They stood apart from one another. One was all colours, one was none; other than that they were as reflections, each equally lean, each long of wing. Each stood on opposite sides of a circle on the bare earth, each carefully watching the other, with a tiny snippet of attention kept on the flag hung overhead.

And then the flag dropped.

They sprang into motion, darting about the ring with quick leaps and beats of their wings, hopping from one place to another. From time to time, each made a quick gesture, and sent a ball of light hurtling across the ring, arcing toward the other; each watched for the incoming projectiles and threw out a warding hand at the last moment, deflecting it, sometimes right back toward the thrower.

On and on they circled, exchanging fire, breaths and hearts quickening, magic crackling faster and faster across the ring. Closer and closer the shots came to connecting, though none did, not yet.

Mulin dropped and rolled under one, throwing out his hand near the ground and sending his return shot skating just over the grass. At the last moment it arced upward, hooking around toward his opponent; close, but not quite, as the black pirouetted over it and sent two smaller globes streaking back. Mulin spun and tucked his wings in, letting them pass to either side and driving a wedge of power between them, smashing through any web they might have woven and continuing on to attack.

Closer and closer their exchanges grew – not only in the sense of how near their attacks came to connecting, but also in that they moved in from the edges of the ring, giving each other less time to react. Still they missed, puffs of magic tossing up the soil and tearing loose a few blades of grass here or there.

Another pair came his way, and this time they were tumbling erratically round each other; Mulin scooped his wings, shoving himself back hard, and they sizzled just past his wingtips.

For very little extra power those multiple attacks really did take up a lot more space, making it that much harder to dodge entirely.

As he carried on his motion, he tucked and rolled, and when he threw out his hand, the globe that streaked forth sundered, splitting into shards that whirled through the air. The black stopped a moment, swatting them out of the air, but there were enough of them that he was distracted; the next ball of force struck him on the chest, and he tumbled, sprawling over the grass with a thud.

For a few moments, there was silence, but for their laboured breathing.

Then, a laugh. “Well done, you two. Well done indeed. No less than five times I thought one of you would have had the other square.”

Mulin paused a moment to stretch, and then strode forward, offering an arm to the fallen black; the other youth seized his hand, grind, and half-pulled, half-pushed himself upright. “Good round, Srin,” Mulin said, grinning.

“That it was,” the Nightkin chuckled. “Two each now, yes?”

“I think so.” He curled an arm about Srin’s shoulders, and the two turned to the referee.

“You’re both getting quite quick,” the older Flamekin praised. “Quick and nimble; neither of you came close to outright tripping this time, I notice. Perhaps next time we should try on rougher ground.”

“Or we could try wrestling,” Sril suggested, teeth flashing in a grin.

Mulin shivered. No other breed of Vhark had the colour-shifting eyes that he and his twin did; it made Sril’s mood rather harder to read than Kralin’s would have been. Was he flirting, or was he just honestly suggesting an alternate activity? Certainly these little sparring sessions had been moving toward a closer engagement with each one. But just as certainly, they liked each other, got along, enjoyed what contact they already did share.

“I’ll leave that decision to those over me,” their instructor declared. “Magic is my speciality, and with it I will stay. Not that the two of you need much instruction on that, anymore – not the sort that makes for safe sparring, at any rate. I may have to take you to the target range instead, next time, and see how you measure up against one another there.”

That didn’t sound quite so appealing. Ah, well; not everything in the world would be fun.

“But that will be a decision for net week,” the teacher said. “For now, you’ve had a good day; I’m quite proud of you both. You’ve certainly earned your rest-day tomorrow, and you might as well start it as of now.”

“Thank you, Instructor,” Mulin blurted. Normally their lessons ran to the sun’s last light, whether or not they could see it; now it was still a good hour or more until the sun touched the horizon.

“So what shall we do next?” Srin wondered, making no move to escape from the circle of Mulin’s arm.

