Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Professor’s hair flew as he spun around. Grinning, he gestured excitedly to the room. “Yes, yes- who just spoke? Don’t be shy now, speak up, speak up!” 

Heads turned to the student in question. It was almost as if she had chosen the shadowiest corner of the room to sulk in, trying to pass Professor Albright’s class while hiding her incredible wisdom. As if he would allow such a thing.

“I think…I think that the king was more influenced by his affections for the princess than political motivations…?”

He nodded, a grand satisfaction filling his belly. “Wonderful. I encourage you to speak your mind more often. No- that goes for all of you!” 

As the first class of the semester continued, the students came out of their shells. All of them raising their hands, suggesting answers with far more conviction, and returning Cyrus’ enthusiasm. He couldn’t have been more pleased.

Partway through his history lesson about the contextualization of the relationship between the king and his knight captain, an administrator by his door beckoned him aside. 

He quickly apologized to his class for the interruption and stepped aside. “Yes, what is it?”  

As it would turn out, the administrator wanted nothing ominous, simply some updated records about his residence. It had been about a year since his return from their journey, and it confused him why they hadn’t asked sooner, and deemed it fit to ask in the middle of class, no less, but he kept his mouth shut; a helpful skill he had picked up from Therion. 

‘Therion, ’ Cyrus thought. And just with that name, emotions from the past rushed to fill his chest. The buzzing excitement every time they saved each other in battle, the gooey and gleeful feeling everytime the Thief said the professor was too trusting and stood next to him in town streets to ensure he wasn’t pickpocketed by lesser thieves. Then their goodbye, of course. 

Cyrus had said, ‘I’ll send letters,’ as he walked off. And Therion had gulped, and said, ‘right, right…’

Perhaps that lackluster response should have been a sign. A year and twelve letters later, Therion still hadn’t replied to a single one. Cyrus wondered endlessly these days about what it was that ruined that precious relationship. Was it that he talked too much? Or that he tried to push his pursuits onto Therion? He’d never seen the thief even read before, after all. Or was it-

“...Profesor? Professor?”

“Hm?” Cyrus shook himself from the daze. He’d been holding the completed forms for a while. 

“Are you done?” The administrator carefully asked. 

“Oh, yes! Yes, apologies.” Cyrus handed the forms back over. 

  Unfortunately, by the time he returned, the students had fallen out of their scholarly demeanor into something rambunctious, speaking loudly with each other. 

“And my bracelet disappeared, too!” A girl whined.

Cyrus frowned. 

“No way- but that doesn’t make sense. You must have lost them, right?”

Another student chimed up. “No, no, no, she’s right. I ‘lost’ my textbooks, and my family heirloom earrings.”

More and more students commiserated about their ‘missing’ items. Cyrus couldn’t stop himself. “What’s this about?”

The room faltered, surprised that the professor was showing interest in gossip. 

“They’re talking about the Purple Spirit,” a student explained. “They say it haunts the West Wing Library, and anyone who studies there, especially past sunset, finds some of their belongings missing, even if they never took a thing out of their bag or pockets.”

Another clicked their tongue. “Don’t go wasting Professor Albright’s time with stupid rumors!” 

“But there are so many witness accounts." They leaned forward and put on a creepy face. “I’d bet we really are being haunted, wouldn’t you?”

Stupid rumor or not, chills crawled up the collective room’s spine. 

Cyrus cleared his throat loudly. All eyes went to him, and he took a deep, grave breath.

“The homework tonight,” he began. The room forgot all about the Purple Spirit with a collective groan as the professor assigned them their homework.

After the bell rang and Cyrus bid the students a good night, he released a heavy sigh. He purposely made no mention of the Purple Spirit in his remaining day. 

As he tidied up, he noticed his hands were trembling. It was just a schoolyard rumor. Just a rumor. 

‘ And even then, the odds that it’s him are slim to none, Cyrus,’ the professor reminded himself. 

The sun was going to bed on the horizon. Cyrus envied it. The end of the day, the time when he would ask the mail carriers if anything had come for him, had far turned into an insurmountable time of disappointment. 

His feet stopped abruptly, his clothes swaying forward. How long had it been? How long had Therion had to respond? 

Twelve months now . Twelve letters, all with painstakingly employed rhetorical techniques to try and get the thief to open his mouth and share, to at least acknowledge their journey. 

