Céline (@SkeankySnack) | Tingara Tomae (@c3p-0h)

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^{Fade-To-Black Counter - 0}

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Ranni moved to start towards the large man, aiming to stop him from getting involved with Dyna's business; yet soon found her progress halted by a sudden grip of her hand. Enough to freeze Ranni in place as she turned to cast a confused look back towards the source. Celine. The woman was holding onto her hand, fixing her with a look that seemed to be pleading with her not to go. A vulnerable look, almost, that struck a certain part of Ranni's heart. One she herself knew she'd worn before, and one she'd seen many of the younger orphans wearing as well. In that moment, the Priestess knew she had to let Tia and Dyna fend for themselves. She couldn't very well abandon somebody in need, else what kind of Priestess would she be? Ranni looked back towards Celine and listened closely to her words as she pleaded for them to step outside. The Priestess gave a small nod towards Celine then gestured for the woman to lead the way towards the door. When Celine started off, Ranni followed along immediately. Wondering just what it was that made Celine's presence a danger to Tia.

As they turned to leave however, Ranni turned to watch as Dyna moved past. Escorting the same blonde man that they'd seen earlier that day out of the Temple, and earning a look of confusion from the Priestess. Yet she knew better, she knew that look on Dyna's features. If she was arresting that man, without even a hint of emotion on her features, Ranni knew that meant she was acting out of whatever she felt was best for the safety of the temple. For the safety of herself and Tia. She gripped Celine's hand tightly in her own, stopping Celine so that Dyna could escort her prisoner from the temple.

"Wait, let the Champion go first." Ranni said softly, ensuring to put a bit of a reassuring edge into her voice to portray a sense of calm towards the woman.

She then turned to cast a look towards Tia, wanting to ensure that the woman didn't need anything from her before she left with Celine. She happened to look back just in time, catching Tia's gaze just as the other Priestess was seeking out her own. She saw Tia's weak smile, and understood the intent behind it... no matter how unconvincing the smile itself happened to be. She had questions, worries, and she wanted to know just what had happened with that man Dyna had arrested. Yet she also knew from the look that Tia was giving her that now was not the time for that. So, Ranni offered her own little smile and made an attempt to project a feeling of calm towards Tia. Hoping to reassure her fellow Priestess.

Then Ranni turned herself back towards Celine and offered the other woman a polite smile and a gesture towards the door. "I apologize for the holdup, shall we?" She asked softly, giving a gentle bow of her head as Ranni started to head towards the front doors of the temple.

Only to pause once more as the hulking behemoth of a man caught up to the two women, and before Ranni could even speak up; her companion seemed to hand the issue by telling him to stay with Tia.

Then the minor delay was out of the way, and Ranni was free to lead Celine out of the front doors. A short walk later, the two remained close to the temple but stood near an exterior brazier. This one serving less religious significance than the one inside, and instead served to help those outside the temple stay warm. Holding her hands out towards said flame to warm them, the Priestess cast her gaze up to give Celine a long look. "Better? Can you tell me why you felt your presence was a danger?" Ranni asked softly, her eyes staying locked with Celine's.

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Zephyros Hale (@The Muse) || Gadez Paladice (@Dezuel)

By Aelios does he ever shut up.

Ever since the man had been thrown into his cell, he had done nothing but poke and prod. Talk and jab. Tease. The man spoke and spoke as if he had all the secrets of the world in the palm of his hand. As if by one simple interaction he'd understood her perfectly. Were Dyna anything lesser than her calling, the Champion might've even caved and fired off any number of biting remarks that floated around in her mind. Yet instead, the woman remained silent and stoic. While her attention remained firmly on the man, it was clear that nothing aside from unfeeling professionalism would make its way across her features. Still, a small voice in the back of Dyna's mind couldn't wait until the guards returned to keep a watch on the prisoner. Albeit, Gadez did earn a slight hint of reaction out of the Champion when he mentioned the idea of bringing the Clergy Ranni's head. The hand that had been resting easily upon the hilt of her sword suddenly gripped it for a moment, squeezing as if to distract herself from something. A flash of anger, burning hot, flashed through her gaze. Were it that looks could kill, then the man would've been reduced to ashes on the spot. Yet, Dyna managed to reign herself back under control with the calming techniques the Order had taught her. Silent prayers to Aelios, and a mantra chanted in her mind brought her anger back firmly under her grasp. Even as Gadez continued prattle on, something about being a gardener and how she would look cute with a smile, Dyna returned herself slowly to that neutral professionalism. Hoping her outburst of anger hadn't been noticed...

Footsteps from down the hall drew Dyna's attention, and she noticed a guard finally making his way down the hall to relieve her. As he approached, she acknowledged the man with a simple nod... before he immediately started in with a round of his own questions and... implying she was once more there for the view of her prisoner. That implication earned the man a very unamused look from the Champion. Her response to his questions, however, were interrupted by the arrival of an older, brunette woman who introduced herself as the enchanter before getting to work on the anti-magic field. Dyna felt a slight shutter run over her body, as the comforting warmth that she'd long come to associate with her magical ability, seemed to flee in the face of the the woman's runes. Yet, still she remained outwardly unbothered by the feeling, having nothing but full faith in her training and physical ability should the need arise. Her attention turned back on the troublesome guard after a few moments, as Dyna noticed that he seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

"Threats against King Auric, and an attempt to implicate a Priestess of Aelios in his plot." She said simply, letting the weight of his accused crimes do all the talking. Letting it explain why his previous jests landed firmly on an unamused crowd. "This one likes to talk, don't let him get to you. I'll find the Prince, he should be informed of this development." Dyna said, leaving no room for questioning as she started to step past the guard and pausing at the door. "May Aelios' radiance give you strength." She said towards the man, assuming that since he seemed to recognize her for her order, he must've been Aurelian. Without waiting to hear his reply, the Champion made her way out of the jail. Searching first for a guard to hopefully point her in the direction of the Prince so she could pass along her warning...

Then found herself staring at a group of four guards running towards the West. Guards didn't typically run unless the situation demanded it, and that alone drew the alarm from the Champion. Stepping into their path, Dyna called out to the guards. "Whats the rush for, what happened?" She asked, getting an answer from the ranking member of the squad as he paused long enough to answer her while his squad ran ahead.

"A murder, Champion, I'm not clear on the details beyond a blightborn might've been involved and we're tasked to assist. If you're half the Champion that stories tell of your order, we could use your help ma'am." He said, before turning and running to catch up with his squad.

"Shit." Dyna swore, turning to run after the man to lend her aid. The Prince could wait, if there was a murderous beast on the loose, that needed to be handled before it could hurt anybody else.