Taking that as a good sign, Mulin gestured with his free hand toward a spit of rock. “At the very least, we can rest and cool down a little, yes? More, we can decide on as it comes.”

“True, true.” They walked in step, and settled down together with only a minor stumble.

It was a nice rock; it let them look west toward the setting sun and it let them lean back a little as they did.

“Somewhere out there,” Srin sighed, “there is a wonderfully lucky person.”

Mulin blinked. There was a bitterness in those words that he hadn’t previously heard in the weeks he’d known the Nightkin “How do you mean?”

“I mean,” the black male muttered, “that someone’s been born to be with you. And that someone must be one of the most fortunate people in the world.”

Again, Mulin blinked. This wasn’t like Srin in the least. “Well, you’re here with me, aren’t you? And that person, whoever they might be, is not.”

Another sigh. “I suppose you’re right. But I can dream…”

“Srin, I do enjoy your company,” Mulin pointed out, squeezing around his shoulders in the hopes that that point, at least, would get through. “A great deal, even. There’s plenty we could do with our lives; we’re both young, yet.”

“Well… perhaps…”

“What is it you want to do?”

Srin glanced to one side, where another class was still going through their forms. “Part of me wants to just sit here a while with you. Part wants to go somewhere comfortable, maybe with some wine.” A pause; then, in a softer voice, “And part of me wants to find out just what it’s like to love another male. In what specific manner, I don’t know. I don’t even know what’s possible, truly.”

Well, at least they had several things in common with that remark. “Believe me, I agree with you. On every single point.” He turned his head, nudging his snout against the base of the Nightkin’s jaw. “Why are you so hesitant about it, though? You weren’t so shy about it a few minutes ago…”

“Thinking too hard, perhaps,” admitted Srin. “About the future. About what role might be waiting for you in it.”

A laugh. “Even if we assume all those old tales are literally true, Srin… so what? So I’m expected to marry another Magekin and found a family. Don’t those old emperors and kings usually have a few consorts? They can’t always both be available at the same time.” Greatly daring, he slipped one wing off his own shoulder and cupped it around the other male’s back. Well, maybe not so daring, given what Srin had just confessed to wanting, but it still felt like a rather significant step.

Srin laughed as well, and leaned in against his side. “I suppose you have a fair point there, friend. A very fair point indeed. But I don’t want to rush it, either.”

I do, Mulin carefully did not say. The past few weeks had been full of tense energy, and the closer he’d grown to Srin, the more he’d needed to mind his own actions.

He pondered for a few seconds, and fancied that the sun sank a little bit lower while he watched.

“Have you ever wanted to see more of the world?” Mulin asked.

“Hm?” Srin tilted his head, peering back at the colourful male. “Well, I suppose it’d be a nice enough thing, if I had the means. What did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Mulin shrugged. “Let’s assume this prophecy business hasn’t just entirely gone wrong. If there is something I need to go out in the world and put right… well, I’d hope I could have some company while I do.”

“Aside from your twin?” Srin prompted, with a bit of a wry quirk to his muzzle.

“Aside from my twin, yes,” sighed Mulin. “There are some things we can’t do for each other, after all.” Unfortunately.

“Oh. Uh, quite.” The Nightkin’s tail curled into a tight spiral. “I’d, ah, forgotten about that. I’m sorry… wait.” He looked at Mulin again. “Are you talking about inviting me along on such a quest? With you?”

“I should hope it’s with me, and not someone taking my place, yes,” Mulin chuckled. Though it’d be an appealing thought if he could watch Kralin and Srin together… Mind your lust, he chastised himself. “You’re nimble, you’re quick with fist and spell, and shadow magic could be a very useful thing to have along. You and I get along; I think you’d manage well with my brother as well…” He trailed into silence when Srin fidgeted.

If he was reading matters right…

This just might be the answer to their difficulty.