How wonderful it would be to be ignorant. Ignorant enough to believe that Therion was weak, or foolish enough, to die, and that was the reason why he couldn’t be bothered to grab a sheet of paper and run a quill on it for a few moments.  

Cyrus smacked himself when he felt a smile on his face with the thought. A couple of passersby gave him strange looks, and he buried his head in his hands. How detestable had he become? 

He would have chastised himself far more if he hadn’t caught a flash of purple in his peripheral. 

Cyrus darted to follow. His feet were pounding against the pavement as if they were fighting the demonic Lucia and their lives were on the line once more. Even in the odd lighting of sunset, that shone. The purple that’d always been just behind his sight during their travels, like a stray cat. 

Cyrus turned around a sharp corner. He took a deep inhale, going to shout, ‘Therion!’.

Then reality caught up with him, and shame soon after. 

It was pathetic, chasing a ghost around Atlasdam ’s plaza.

“A good rest,” Cyrus muttered. “Yes! A good rest, and tomorrow’s quest for knowledge will renew me!”

Tomorrow’s quest for knowledge did not renew the Professor. 

“No…This is-!” Cyrus stood in the carnage of his classroom, a carnage he’d created, which ultimately yielded nothing. Every desk was emptied, papers littered the floor, and chairs were all askew.  His desk had escaped no scrutiny- books and pens, and quills in total disarray. His students awkwardly gawked behind him. 

“Professor, maybe you left the tests at home?” A student meekly suggested. 

Cyrus shook his head. “No, no, I remember! I graded all of them, and the essays, too! I put them right-” Cyrus settled a hand on the left-hand side of his desk. “Right here. I remember stacking them as if it were just ten minutes ago. I swear…”

He ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head all about as if the tests and countless hours of grading would just fall out. Unfortunately, he had to accept that class was in session, and he was failing them all by wasting their time. 

With a grave sigh, he turned around. “I apologize; the hard effort you all put into those works was something very much worth dissecting and being proud of.” Cyrus couldn’t help glaring at the empty spot where he knew he’d put the tests. “I will be far, far more careful going forward.”

There were murmurs from his students, nice platitudes like ‘don’t worry about it’. However, there was trepidation with furtive mutters of the Purple Spirit. 

Cyrus ran his hands over that empty spot one more time. He scoffed at himself, coming up empty. He turned back around. What had he expected to find? 

“Alright, now every take your-” 

But he had not come up empty. Cyrus spotted something caught in the groove of the wood. Very minuscule, the only reason he caught it was because he thought of the color often. 

“What’s that, Professor?” 

Cyrus frowned at the purple thread between his fingers. 

Coincidence. He chanted that word in his head like a monk until the desire to ask his students anything and everything about this Purple Spirit rumor faded. 

“Nothing,” he answered.

On the way home, Cyrus didn’t let himself think Therion could be in Atlasdam. After all, if the thief was so close to home and hadn’t said hello yet, what would that truth reveal about their relationship? About Therion’s reciprocity of Cyrus’ feelings?

He didn’t bother checking the post office that night for a return letter.

“Professor? Are you all right?” A student asked him after class. It was the same shy student from the beginning of the semester. 

“Ah, I’m quite alright,” Cyrus assured her. He’d been a bit distracted with his own thoughts all day, a shameful example for his students. “I just didn’t have a chance to eat lunch because the headmaster wanted to show me something down at the East Library, and-” 

“-and my bracelets are missing too!” A student heading out of the classroom exclaimed. 

“- no way! My earrings from my dad were stolen, too. I never would have misplaced them,” his friend responded. l

“Is it the Purple Spirit that you’re worried about?” She asked, noticing his expression. “It seems they’ve got everyone worked up.”

He looked away. “No. Not at all. However, thank you for your concern. Let this be a lesson in the importance of a good meal!” 

Cyrus sent her on her way, and he could tell that she knew his tone was forced. He sighed, sinking into his chair, eyes falling limply to the blank paper that he had carefully stacked on the desk. He hated that he wished to write about his troubles to a certain purple spirit-

No. When had he imagined Therion’s face on a thief that roamed the West Wing Library and stole from students? “Not a spirit,” Cyrus heard himself spit. “Just a man. Not a spirit at all.” 

Later in the night, after Cyrus had lost himself in some tombs, he was collecting his things for the day to head home. Yet his staff was nowhere to be found, and an incredulous expression made its way to the professor’s face. 

