※— PARTING IS ALWAYS A LITTLE THEATRICAL. He could’ve said nothing, slipped off into the dark with nothing more than the faint scuff of his boots against the stone, but Julius never missed an opportunity to leave a lasting line.
He lingered a moment at Ephraim’s side, eyes hooded, voice carrying the same ease as though they were comrades in something less twisted than this charade.
"So this is where our paths split," he mused, scarlet eyes flashing faintly in the low light. "You’ve a soldier’s steadiness about you, Ephraim. It’s almost enough to make me believe you’ll be fine without me."
His smile sharpened just slightly, as though a blade’s edge lay beneath the curve. "Almost."
He dipped his head then, an elegant little bow that could be read as mocking or sincere—he left the choice to Ephraim.
"Don’t die before the curtain falls."
And with that, Julius turned, robes catching on the dim light as he vanished into the other path, swallowed whole by the backstage gloom.
Ephraim has never understood magic. The concepts escape him, there's too much studying, too many strange letters and incantations. The pen is mightier than the sword but he wonders if it would fare as well against the lance.
He remembers the searing heat from Julius's tome and the actor that disappeared. So much unexplained with no answers within reach, much like the man who speaks to him now and guards his secrets. They all have those.
"Perhaps, but that does not mean they won't converge again." A wash of teal meets his scarlet blaze. "I'll manage fine. I've fared just fine my entire life without you, but should we stand beside each other again you'll have my lance." He does not know who he says this to, but his promise of help is not spoken with falsehoods.
Julius departs as he came, a silent whisper into the ether, and with one final phrase that hangs.
"Don’t die before the curtain falls."
And Ephraim can only think that Drama will have to do much better if he wishes any of them dead, least of all himself.
