The formu scroll arrived with the morning correspondence—an elegant cylinder sealed with the Academy's insignia, presumably containing congratutions for Azaril's Honorary Mastery nomination. Or so it appeared.

  As Azaril reached for it, a faint movement caught his eye. Several Logic Beetles that had taken residence in his quarters suddenly scurried toward the scroll, their carapaces fshing warning patterns. The insects, drawn to mathematical errors in the environment, were agitated by something about the sealed document.

  Azaril withdrew his hand. During his years in the Human Empire, he had developed instincts for danger that transcended conscious thought. Something about this seemingly innocent scroll radiated wrongness in a way he couldn't immediately identify.

  The door opened as Theorema padded in, the Calcution Cat moving directly to the scroll on his desk. She sniffed once, then backed away, fur standing on end.

  "I see you sense it too," Azaril murmured.

  Carefully, using a bronze letter opener rather than touching the scroll directly, Azaril exposed a small portion of the inner parchment. A nearly imperceptible shimmer crossed its surface—a formu designed to activate upon contact with living flesh.

  The pattern was masterfully disguised within legitimate mathematical notation, but Azaril's unique mental abilities allowed him to perceive the distortion. Someone had embedded a harmful formu sequence within an otherwise perfect congratutory message.

  A soft knock at the door preceded Silvius's entrance. He stopped abruptly, silver eyes narrowing at the partially unrolled scroll.

  "Don't touch it," Azaril said unnecessarily, as Silvius was already maintaining careful distance.

  "A particurly elegant construction," Silvius observed, circling the desk to examine the scroll from different angles. "The poison formu is woven through the legitimate congratutory text—activation would release both the standard illumination effect and a more insidious influence."

  Azaril frowned. "How can you tell the specific mechanism from across the room?"

  Something flickered in Silvius's expression—that momentary hesitation that appeared whenever his unusual knowledge became too apparent. "The shimmer pattern is... distinctive to those familiar with harmful formu applications."

  Before Azaril could press further, Silvius continued, "We should neutralize it immediately. The formu appears designed to affect mental processes rather than cause physical harm—likely intended to make you increasingly susceptible to suggestion during tomorrow's Council meeting."

  The specificity of Silvius's assessment triggered Azaril's suspicion, but the immediate threat demanded priority.

  "How would you recommend neutralizing it?" Azaril asked, watching Silvius carefully.

  "Mathematical counter-sequence," Silvius replied. "Introduce a deliberate error to disrupt the formu's internal harmony without triggering activation."

  Together, they worked to construct a neutralizing formu. Silvius sketched symbols with surprising confidence, demonstrating detailed understanding of counter-formu techniques that seemed beyond ordinary knowledge. When Azaril raised an eyebrow at a particurly esoteric symbol, Silvius merely shrugged.

  "One picks up unusual knowledge during extensive travels."

  As they completed the neutralization, the door burst open. Guards rushed in, led by Guard Captain Darius.

  "Imperial Calcutor! There's been an alert—" He stopped, seeing the scroll. "That document—you haven't touched it?"

  "We've been exercising appropriate caution," Azaril replied. "You were saying about an alert?"

  "Formu manipution detected in the eastern pace wing," Darius expined, gesturing for specialists to examine the scroll. "Specifically targeting your quarters. How did you know?"

  Azaril gnced at the Logic Beetles still hovering near the scroll. "I have vigint assistants."

  The investigation that followed revealed disturbing implications. The scroll bore minute traces of Archmage Septimus's formu signature—not necessarily indicating his direct involvement, but suggesting access to his formu patterns by the actual perpetrator.

  As evening fell, Azaril sat in his study while pace security conducted a thorough examination of his quarters. Silvius remained unusually quiet, occasionally pacing near the window.

  "You recognized the formu immediately," Azaril finally said. "Not merely as harmful, but specifically what it would do."

  Silvius stopped pacing. "Some patterns are recognizable to those who have seen them before."

  "And when exactly did you encounter mind-influencing formus disguised in congratutory scrolls?" Azaril pressed.

  The tense moment was interrupted as a guard entered to report their quarters had been secured. As the man left, Silvius moved to close the door behind him, then turned to Azaril with unusual intensity.

  "We should discuss this ter. Now isn't—"

  A sharp crack from the adjoining chamber cut him off. Instantly, Silvius moved with inhuman speed, reaching Azaril just as a shadow detached itself from the darkened doorway.

  The assassin lunged forward, a bde gleaming with formu-enhanced poison. Moving with startling precision, Silvius pushed Azaril aside, but not quickly enough to prevent the bde from slicing across Azaril's shoulder. The fabric tore, blood immediately soaking through the fine imperial cloth.