“He wouldn’t have.” 

Coincidence. 

On his way home, Cyrus shook off the hope once more. ‘ This is unseemly of a scholar. Of a supposed role model.’

Feeling far more tired than he should’ve, Cyrus stopped at his door. He fumbled for his keys. 

“Strange. I ought to check the other pocket.” 

Nervousness burrowed in his chest. His fingers crawled over every inch of fabric. His coat was turned inside out, and even his socks were scrutinized. 

W here the hell were his house keys ? 

Cyrus inspected his empty hands. Well, almost empty-handed, save for one little purple thread that had somehow gotten in his pockets. 

A sharp scoff came from the Professor. “Does he think I can’t catch a thief?” 

Upon entering the classroom that day, every single one of Cyrus Albright’s students could sense something was different. A few key things were out of place. The more observant students likely noticed that the professor’s clothes were the same as yeste rday. The semi-observant students likely caught his tight posture and the lack of any lesson plans on the board. And the microorganisms who shouldn’t have been capable of intelligent thought trembled with terror seeing the professor’s terrifying expression. 

“Today, students, we’re going to have a field lesson!” He announced chipperly with a lupine smile. “You’re all going to help me  set a trap.”  

A brave, very stupid, student raised his hand. “F-For what, professor?” 

“A rat, of course.”

T he West Wing Library looked the same as usual. Even the most careful of thieves wouldn’t have been able to spot the runes around the door, drawn by the bright students of Professor Albright, that would lock behind whoever entered.  Further cloaked by the dark was one figure, sitting hunched over at one of the tables, waiting with steepled fingers. 

In the dead hours of the night, the door clicked open. So quiet, no one could possibly react to it. Then a voice muttered a flame spell, and the dark was shooed away as the sconces lining the library flared. 

“Hello, Therion.” 

The thief only startled for a moment before turning on his heel and bolting for the exit. 

Cyrus lazily slid out of his chair. When he rounded the corner, Therion was struggling with the door. When he saw Cyrus heading for him, he cursed and raced for a window. 

“Those have runes, too,” Cyrus said, saving them both some time. “Even you can’t get them open. It’s funny, actually.” Cyrus stamped his fist in his palm. “We had a great lesson today writing those runes.” 

“Cyrus…” Therion had the audacity to chuckle. “Let’s talk about-” 

Cyrus stalked closer, backing Therion into a wall. “So, even though their tests and essays went missing-” 

“-that was a mistake-”

“I suppose your involvement was ultimately helpful? Right? And how could I forget!” He tossed his hands. “I received a great lesson in gratitude after my house keys went missing! Ah! And my staff as well…Dear! Then how could we forget countless valuable belongings around the school? So, so many students losing sleep because they lost precious momentos.”

Cyrus had always been a good bit taller than Therion; however, in that moment, the man seemed to completely tower over him. 

Therion had a sour grimace. “I…didn’t mean for this to happen…” 

Even if Therion hadn’t been glancing all around for a way to escape, Cyrus still wouldn’t have believed him. 

His head fell with bitter thoughts before he said, “It’s for old times’ sake that I won’t report you as long as you return all the stolen items and leave Atlasdam immediately.” Cyrus stepped around Therion, placing his hand on the door handle. 

“ What ?” Therion demanded, more emotion in his tone than Cyrus would have expected. 

“I mean what I said. After you fetch your spoils and return them, don’t come back to Atlasdam.” 

Therion was silent. 

Cyrus’ hand was shaking as he processed his own words. But before he untangled the runes and ended their sordid affair, there was one thing he had to know. 

He took a deep breath and asked, “Just tell me why you never responded.” 

For a moment, it seemed Therion hadn’t heard him. 

Then, there was an audible gulp. “To the letters?” 

Cyrus scoffed. “So you did receive them.” 

“It was hard not to when there were eleven of them.” 

“Twelve,” Cyrus corrected. 

“Huh?” 

“I sent another one recently.” 

Therion sighed. Then there was the sound of hands ruffling through hair, and a deep groan. “Of course you did.” 

Something vile squirmed in the professor’s stomach. He spat, “I’m obtuse when it comes to social matters, so I’d prefer if you just told me if you find my company so deplorable, and-” 

A hand latched onto Cyrus’ shoulder, spinning him around. He let out a little yelp as he saw Therion’s emblazoned expression. 

