan.

He raised an eyebrow and for the first time, some of Azar's tension slid away at the familiar action. "You do not like people in general Azar. I would not dream of forcing you into companionship with Cyrus." His gaze darkened and Azar fought the urge to avert her eyes. "As long as you do not harm him again, I will be satisfied."

Azar gave a short nod. Sarkan hummed something under his breath and extended his hand towards her for the second time that evening. "Walk with me again?" he asked, something akin to hope in his eyes.

Azar tilted her head, considering the offer. After a moment she nodded and the pair entered the bataclan once more.

AN: "Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending."

Ah, Shakespeare. Azar gets her explanation. She and Sarkan will return to the habit of wandering the bataclan together, talking and rebuilding their relationship back to its pre-Manipulation levels. Obviously, they are back to normal by the events of Interruptions (Poor Cyrus xD). I could extend the story by writing out some of those wanderings but it's not anything amazing.

Tomorrow, I shall start posting the last of the fully completed drabbles, set Post Show. Cyrus will be sixteen and his life has taken a turn for the worse and he retreats to Kooza for a time. It's was my favorite set of drabbles to write in a very twisted way xD

I do have other drabbles, of Cyrus when he's older and encountering other entities like Loki, Odin and the Satyrs. Unfortunately, those aren't complete yet and I'm not sure when I will post them.