Before it could hurt Ranni.

It was with amusement that he watched how Dyna's eyes displayed clear disdain for his words. He had seen eyes like this before back at the monastery whenever he openly mocked the fellow monks for their faith in Aelios. It felt like a lifetime ago since he had first stepped inside those stone walls, the jail he was now finding himself reminded him abit about it. It even had it's resident faithful follower of Aelios.

'Guard your heart better girl, lest your true enemy shalt rip it from you, and none other be to blame for it than you for displaying it so clearly, knowing fully well you tread a pebbled path… I suppose I've ought to know.' He closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them as someone else entered the vicinity.

A guardsman by the looks of it. It had been awhile since he had the pleasure of conversing with one, seemed like things were going quite well indeed.

"Hnn...hnn… Cold? Not as cold as some other people in this darkened world of ours. Yet even the coldest of things can melt when subjected to the right kind of tincture. I also have no interest to impress that girl, it's more about leaving footprints where the lynx has strayed. For sought after it is, for the secret held within it's paw. To turn stone to gold." The blonde watched as the enchanter entered the vicinity aswell, casting some magical runes. Soon enough he felt the difference all around and even within him. An anti-magic field. Gadez allowed his finger to trace the outline of his tattoo before reaching for his shirt and starting to slowly put it back on.

"Ahh yes, Aelios granting such radiant strength! Especially to your sister which has to put up with you. In addition to her... condition." Gadez gave a mocking smug smile to Dyna. Then he waited until Dyna had left before addressing the newly casted warding spell.

"Oh? My my… it's been awhile since I felt that little tingle. Would had been a shame if someone lost their temper and threw a spell in here indeed. You are wise to ward it from such things. But there are far more dangerous things in our world than a spell or two. Though I must say I find it curious to ponder just how that ward interacts with magic that is abit more… primal. But I am certain we'll find out once a blightborn steps within this place. A pity you cannot put up a ward against folly, for that champion seems to carry it like a torch, to be blinded by the shimmer light is as dangerous as being out in the darkest of night." The blonde chuckled softly and brushed off his pants as he rose to his feet, walking over to one of the stone walls of the cell, leaning against it.

"I do not deal in threats however, but promises. A threat can be made by anyone and people typically tend to not follow through on such, a promise however is something people are more inclined to keep. Regardless of where the path may lead. Hahah...hah... Ahh... but the girl is correct on the other thing, I do like to converse. I would however like to add that it isn't just me whom you should be wary of, for the world which we live in is quite overflowing with honest looking smiling men, eager to place a dagger in your back when it is most suitable. Learn peoples true nature and you will be a king amongst pawns. Unfortunately for the girl which just left, she is one whose only able to step forwards, she has unwittingly gifted me three boons aswell. Said boons however, I am afraid I cannot share with you." Gadez placed a finger before his lips and smiled with his eyes closed.

'A book deemed to dangerous, for the grim truth kept within is usually hidden and locked away. For what seeker of truth could ever resist the temptation to look for it? Now when someone has left crumbles upon your doorstep, leading you towards the hidden glade where the lynx has strayed. Go fetch the Prince, little champion of the goddess, lead him right to me. Let us hope that he found his precious other half and the wolf did not prevail. Oh said wolf will no doubt come looking. So many guests and no cake to offer. Oh well, cake just make you fat anyhow.' The gardeners eyes wandered over towards Zeph.

"There is no man more wicked, than a man who may tell between the truth and lies of this world, and choosing to either do nothing at all, or help spread the lies. King Auric dons this mantle well as does the clergy. Pray tell, what is your name guardsman? What has driven you to this haven of the damned? Do you realize what this place actually is? Most of the populace here does not seem to know..." The blueyed mans eyes set right at Zeph's. "I go by the name of Gadez Paladice. A humble gardener and occasional performer. An obvious danger, as you can see." He pressed off the wall and made a butler-like bowing motion towards Zeph, his almost ever present smile on his lips.

@Queen Arya

Sya was finding the blightborns' reactions a curious mix as she seemed to react much as she hid from being called.. Miss? The gold and other things that did not seem to add up… was she .. something different? But without any frame of reference it could just be another blight, oddity and strange factor of the second life that changed everyone In unique ways. “Enjoy Miss, itssss not bad, I enjoyed it.” Sya had a bottle before trying it, and honestly it was hardly the greatest but plenty drinkable. Her questions where ruse to ask so she held back and remained polite and kept to her innkeeper approach to things.

She was caught slightly off guard but leaned In when she motioned to whisper and had to work a little to translate her speech…maybe she was rusty… or just a blight effect?

Sya sway lessened as she concentrated and a large blue eye looked thoughtful as she considered the problem and potential solutions for the woman, this Nesna was obviously a little more in need of tailored help and she could not say she did not feel for others, just that she liked money… money made people respect you regardless of who you were. Gold was a universal multiplier. A Blightborn who needed help…well Sya could not leave her without help so considered what she had tried to think what might be suitable.

“Its alright Miss,you're my guessst now. Itsss not a bother. You prefer Miss, Mrs? Somthing else?” Sya said firmly but gently and waved off the apology with an easy smile, she was comfortable… or least had to appear to run the Inn. However she felt could be allowed out once she was in the privacy of her own rooms and able to just collapse and curl up on the cushions of her snug room.

For now Sya needed to be strong and not let the weight break on her back…spine… tail… her body hardly made sense. She did know where all the important bits seemed to be located.

“Give me a minute, il warm you something up. We are kinda ssshort on everything right now.” Sya said, handing her a wooden cup for the wine, hardly the finest but it was clean and made of a smoothly turned dark wood. It was not meant for wine totally but she had not much else spare to hand right at this second.

Sya slithered and vanished into the chaotic kitchen behind the bar though her tail was seen having reached about the corner and was busily swishing about as she looked for something. She was not confident she would not burn herself otherwise so it stretched behind her, poked round the door and into the bar area.

She found what she was looking for, a child's chicken soup that most had not wanted and ate the sweets and other things but Sya thought it probably was the closest to a broth she had available right now. Warming some in a pan she reached down to stoke the fire abit more and sighed as she got the hem of her dress dirty… She needed to explore her wardrobe options.

She sang along as she cooked, falling into her borderland language, her vowels harsher and older, less like the kingdoms and into a language that was sadly a rarer thing to find in the world.