The sun was touching the horizon now. He gave Srin’s shoulder a squeeze. “But closer to home than that – could I interest you in some brook trout, maybe? I haven’t had fish in a while, and we could have it someplace a bit less… exposed, than out here by the rings.”

Srin trembled and drew a deep breath. “Mulin, if I were to go someplace private with you, right now, I couldn’t guarantee keeping my hands to myself.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” Mulin whispered over his jaw, and curled his wing a bit tighter.

“Four Winds,” Srin moaned, shivering hard. “I’m sure it’s nothing I’d object to, but what do you want with me, Mulin?”

Mulin forced himself to answer with care. “First and foremost, I want a friend, Srin. You’ve been social with me without constantly reminding me of what’s expected of me. When it has come up, it’s always been in a good manner. But if I can have it without losing that friendship… I want you, yes.” Badly, he hardly needed to add. “I want to find out just how many ways I can please you, and be pleased in turn. In my wildest dreams, I’d want to be on one side of you with my brother on the other, however we can make it fit…”

Srin didn’t just whimper, he whined, shivering and arching forward. One would have to be rather obtuse not to see how eagerly he craved just that.

“Is anyone else at your home?” Mulin breathed. “Perhaps it’d be a good idea to find some time alone before food, rather than after…”

“N-no,” the black gasped, and swallowed. “I live alone,” said he, after a moment’s pause. “I think my parents are of the mind that I’m of a good age to seek out company…”

“You certainly seem that way to me,” said Mulin, laughing and starting to rise. “Come, then. Let’s – eh?” Someone had called his name.

It was a Stormkin female, in courier’s garb, half-running, half-gliding across the grass.

Which probably meant bad news.

“Oh, curse it,” Mulin whined. Things had been going so very, very well…

“Life happens,” Srin sighed. “If you happen to find yourself available, find me in the third Moon Gallery, north sector, room five. If not…” He flashed a crooked grin, and clapped Mulin on the shoulder. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

“Try to track down my brother,” Mulin suggested, “but don’t spend too much effort on it; I’ll be unsurprised if he’s also part of this summons.” One more squeeze he gave with his wing, then drew it back. “Be well, Srin. I’ll be thinking of you as well…” A grin of his own. “Imagining you in the moment. I’m sure that hide makes for excellent contrast.”

Srin’s grin got a bit broader, and then he slipped off.

Within the hour, Mulin found himself sitting in the Greater Chamber of Assembly. This time, though, he wasn’t seated in the middle of the arc; extra chairs had been added, and he and Kralin had places at one end of the arc. As well as the seven archwizards and their Speaker, the secular Consulate was gathered, the fourteen administrators who saw to the day-to-day running of Druumat, and their Speaker.

It was the latter Speaker who rang the gong and brought the assembly to order.

“Let’s get right to business, good people,” he said, nodding to his wizardly counterpart.

She rose, settling her robes. “We have looked into the crisis of five weeks ago, and monitored the flow of mana since. Combined with our records and with observations from other cities, we have reason to believe that the storm which interrupted our mana flow was a created event.”

“Created event?” one of the Consuls repeated. “How do you create a mana storm that intense, if all our mana fonts haven’t done so?”

“The answer is simple, though not easy to accomplish,” the wizardly Speaker declared. “You design bigger. We think someone, somewhere, is engineering a vast mana font – so large that it elevates the base levels of magic throughout the region, to the point that the normal flow of mana as we use it is nullified. Tarantel and Friliss report lesser mana storms have struck them over the last month or so; our own background levels have been in unusual flux. We think that the first storm was due to a full-power run of this facility; since then, it has been operating at reduced capacity, with occasional surges as it spills over whatever containment it has.”

“Outlook?” another Consul prompted.

The wizards exchanged glances. “Poor,” the Speaker sighed. “If this continues long enough, even shutting down this new font will leave echoes throughout the land – unprecedented mana storm activity. If it remains active, the instability might well be even worse.”