  Azaril staggered back, momentarily disoriented as the poison began to take effect. Despite this, he managed a focused strike to the assassin's throat using combat techniques from his demon heritage, silencing any arm the attacker might have raised. A second blow, weaker but still effective, rendered the man unconscious.

  "Secure him," Azaril ordered the guards who rushed in at the commotion, his voice strained.

  As the guards dragged the assassin away, Azaril's knees buckled. Silvius caught him with surprising strength, guiding him to a nearby chair.

  "The bde was poisoned," Azaril said, his vision beginning to blur.

  "Don't speak," Silvius commanded, his voice taking on an unusual resonance. "The paralytic works faster with exertion."

  With surprising gentleness, Silvius tore away the fabric to examine the wound. His fingers moved with practiced precision, probing the edges of the cut in a way that should have been painful but somehow wasn't.

  "I need to draw out the poison," Silvius said, his face unusually close to Azaril's as he worked. "This will feel... unusual."

  Pcing his palm directly over the wound, Silvius began whispering words in no nguage Azaril recognized. A warmth spread from Silvius's hand—not the burning pain Azaril expected from wound treatment, but something almost pleasant, like sunlight on skin after a cold morning.

  Through his increasingly clouded vision, Azaril thought he saw a golden glow emanating from between Silvius's fingers. The poison's numbing effect had reached his throat, making speech impossible, but his mind remained alert enough to register the strangeness of what was happening.

  Guard Captain Darius returned as Silvius completed his ministrations. Azaril, now conscious but weak, was resting on a couch while Silvius cleaned the wound with a cloth that smelled of unfamiliar herbs.

  "A remarkably coordinated attempt," Darius noted, looking at the bloodied cloth. "The formu scroll as distraction, then physical assassination if that failed."

  "Remarkably indeed," Azaril agreed, his voice hoarse but functional. "Has the prisoner spoken?"

  "Not yet. But his equipment bears markers of the Formu Orthodoxy's extremist faction. Not officially sanctioned, but... connections exist."

  Azaril nodded weakly. "Double the night watch. I doubt they'll try again so soon, but caution is warranted."

  After Darius departed, Silvius continued tending the wound with unusual attentiveness. His hands worked with gentle precision, applying a salve that smelled of cinnamon and something unidentifiable. Throughout the treatment, he maintained a closeness that felt both professional and somehow more intimate than their usual interactions.

  "The poison has been neutralized," Silvius said, his voice soft as he wrapped a clean bandage around Azaril's shoulder. "You should recover quickly now."

  "How did you..." Azaril began, then paused as Silvius's fingers brushed against his skin while securing the bandage. The touch sent an unexpected warmth through him that had nothing to do with healing.

  "I have some experience with poisons," Silvius replied, his silver eyes meeting Azaril's with unusual intensity. "More than I care to remember."

  For a moment, they remained in that position—Silvius leaning close, his hands still resting lightly on the finished bandage, Azaril looking up at him. Something unspoken passed between them, a current of awareness neither seemed willing to acknowledge directly.

  Silvius broke the moment first, straightening up and turning away to collect the bloodied cloths. "You should rest. The antidote will work better with sleep."

  "Your method was... unusual," Azaril observed, not ready to let the subject drop entirely.

  "Effective, though," Silvius responded with practiced casualness. "Some remedies aren't found in imperial medical texts."

  As he moved about cleaning up the evidence of his treatment, Silvius maintained the composed demeanor that was his usual facade. Yet Azaril had felt something different in those moments of physical proximity—a protective tenderness that transcended mere friendship.

  Silvius acknowledged this with a slight smile. "We make an effective team. Perhaps our attackers will reconsider future attempts after tonight's failure."

  Later, as Azaril rested in his chamber, he reflected on what had transpired. The Royal Physician had come and gone, expressing surprise at how completely the poison had been neutralized before his arrival. Silvius had described the treatment as "an old remedy from eastern provinces," a expnation the physician accepted without question despite its vagueness.

  What lingered in Azaril's mind, however, was not just the effectiveness of the treatment but the manner of its delivery. Silvius had tended to him with a gentle intensity unlike anything in their previous interactions. His hands had moved with impossible precision, and that strange warming sensation had been unlike any medical treatment Azaril had experienced across multiple realms.

  Most striking had been the emotional current that had passed between them during those moments—an unspoken connection neither had directly acknowledged, yet both had clearly felt. The physical proximity had created a tension that transcended their normal companionable retionship, revealing depths to their bond that remained unexplored.