“The fairer sex, they often call it
But her love's as unfair as a crook
It steals all my reason
Commits every treason
Of logic, with naught but a look
A storm raging on the horizon
Of longing and heartache and lust
She's always bad news
It's always lose, lose
So tell me love, tell me love
How is that just?
But the story is this
She'll destroy with her sweet kiss
Her sweet kiss
But the story is this
She'll destroy with her sweet kiss”

Sya never finished as she put a bowel of the soup into a plain wooden bowel she washed quickly, tossing some bread on the side. It was not much but it was a hot meal. “Coming Miss Nessna,” Sya said as she presented the meal. “Chicken, bread, and some vegetables. Should be ok?” Sya said as she presented it on the bar top alongside some chunky bread and a spoon. She tilted her head a little as she asked and made a matching tilt to her tails tip in a linked motion. She had to just trust her… instincts to that and they tended to work.

“If you like it, we can make sure to save some for you.” She offered gently and quietly. Sya was not heartless… she might not be best at handling…well many things but she tried to help people even if she was a rather broken person.

Mentions
@enmuni

“You’re very kind, thank you.” Nyla said warmly as she accepted the room key from Sya and watched as the snake-woman refilled her glass of wine. Sya’s cheerfulness was infectious, reminding her of the many other tavern owners she had come across in her travels. The cheerful ones had always been the most successful.

As Sya excused herself to tend to the other patrons, Nyla’s gaze wandered to the people gathered around the bar. A sea of unfamiliar faces. Yet, one figure drew her attention, causing her eyes to linger over the edge of her wine glass as she took another drink.

He stood out effortlessly—dark hair and amber eyes contrasting beautifully against his muscular and caramel-toned skin. For a moment, she entertained the idea that he might be from her homeland in the southeastern deserts of Aurelia. Nyla tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued. Her eyes lingered on him, her mind weaving possibilities as she watched his interactions from across the bar.

The man exuded confidence, that was plain enough, but the Lunarian guard he spoke to with such familiarity broke her hopeful idea of a shared origin. A pity, she mused, coming to the conclusion that he was simply just a strikingly beautiful man.

Losing interest, the weight of exhaustion pressed down on her shoulders. It had been a long journey, and an emotionally exhausting day already. Deciding it was time to rest, she drained the last of her wine and slipped away from the bar, heading for the stairs.

On her way, her eyes caught a red-haired woman weaving through the crowd, headed straight toward Aldrick. Nyla couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She paused, watching as the bard easily turned his charm on the woman, leaning in to hear her words.

For a moment, Nyla allowed herself a flicker of warmth at the sight. Despite everything, women still swooned over the bard who could weave them sweet melodies. ‘Good for him’ she thought—some things never changed.

Spotting one of the inn’s workers at the base of the steps, Nyla hurriedly approached. “Excuse me,” she called out over the noise of the tavern to grab their attention. “Would it be possible to have a bath prepared?” she asked, desperate for the answer to be yes. She’d been dying for one.

The brunette woman nodded, agreeing to her request, and Nyla excitedly followed her up to the room she’d been assigned.

Once inside, Nyla took a moment to absorb her surroundings as the woman headed towards the bath. The room was simple, a far cry from the luxury she’d enjoyed in the Astaros palace walls, but cozy. At the very least, a reprieve from the chaos of the tavern below and a shield from the frigid air outside.

Mercifully, the woman worked quickly, using a spell to heat water, and she was gone just as soon as she had come. “Thank you,” Nyla said softly, offering a small smile before seeing her out, locking the door securely behind her.

As the latch clicked, a sigh escaped her lips. She leaned back against the door for a moment, feeling the illusion she’d worn for too long finally dissipate. If she continued like this, she’d need to find another soul to feast on sooner than expected. But how? Dawnhaven was meant to be a sanctuary, a place where people were protected from the likes of her.

Crossing the room, she shrugged off the coat she’d been wearing, letting it drape over a chair. Briefly, she wondered if Sya’s inn offered a laundering service—something she’d need to ask about later. Stripping off the rest of her clothing, she left them in a pile on the floor, and excitedly padded over to the tub.

The water was perfectly warm, and as she sank into its depths, Nyla let out a soft moan of relief. Briefly, her bliss was interrupted by the reminder that her body had changed. Her wings fit awkwardly against the tub's curvature, and she let out a small huff of irritation as she adjusted herself. A minor inconvenience, but something she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to.

Despite the annoyance, she finally allowed herself to relax, letting her head fall back as she closed her eyes. She savored the moment as heat enveloped her, soothing sore muscles and melting away the cold that had clung to her for weeks. In the water, the world’s troubles felt distant.

She could stay here a while.

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_{Mentions: Sya @PrinceAlexus, Elio @c3p-0h, Aldrick @SpicyMeatball, Thalia @Qia}

Nathaniel Stormlight

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Location: The Lunarian temple.

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Nathaniel didn't seem to fuss about his coat and shirt; he would likely have another coat in his trunk at the inn; if not, he would just buy another one. Being a Sage at times was, at times, a dirty job, but sometimes the dirt, or in this case, blood, could be beneficial.

When the redhead regained consciousness, Nathaniel stepped back, to give her some space. Looking her over, trying his best not to look too much like an oddball. When Persephone mentioned water, Nathaniel looked around for a cup or something. There were two goblets with a Lunarian decorative trim on the metalwork. Could they have belonged to someone who just forgot about it, or was it from the temple, either way, it'll do.

Taking the goblet in his hand, the coldness that enveloped his hand was a sign that it hadn't been used, tilting it so he could see the inside of it; it looked bone dry. Satisfied with using the goblet, Nathaniel focused, taking a steady breath, calling on the magic in his system, and it responded to its master's call. The air became heavy around him, mist began to form. The molecules of moisture in the mist began to magnify and multiply. His free hand controls the small tempest of magic, "Don't put too much magic into it” Reinforcing himself, placing the goblet under the small amount of mist that begins to form a small cloud in front of him, and freshwater slowly begins to form. Going into the goblet.

He opened his eyes once more. Watching the goblet fill up, he knew he couldn't just keep relying on magic all the time. "Here you go.” He said with a little muse in his tone. Listening to what Persephone was saying about a Golden Wolf over the lake. He didn't think much about it, but he made a mental note of it, in case any of the other sages knew anything about it.

There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of Nathaniel's core. Friends? Even though Daphne and himself only shared a small dance and encountered this dead body. Could this be seen as a sign of friendship? Perhaps. He was good at making friends, but his family name often made it difficult, putting a burden on himself. That was one of the reasons why he'd often choose to distance himself from the other children growing up; it felt counterproductive since, at times,s, he can be quite charming and honest with people. But now wasn't the time for those thoughts in his head; building relationships up in Dawnhaven is good since he'll be here for a while.