“We think we’ve triangulated a few likely areas where it may have been built,” Gurth of the Flame added. “Only vaguely, but… we also think this font is above ground, and we know it must be very big. A general idea may be all we need; and even if the font can’t be seen directly, someone in the area might have some clues.”

Silence. Kralin lifted a hand; when the Speaker Consul acknowledged him, he said, “Forgive me – I know we’re supposed to be the ones to deal with a catastrophe like this. But what could my brother and I do that someone of more experience couldn’t do better?”

A pause stretched out.

“We think there may be one way to remedy the flow of magic,” Lanis of the Night said, hesitant. “Find the spell-forms driving this mana font. Alter them to run in reverse – and channel the mana back from the reservoir back into the environment. Most Vhark wouldn’t be able to handle that intense a channel – but we think that the pair of you, acting in concert, may well be able to channel a nearly infinite flow.”

The silence after that claim threatened to stretch on forever.

“Just the two of us?” Mulin breathed.

A sigh. “We must assume so,” Sulon of the Storm said. “There has been absolutely no word of another Magekin hatched. It’s… highly irregular, to say the least. The traditional arrangement may be lost to us; we will have to find some alternate way of making it work, as a race. We must assume that the two of you are the prophesied Magekin of this Age.”

“Our finest will go with you, of course,” one of the Consuls said. “We will not expect you to go on such an undertaking alone.”

For a moment, Mulin wondered if his conversation earlier had precipitated this. But that was silly. Never underestimate the power of coincidence, especially when dealing with magic. Not because magic drew coincidence, but because it made one more likely to assume something wasn’t coincidental.

“We’ll deal with the politics when there’s time,” another of the Consuls said. “Pull this off, and I daresay you’ll be in a position to make whatever arrangements you please.”

Except that even if they would swallow the one Mulin most longed for, it wouldn’t exactly provide an heir.

Still. That was, indeed, a problem for the future.

“We’ll need to plan,” Kralin observed.

“Well, yes. It may be overly optimistic to hope that you leave within the week, even; and that a busy week indeed.”

“So there’s not overly much point in making firm plans tonight,” another said. “Best to get some good rest, and start in the morning with a fresh start; we’ve given you plenty to absorb at once.”

“Very true,” the Speaker Consul agreed. “Well, good people, we have a crisis ahead of us. But we’ve faced crises before, and with the Magekin we have always survived. Let us pray that this time is no different. Good folk, good night.” She rose, and tapped the gong with the striker.

The twins’ parents pressed through the crowd leaving the gallery, each one grabbing one of their sons for a tight embrace, then switching to do it again with the other. “We’d so hoped you would have more chance to prepare,” Mother sighed. “But if we’re very lucky indeed, diplomacy alone could see us through this. We’ll pray for you every day, pray that you are not in danger.”

Mulin didn’t know what to say; he just embraced his mother tight.

“Dinner, then?” Father suggested. “You’ve both had late practises…”

Mulin took a breath. “Forgive me, Mother, Father. But… there is a friend I’m hoping might still be available to visit, before the preparations keep our days long and full. For the remaining nights, we’ll be at home after the day’s work, I don’t doubt…”

Father gave him a penetrating look, and he quailed; but the Frostkin just grinned at last. “Enjoy what time with friends you may, son. Just know that there is always a place for you.”

“I know,” Mulin assured him, and looked over to his twin. “Errh. Kralin, he was rather interested in meeting us both, if you’re interested…”

“And miss one of Father’s dinners?” Kralin made a long-suffering sigh, though he was grinning, the tip of his tail darting about. “Well, if you think it’s a worthy friend, I’ll at least try to be friendly.”

Mother looked uneasy, but Father gripped her shoulder and gently towed her away.

Kralin glanced over at him, and fell in beside him. “So, about this friend?”

“I think you’ll like him,” Mulin promised, grinning and letting his tail brush Kralin’s ankle. “A great deal indeed.”