“The reason I couldn’t respond was none of that! I just-” Therion stopped with a choked sound. He turned his face away, letting shadows cover most of it. “I mean…C’mon. You’re a professor. You should be able to figure it out.”

Cyrus squinted his eyes. Re-combing through information. ‘ Is this simply a ruse to cover his tracks?’ . “I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me.” 

Therion rubbed his hands over his face. “You must be messing around. Don’t make me admit it.” 

“I’m not joking, I don’t understand,” he said numbly. A little hope was twittering in his chest, and he was too confused whether he should indulge it or wave it away. All his attention was Therion’s. 

“I didn’t just steal all those things you said. I stole some books, too.”

“Books?” Cyrus frowned. “They can’t have been valuable, then. Someone would have noticed. And to my memory, you never had a penchant for reading. So…” he trailed off. It bothered him that he hadn’t figured it out yet, and it bothered him more that he was hoping so fervently on this thief again. 

Therion mumbled something. 

“What was that?” 

Therion’s ears shone bright red. “I…it’s stupid, alright? And you have to promise to never tell anyone else, especially not the others.” 

Cyrus motioned zipping his mouth closed. 

“Alright…I wanted to respond to your letters on my own. Without anyone’s help.” 

Cyrus felt his lips turning upwards despite himself. “But why would you need help responding to a letter? 

“ ‘Cause I can’t read or write,” Therion snapped. 

Such an idea, such blasphemy, couldn’t penetrate the professor’s mind. It was as if another planet had crashed into Earth, and then aliens from that planet began tilling the fields while singing opera. His mouth made a perfect ‘O’. 

“You… .can’t? I don’t- How is that possible?” 

Therion clenched his fists. “I never learned.”

“Just…” Cyrus waved his hands around. “.... never?”

“Never,” he curtly responded. 

“So my letters….”

“I have them. I tried making sense of them but…” Therion shook his head. 

“But why Atlasdam? You can find resources for such a skill anywhere!” 

Therion slumped his shoulders. He leaned against one of the library shelves. “Atlasdam was the place with a library containing books and classes elementary enough for me to learn from.”

The open air hit Cyrus’ teeth as he couldn’t help a massive smile. “How long have you been learning?” 

Therion looked away. “Around a year,” he said as if he were confessing to some great crime. 

‘ From my very first letter…He was trying.’ Cyrus clapped a hand around the thief's shoulder. “How far along are you? What can you read? What have you read?” 

“I can read most basic words now, just not written in cursive…and I just can’t quite grasp the- Hold on! Why am I telling you?!” Therion swiped Cyrus’ hand off his shoulder. 

“...why?” Cyrus echoed under his breath. Then he started cackling. “You’re not in any position to be saying such a thing!” 

“You’re acting crazy; what do you mean?” Therion was backing away, inch by 

inch.

Cyrus clapped his hands together. “Come now, as touching as your motivations are, you don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe that stealing from my students is necessary for your education, do you?”

Therion scrunched his face like someone had just pulled a thread taut. “I mean…I may have gotten a bit carried away, having a bit too much fun-” 

“And do you know where I had to sleep last night?” 

Therion’s shoulders rose, flinching. “It was just a joke!”

“Or how long I spent searching for that damn staff?”

“Haha, it really makes you…grateful for…” Therion trailed off. Cyrus was right above him, wearing a terrifyingly pleasant expression. 

Therion gulped. “So. What did you want, again?” 

“Everything back.”

Therion tiptoed away. “Naturally. Well, if that’s all-”

“ And-” an iron claw wrapped around Therion’s shoulder. “I think a TA might be nice.”

Therion curled his nose in disgust, glancing behind at Cyrus. The professor only grinned wider. 

“I’ll count your debt repaid once you can grade essays for yourself.” 

“That’ll take forever!” Therion scrambled for the windows. “Screw Yvon, you’re the real villain. Do you know how long it’ll take me to get there?” 

Cyrus rested a hand on the windowsill next to Therion. He felt his cheeks rise. “Oh, not too long, if I’m as good a teacher as you are a thief.”

“I can hardly hold a pencil.”

“Oh dear, then it might be a while ,” Cyrus mused. 

And then the thief's ears burned an apple red. He kicked the ground and huffed and puffed while Cyrus hummed happily and unlocked the doors.

“I can’t wait to read the responses you write up.”