”So, what's the plan Daphne? In case whatever caused that comes back.” he politely asks while he points towards the corpse that he placed on the table. "Because the more I think about it, the more I understand that it wasn't a Blight-born attack, but something else.” his gaze shifts towards the entrance to the temple, the cold outside. He slowly made his way to Daphne, "While hauling, I could feel faint traces of magic on it that didn't belong to the victim.” he continued, "I'm not afraid to get dirty in a fight.” he pauses for a moment, understanding that wasn't the best choice of words. ”Regardless, I can help you protect these two.”

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Mentions: Daphne @PrinceAlexus, Kat @SpicyMeatball

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As Amaya’s voice, soft and fragile, reached him, Flynn’s heart lurched. The sound of her calling his name was a tremor in his chest, a breaking of the barriers she'd stubbornly built between them. The exhaustion and pain were evident in her expression, and the ice of worry still gripped him, but the sound of her voice, speaking his name, ignited something deep within—vulnerable, protective, and all-consuming.

“Amaya…” he whispered back to her, his voice heavy with a mixture of shock and tenderness. His brows furrowed, concern clear in his expression. Gently, he cupped her face in one hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his gaze locked onto hers. For a moment, he lost himself in the pale blue of her eyes, as if searching for something, some way to fix what had happened.

Amaya felt like she was still dreaming — like she was still floating in that water, even as the memory slipped through her fingers. She didn’t know that she recognized this new reality she’d woken up to, with Flynn’s hand on her cheek, his thumb smoothing over the last traces of salt on her skin. He was warm. How was he always so warm?

She didn’t look away from him. She couldn’t. In the darkness of her room, there was only the moonlight to see by. It cast everything in shadow and silver — except for his eyes, green as ever.

Silence stretched between them as he tried to find the right words, but all he could manage was, “I’m sorry…” His voice wavered, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the carefully constructed mask of the calm, collected Prince began to crack under the weight. Something inside Amaya broke with him.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeated, genuine regret reflected in his emerald eyes. “I thought you’d be safe there, I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, pulling his gaze away for a moment, as if to shake off the helplessness that gnawed at him. There was no justification. No excuse that could mend this mistake.

Amaya’s eyebrows drew together as she looked up at him, her sluggish mind trying to dust off the sleep and exhaustion. He was so heartbroken as he looked at her… had she done this? Caused this? She wanted his eyes back on her again, suddenly desperate to find the answers there. But she couldn’t move. She was trapped in this moment, his hand on her cheek, her heart stuttering back to life.

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” he said, his voice softening as he returned his gaze to her again.

Breath drifted over her parted lips, like her lungs finally remembered how to work now that his eyes were once again on hers.

And then all at once it came back to her.

The man. The attack. Sir Abel. Elara.

Amaya gasped back to life, suddenly frantic. Eyes wide, she tried to move her limbs only to find them covered by something warm and weighted.

Flynn’s hand fell away from Amaya’s face as she gasped, breaking the fragile calm that had enveloped them. Relief drained from him as quickly as it had come, replaced by alarm as she writhed beneath the weight of blankets.

“Amaya,” he said quickly, his voice laced with urgency. “Amaya, stop—” The words were firm but gentle, an attempt to steady her before she pushed herself too far.

In the tangle, she brought her arms up by her sides to try and push herself upright. Pain lanced through her arm as she placed weight on her right palm. It was deep and aching as it shot from her wrist, outwards towards her fingers and elbow. Her arm buckled into the mattress and she let out another sharp sound of pain.

Flynn’s heart clenched at the sound. Without hesitation, he folded the blankets back to expose her arm. His eyes darted over her, searching for fresh blood stains or any sign that her injuries had worsened, but found nothing. A small mercy. Gently, he took her trembling hand in both of his, cupping it as though his touch alone could soothe the pain away.

She flinched at the feel of his hands against hers, a memory flashing in her mind — of hands, cold and pale, latching onto her, trapping her in a web spun to ensnare her mind.

Silently, Flynn cursed his lack of skill in healing magic. If he could, he would have expended every last drop of his mana reserves to help her. Instead, all he could offer her was his presence. And hope that her magic wouldn’t lash out in icy tendrils as it had before, freezing into his own skin. Still, he didn’t pull away.

"I'm here… Just breathe." he said softly, his gaze locked with hers, willing her to focus on his voice. The words felt hauntingly familiar, echoes from a moment when her magic had spiraled out of control. Back then, he had whispered the same words, trying to steady her.

He cut through the fog of her adrenaline. That voice, those words, soft and close…

Flynn captured her attention again, fear sharp in her gaze. But she wasn’t afraid of him. No, with sudden clarity, Amaya realized she’d never been afraid of him. What was stranger — that this was surprising, or that it had ever been an option at all?

This fear she felt, like ice encasing her heart and freezing her veins, wasn’t for Flynn. It was for her. Her mistakes. Her failures. Every mark against her, tallied in a careful ledger with the royal seal emblazoned on its cover — the latest ones drawn in blood.

“Please, don’t move,” Flynn murmured, a quiet plea, his gaze unwavering. “You need to rest…”

She pressed her lips together. Her eyes started to burn with unshed tears as his voice washed over her. Emotions swirled, a tangled, terrified mix of grief and helplessness. But still she was trapped, held in his eyes.

“I’ve asked Elara to find Lady Hightower, the Sage. She should be here soon.” he continued, trying to reassure her. He longed to say more, to promise her that nothing would ever harm her again, but in that moment, words seemed inadequate. And like something he couldn’t possibly deliver on. “Elara did what she could to get you stable. Lady Hightower should be able to provide more assistance.”

Something loosened in Amaya’s chest — Elara. She was alive. Relief flooded her as she finally closed her eyes again, turning her world dark. She sank back into the bed. A tear escaped, slowly rolling down her cheek.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, glancing at her wrist. “Elara said the blight-born… injected you… with his blood?”

Amaya let out a shaking breath. Her eyes still closed, there was nothing but the feel of her bed beneath her. The weight of her blanket. The ache in her body. The warmth of Flynn’s hands still wrapped around hers.

Her fingers curled around his large palm. Her grip was weak. Pain still echoed down her hand, exhaustion keeping her from holding too tight. But she needed to feel his hand — his weight, his warmth, his pulse. She needed to erase the memory of cold hands trapping her, a voice echoing in her mind, Until next time my pretty snow dove…

“He used it to form a… a psychic link.” Trying to force the words out was like trying to wrench herself free from his grip, as foreign blood forced and tore its way through her. Her voice was frail and small. She kept her eyes closed. Flashes of memory fought against the reality she tried to anchor herself in, her narrow world made only of her bed and Flynn’s hands. “To speak with me.”

