Seirion spent the whole day avoiding returning to Erian's room. He wandered through the ruined hallways of the temple, passing fractured columns and corridors that no longer led anywhere.
It wasn't that he had urgent tasks to tend to, the truth was simpler and at the same time more painful: he didn't want to face his own fears.
He remembered the moment Erian had bitten into the fruit that morning. The echo of the pain it had ripped from him, as though each bite tore away a piece of himself.
Erian had noticed. Seirion was certain of it. He had heard his worried voice, that trembling question: "Are you all right?"
And he had fled.
Seirion was ashamed of that reaction. A god did not flee. A god did not break before a human's fragility. But he had. And not because he despised Erian, but because Erian was consuming him.