This is your fault.

Amaya finally opened her eyes again, looking up at Flynn. The moonlight painted him in muted colors.

“Is he…” Her voice trailed off, like she was afraid to even give life to the question. If she didn’t know the answer then she wouldn’t have to face whatever came next.

He shook his head solemnly, lips pressed into a thin frown. “The guards are hunting for him as we speak.” he said quietly, wishing he had better news to share. “They’ll find him.” he added, his tone assured despite the doubt whispering in the back of his mind. He knew the guards assigned here were not Aurelia’s best, nor Lunaris’. Competent, but not elite—expendable, should Dawnhaven fail.

Flynn’s attention snapped to the door as a light knock broke the silence. He straightened, turning to see the guard from earlier standing in the doorway, holding a candle. The man’s expression held a faint trace of worry as his gaze shifted between the Prince and Princess. “Pardon, Your Highnesses…” the guard said, gesturing to the candle. “May I?”

Flynn glanced back at Amaya briefly before rising to his feet. Amaya’s hand was suddenly cold. The space next to her on her bed was achingly empty. “I’ll take it,” Flynn said, crossing the room. “Keep watch outside,” he instructed firmly, taking the candle. “Lady Hightower should be on her way.”

As the guard nodded, Flynn hesitated for a moment, then added, “Double the watch around this area and report any updates on the search for the blight-born. I want to know the moment there’s progress.”

“Right away, Sir.” The guard gave a nod as he turned, disappearing into the dim lighting of their home.

Without any eyes on her, Amaya swiped at her damp cheek. Her hand — cold and empty and alone — curled into a loose fist, as if to keep from reaching out. She pressed her eyes shut again. Tried to listen to her shaking breath. Her thundering heart. Crimson flashed in her mind, staining the snow, a scream piercing the air.

Closing the door, Flynn moved through the room, lighting unlit candles scattered about until a soft, warm glow pushed back the darkness. Returning to Amaya’s side, he placed the candle on her nightstand.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Running a hand through his hair, he stared at the wooden floorboards, his muscles tense with unspoken thoughts.

After a moment, he straightened and shifted, angling his body to face her again. “Did the blight-born say what he wanted with you? And—” he paused, his brows furrowing in confusion. “How did you end up so far from the tavern?”

Amaya flinched at the question — a sign of how shaken she was, that she couldn’t hide such a reaction. When she opened her eyes, the world wasn’t moonlit silver anymore. Instead her room was bathed in flickering gold, the warm glow of the candles dotting the perimeter like orbiting stars.

Her eyes found him again at the center. He seemed farther away somehow, even as he sat once more at the edge of her bed. Pain echoed from her arm as her fist curled tighter, but at least her magic was quiet in her blood. It was apparently drained by the events of the day. Amaya’s mouth was dry. She tried to find the words to explain herself.

“I…” She pressed her lips together. Then she gave a small shake of her head, looking away from him. “He was hungry. I don’t think he even knew who I was.” Her heart hammered in her chest as she remembered his face — that moment he’d looked at her with pure grief, like he hoped she could offer something that she’d never had to begin with. It wasn’t just blood he’d been after. “I realized he was trying to magic me and alerted the guards. We — I led him away.”

As he listened, a knot of worry tightened in his chest. The thought of Amaya putting herself in harm's way like that made him feel physically ill. ‘Does she even realize the danger she put herself in?’ he thought, a feeling of guilt passing through him. He hadn’t involved her in the day-to-day operations, like interviewing the blight-born, and perhaps she didn’t comprehend just how unpredictable these creatures could be. Why else would she take it upon herself to do such a thing?

Though, he didn’t doubt her intelligence—far from it. And truthfully, he couldn’t entirely fault her, either. If he had been in her place, would he have done any different? He doubted it. He would’ve put himself between a feral blight-born and innocent lives without hesitation, just as she had. They both cared deeply for their people, and that shared instinct was something he admired about her.

She knew exactly what she was doing, and that made it worse.

“You could have been killed.” he said firmly, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that conveyed the depth of his feelings. “One wrong move—hell, even one wrong word, and—” he cut himself off, trying desperately to keep himself composed. He drew in a deep breath, pulling his gaze away from her, and stayed silent as he gathered himself.

“Please… don’t put yourself in danger like that again.” he said finally, returning his gaze to her, his voice softer this time. “I couldn’t stand to lose you.”

Amaya stared up at him with wide eyes. She’d been bracing herself for a reprimand, or a demand for an explanation, or disbelief at her recklessness — at the very least, some remark on the blood that had been spilt because of her foolishness. But Flynn offered none of that. Just his green eyes filled with an emotion she didn’t know how to name, and his plea. Something pulled painfully at her heart. It was like a tether had been fastened around it, tying her to him. She didn’t know when it’d been placed there. Quiet words slipped out of Amaya before she could stop them.

“Am I yours to lose?”

His expression shifted instantly, brows knitting together as if she’d struck him with an unexpected blow. Her words cut through him like the edge of a blade. Just like that, it felt as if her barriers had returned and their fragile connection slipped right through his fingers.

The look in his eyes changed—worry giving way to something deeper. Confusion, disbelief, and a flicker of hurt mingled in his gaze. His lips parted to respond, but no words came. Instead, he studied her intently, searching her face for some clue to the reason behind her doubt, as though he couldn't quite believe she didn’t already know.

Amaya watched it all play across his face, her breath still in her chest and her heart pounding in her ears.

Finally, after a moment that felt far too long, his voice broke the silence, steady and certain. “Yes. You are.” he said simply, matter-of-factly, the conviction in his tone leaving no room for question.

“I apologize,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “if I haven’t been forward enough with you, Amaya. So let me be clear.” His voice dropped slightly, quieter, but no less firm. “I care for you—deeply. The thought of losing you… terrified me.”

His hand reached for hers, hesitating for just a moment before he gently took it in his own. “As much as you’ll allow it,” he said, his voice softening, “you are mine. And I am yours.”

His words washed over her like the tide. His hand warmed hers, his pulse whispering into her skin.

Amaya was floating again. The sea held her, with its salt and patience, and for the first time since she was a child, she thought that perhaps she wouldn’t drown.

Her fingers moved slightly, to press into the skin of his hand. It was hesitant. It should’ve been a simple motion — he’d laid himself bare like it was simple. Like affection for her was the most logical outcome for this mess they’d found themselves in.

…Why couldn’t it be?

Amaya looked away from him. After a moment she pulled her hand from his.

She moved slowly, weighed down by pain and this newfound weakness in her body. Careful not to agitate her arm, Amaya managed to sit up in her bed. Leaning back against the headboard, she was finally near eye level with Flynn again. She still wasn’t looking at him.

Then, she reached back out to ghost her shy hand over his. It was the first time she’d initiated any sort of contact with him at all, rather than an answer for his requests or an obligation for the sake of appearances. She didn’t have the nerve to wrap her fingers around his, as he’d always done so easily. But it was what she could offer.

Unable to help himself, Flynn closed the gap between their hands, his fingers sliding gently to interlock with hers. His pulse quickened slightly, their touch sparking something within. He wanted more. But the fear of pushing her too far, of breaking this fragile moment, held him back.

It was a long moment of Amaya listening to her own pounding heart before she managed to softly say, “What did you know of me before all this?”

Flynn hesitated, his gaze drifting down to their intertwined hands, lost in thought. He had known this question would come some day—he had been waiting for it, in a way—but hearing her finally say it made him falter. The memory of the months before he’d sent the marriage proposal flooded back.

When he had originally proposed the idea to his parents, the King and Queen were both appalled. He’d spent days in heated arguments with them, desperately pleading with them for a chance.

But the Queen had only been swayed after a painstaking investigation into Amaya’s life. Just as she had always done with Flynn’s possible suitors—the Queen demanded to know everything. From her upbringing to her circle of acquaintances, even her favorite foods and her daily habits. Luckily for the Queen, King Auric had carefully placed spies within Lunarian walls years ago.

When they finally received information back, Flynn was struck by how little they actually knew about Amaya. She was more shadow than person in their eyes, a Princess locked away behind the cold walls of her castle, unseen and unheard. What they did know chilled him—her father’s treatment of her was far from kind. The way he looked at her, the words he never spoke while under the watchful gaze of others, the fear in her eyes—it said enough.

Flynn’s mother, however, had only seen this as an opportunity. The meek, quiet Princess could be easily controlled by a man like Flynn. Her son was charming and assertive, and Amaya was already trained to submit to him. They could use this to their advantage.

The thought twisted his gut, and he clenched his jaw, unable to stop the disgust that surged within him. That cold, calculating look in his mother’s eyes would be forever burned into his memory.

Still, he had sent the proposal. He had felt an odd sense of sorrow for her, this Princess so different from his siblings—so unlike his bold, confident, and unyielding sisters. She was fragile. And yet, the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was strong in ways he couldn’t quite comprehend.

He shifted closer, looking back at her now. “Before I knew you… I only knew the stories they told me,” he began, wishing she would lay her eyes on him again. “They told me you were quiet, reserved… hidden from your own kingdom. They told me you were afraid… weak… that you were not like your mother, the shining light in a dark kingdom.” He paused, his thumb gently brushing over her hand as he spoke.

Amaya held very still as she tried to not shrink into herself. She’d asked her question because she’d thought she’d need to explain her own shortcomings — why she was incapable of being whatever it was that he saw when he looked at her. But he’d already known.

His words were predictable. But the sharp pain in her chest was no less real, nor was the burning sensation behind her eyes as she thought of all the ways she’d been diminished. She’d never been real to the people of Lunaris – just a shadow on a wall, silent and intangible. Her eyes were unfocused as she looked at some distant spot at the edge of her bed.

He inhaled, his heart aching for the woman in front of him, this woman so much more than the timid, broken image they’d painted for him. A quiet desperation filled him. The need to reach her, to make her see what he saw, to know what he knew was true.

With a gentle motion, his free hand lifted, fingers brushing against her chin. He didn’t want to startle her, didn’t want to push her, but he needed her to understand—to look at him. Slowly, he turned her face toward him, tilting it ever so slightly until their eyes met. Her breath stuttered.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak, simply letting the quiet tension hang in the air between them, his gaze steady, warm. His heart beat harder now, though it wasn’t out of fear.

“But when I saw you for the first time… I saw something they didn’t.” his voice softened, eyes comfortably lost in hers once more. “You were reserved, sure…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. “I could see you’d suffered. But the way you’d looked at me that day—with such defiance.” he smirked, amused by the memory of her in her wedding dress, glaring daggers from across the room when she thought he hadn’t seen. “I could see you were wise, too. Observing, while everyone else drunkenly babbled…” A surprised breath escaped Amaya at the memory. The corners of her mouth twitched up for just a moment.

“You were the strongest in that room. A quiet strength that people overlook, the most dangerous kind. I could see the truth of it in your eyes...” his thumb lightly traced her jawline, his gaze drifting briefly to her lips for a moment before returning to her eyes.

Her lips parted at the touch. The only things that mattered in the world were his hands and the way he looked at her.

“Fierce, despite it all.” his voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

Was she leaning towards him? She hadn’t told her body to move, but it was as if he had a gravitational pull all his own. His words filled the space between them, another tether securing her fragile heart to his.

“I knew they were wrong about you then.”

His words didn’t seem true, not when Amaya felt so small and breakable. But he said them with such certainty, she was almost convinced. They nestled deep in her chest, radiating heat that warmed her from the inside out.

Amaya reached up towards the hand that cupped her face, as if seeking another connection. Her fingers barely grazed the back of his palm. Then, slowly, hesitantly, they slid along his skin, until her entire hand was against his. They were close enough that his breath ghosted over his skin. He was all she could see – his golden hair, the flecks of olive and orange and seafoam that made his green eyes alive with color, the curve of his cheekbones and jaw… but even as he drew her in, Amaya found herself hesitating.

Her voice was soft when she spoke, a fragile thread reaching towards him.

“My entire life, he took things from me that I didn’t even know I could lose.” She couldn’t name him. His specter still had his hand around her neck, his hateful eyes smothering the light. Amaya felt stunted and malformed, like a sapling planted at the start of winter with only shadow and frost to live off of. And now, here was the sun. And it was blinding. “And now I…” The words caught in her throat.

Flynn’s chest tightened, the trembling in her voice threading into his soul. Every part of him ached to take away her fear, her pain, to shield her from all the hurt she’d endured.

Amaya looked down, finally breaking away from his gaze. She was trembling. Her hands curled tighter around his, like she could anchor herself against her own emotions. When her eyes returned to him, they were unguarded for the first time – vulnerable, and fearful, and hopeful all at once.

Lost once again in the depths of her striking blue eyes, he felt the breath leave his lungs. Her gaze held him captive, and every inch of his being ached to close the space between them.

“Flynn, I don’t know how to do this.” How to be strong. Survive. Be his.

She wanted to, though. What a terrifying thought – wanting.

“I don’t know either,” he confessed, his lips curving into a faint, rueful smile. His gaze fell to her lips again, lingering there for just a moment longer. Suddenly, all the hesitation he had felt since the day they met dissolved, and his heart answered for him.

His lips met hers with a tender urgency, sparks dancing across his skin the moment they touched. Every unspoken word, every longing glance, every tether of their fragile bond coming alive in a single heartbeat.

A rush of warmth flooded him, an exhilarating wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he leaned into her. Her lips were soft and hesitant against his, but he poured everything he felt into that moment—his reverence for her, his yearning, his promise that he would be there, no matter what.

His heart thundered against his chest as his hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, his fingers threading into the dark waves of her hair, tangling in the silken strands cascading down her back. The world around them faded, leaving only the intoxicating closeness of her.

His lips found hers again, and this time, the kiss deepended, slow and searching. A small sound escaped her, a hand coming up to rest on his chest.

Instinctively, he drew her closer, driven by an unspoken need for a deeper connection. He had spent so long trying to understand her, to unravel the layers she kept hidden, and now, with all her barriers gone, he found himself eager to know more. Another slender hand found the side of his face, fingers drifting into his hair.

As if coming to his senses, Flynn slowly pulled away from her—only slightly. He rested his forehead gently against hers, his eyes still closed as if savoring the moment a little longer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and steady, filled with a quiet hunger he fought to push back.

“But you’re not alone anymore.”

After Nathaniel’s departure, the quiet of Eris’s home felt more like a companion than a void. They had made decent progress preparing for the expedition, but now, she was alone with only her thoughts again—just the way she preferred it. For the first time in what felt like weeks, she allowed herself the indulgence of slowing down.

She began by washing up, the steaming water from the washbasin a welcome luxury. As she scrubbed away the remnants of sleepless nights and ink-stained fingers, her mind wandered, momentarily free from the tether of her studies. Despite her best efforts to resist it, her thoughts strayed to Nathaniel and the dance they had shared. Her nose wrinkled at the thought, a faint grimace forming as the memory lingered longer than she’d like.

These feelings were fleeting, she reminded herself—nothing more than a byproduct of the loneliness she felt in a place so foreign. A weakness of human nature she was not immune to. The memory stirred something she didn’t care to name, an unwelcome vulnerability she swiftly pushed aside. Instead, she focused on water, letting it envelop her like a shield against intrusive thoughts.

Wrapped in a soft robe, she moved through her chambers, lighting a few candles to bathe the room in a warm, flickering glow. A steaming mug of tea in her hands, she sank into the comfort of her armchair and pulled a woolen blanket over her legs. After the chaos of her lab, the moment felt almost decadent. As if it was out of her control, her thoughts briefly returned to Nathaniel—his genuine interest, the comfort of having someone around who seemed to care as much as she did.

Still, she cherished her solitude, basking in the freedom—unshackled by watchful eyes or unspoken expectations.

Flipping open a well-loved book that she hadn’t touched in months, Eris let herself be drawn into a world far removed from her own. The hours slipped by unnoticed, the tension of the past week unraveling with every page she turned. Every so often, she paused to sip her tea or listen to the soothing crackle of the fire, feeling content in a way she hadn’t for days.

Eventually, exhaustion took hold, her body curling into the warm cocoon of blankets. The week she’d spent depriving herself of rest catching up to her quickly. She read a few more lines, but her eyelids grew heavy, and before she knew it, she surrendered to the pull of sleep.

…

Knock Knock Knock

Eris jolted awake, her book slipping from her lap and landing open-faced on the ground. Her heart hammered against her chest as she tried to orient herself, blinking at her surroundings in confusion. How long had she been asleep? She glanced out the window, but it offered no answers—just the same endless pitch-black night that had cloaked the world for the last six months. Letting out a shaky breath, she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

Pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, Eris bent down to retrieve her book, carefully closing it and setting it on the nearby end table before padding toward the door. She cracked it open just enough to let her face peek through. Standing on the other side was a young courier, his brown hair messy and freckled cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Lady Hightower,” he greeted her with a polite smile, bowing slightly. “I’ve a letter for you.”

Curious, Eris nodded and took the letter from his gloved hands, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” She closed the door softly as he left, shivering against the draft that had slipped in. She turned the letter over in her hands, examining the seal before heading back to her armchair. Once settled under the flickering candlelight, she opened the letter and began to read.

Once she finished, Eris frowned, her fingers brushing over the signature at the bottom. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest, recalling her initial reaction to Sya’s transformation—no, double transformation. The thought of that tail still made her uneasy, but the letter’s warmth and humor reminded her how much she valued Sya’s friendship.

Her brow furrowed at the mention of Orion—the Prince’s right-hand man, a constant presence during Flynn's interviews with the blight-born. She’d seen him in the Alchemy Chambers countless times, though she’d never gone out of her way to hold a conversation with him. Although he seemed perfectly stable, the glow of those red eyes had always made her nervous. He had always seemed so serious, and she began to wonder what he was up to with Sya—she was far from serious.

As for Kira, the sharp-fanged redhead with those fiery eyes... Eris shivered, though Kira had never done anything to hurt her. Eris couldn't recall her ever even cracking a smile, but surprisingly, Kira had complied with most every research request. Still, the way that woman’s eyes settled upon her always set her on edge. How had Sya made a friend out of her?

With a sigh, Eris folded the note carefully and slipped it into the cover of her book for safekeeping. She sat for a moment longer, clutching the blanket around her, before deciding she needed to summon some shred of bravery. If Sya could navigate so much change with such grace, then surely Eris could muster the courage to visit her. She owed Sya that much.

Rising, she made her way upstairs to get dressed, her nap and brief relaxation giving her just enough energy to face the rest of the day—or so she hoped.

---

_{Mentions: Sya @PrinceAlexus, Nathaniel @Echotech71, Orion @Qia}

@Theyra

Valgo

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Tavern

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Once again the barbarian was slow to reply, his sharp eyes remained trained on Desmond but his focus was seemingly elsewhere. There was a slight shake to his head as if he was disagreeing with something unsaid.
"Aye." He suddenly reply on a deep breath. A presence in his eyes once again.
"Some 'blight born'-." he mimicked the way Desmond said it as he looked down at the plate. "well they can eat food just like you 'en' I."

Looking over his shoulder his gaze flittered across some of the obviously blighted patrons. "It won't... it won't." He look back to Desmond with a puzzle look on his face, fingers twirling in the air as he flicks through words in his mind.
"Keep them going and alive." he eventually blurt out, opting to use a sentence in place of a word he didn't know.

"Not all need food either." He says knowingly, dropping his knotted muscular arms on the table as he gets comfortable and ready to school his new business acquaintance.
"Sure some eat blood or flesh. Others, they'll drink your 'veska' soul. And...." He raises an eyebrow and gives a little grin. "You find a hungry hakdeesha, well, then you a lucky man." He chuckles softly to himself before pushing off the table and coming to stand to the sound of his chair grinding across the floor.

With a soft genuine grin he looks down and says.
"Good to meet you. I will see you again soon. Yes?"

Wanting nothing more to do with that old ghost from her past or the strange wolven creature, Kira veered off in the direction the Prince had taken, her steps quiet as she retraced the path toward Elara’s home. She moved slowly, as if she were on a casual stroll, though her eyes scanned the shadows.

Faint voices echoed behind her—the guards, gathering in numbers and shuffling toward the scene of the attack. They could fumble around all they liked, piece things together and chase shadows. Their investigation held little interest to her.

What did concern her was Elara.

If a feral blight-born had attacked the Princess, then Elara was entangled in this mess—whether by choice or misfortune. Kira knew all too well that witnesses to such events were seldom left breathing. The fact that they were alive at all was a miracle.

Slipping off the main path, Kira took a longer route back towards Elara’s home. She scanned every corner, her ears tuned in to every crunch of snow or rustle in the wind—though the residential streets seemed fairly undisturbed.

Once she reached Elara’s home, she rounded a corner and settled along its side, leaning her back against the wooden wall with crossed arms. She stayed there, hidden, vigilant—listening and waiting.

Moments later, she heard the front door open. The Prince emerged, carrying the Princess in his arms. Kira listened intently as Flynn gave Elara instructions to find the Sage—Lady Hightower who had always been too afraid to meet Kira’s gaze.

Her eyes flicked in the direction of the Alchemy Chambers, noting the faint flicker of candle light resonating from the windows in the distance. Hopefully, she was there, and Elara wouldn’t have to travel far.

As the Prince and Princess moved down the path toward their own home, Kira watched quietly from her hidden vantage point. Amaya was utterly limp in his arms, but alive, cradled like something fragile. The metallic tang of blood reached Kira’s senses again, causing her pupils to dilate ever so slightly.

‘What’ve you gotten yourself into, fawnling?’ Kira thought, her expression unreadable.

Remaining still, Kira listened for Elara—waiting to hear the door close and the latch to lock. When it finally came, Kira allowed herself a small, subtle breath of relief, glad that Elara had heeded her warning. Whenever Elara would emerge again, Kira would be sure to tail her, however far she needed to be to keep her darker instincts at bay.

If she did anything of use today, she was determined that it would be to ensure Elara’s safety. It was the least she could do.

---

_{Mentions: Elara @Qia, Amaya @c3p-0h}

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_{Location: The Eye of the Beholder}

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---

Elio stilled at the weight of Aliseth’s hand on his shoulder, amusement clear on his face as the guard chugged his drink. Then Aliseth gave him a smile, cupped his fucking cheek, and in the most condescending voice possible, told Elio to grow up.

Everything about Elio sharpened. His muscles tensed and coiled, and his eyes flickered with a dangerous glint.

He wanted to play today? Fine. Elio didn’t know what frozen-ass bug Aliseth had caught, but Elio was going to fracture him like a sheet of ice until the man was nothing but shards melting against the heat of his hands.

And then the guard leaned across the bar towards the innkeeper and murmured — murmured, like he actually wanted the blight-born close enough to hear him — that there’d been a murder. Of a guard.

The stillness Elio held now wasn’t of a predator looking at its next meal. It was cold and careful. The light in his eyes shifted. Hardened.

Aliseth stood to leave — like he could just walk away after that.

Still leaning back against the bar, Elio shot his leg out to knock against the guard’s now empty chair. It shoved forward with a screech against the floor, the edge of the seat colliding with the back of Aliseth’s legs, forcing him back down.

“What happened?” The mirth was gone from Elio’s voice. His expression was stony. His eyes moved over Aliseth again, reassessing. Those stains on his uniform were deep and saturated in the tavern’s firelight. He’d mistaken them for mud before — but he saw the crimson hue now, the scratches… he looked back up at Aliseth’s face, took in the hollows under his eyes.

Aliseth wasn’t just reporting information — whatever had happened, he’d been there. And now, instead of going on the hunt or securing the townsfolk or being laid up in bed, Aliseth Kain was here drinking about it.

How had it happened? Wasn’t the fucking sun-prick supposed to be vetting all the blight-born? Or was he too busy hooking up with his blighted mistress to bother doing his job properly?

“Which guard?” he demanded. Elio’s eyes darted around the tavern. He hadn’t seen Zeph for most of the day — he knew he’d been stationed here for the feast but the kid wasn’t exactly known for following orders… part of the reason why they got along. His hands tightened into fists, his knuckles pulling his skin tight. “Zeph?”

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_{Interactions: Aliseth Kain @Dark Light
Mentions: Syraeia Leela @PrinceAlexus, Zephyros Hale @The Muse}

The Great Hunt of the Blighted Nut Cracker

A Grand Colab of Glorious Lengh.

Outside Dawn Haven. Forest.

(No Onions where harmed in making of this story)

The trail was leading deeper into the forest. Deep enough in fact that the many burning lights of Dawnhaven were soon but an equally faint glow barely penetrating the air between the trunks. Wolf-thyr's nostrils sucked in more of the crisp air and found the scent to become stronger. That definitely was blood and it was fresh.

From time to time, the humongous wolf looked aside to check whether Lord Coswain was still with him. It was dangerously easy to lose track of what other people could and could not do while not so much being one of them anymore and he absolutely did not want to get into any fight alone. The druid knew that while he knew which end of the sword to hold and which one to point forward, that already summarized about half of his knowledge about 'traditional' weapons.

Lord Coswain went with no torch or flame much as one was effective; it would negate any of his night vision and leave him unable to effectively track his target in such darkness. Even a small mistake in such places could be the death of you. He did his best to keep pace with the wolf ahead, it was fast and far more agile on 4 feet than he was on two. Though he knew whatever was out here was better to face it with the wolf man than without. He would rather have a bad reputation and be alive than be dead as a shiny perfect lord.

He moved forward with both speed but also care, he never would hear the end of it in the afterlife he missed his wedding by dying…no thankyou. He would live damn it. He had a tingle… a feeling… “steady… something…feels. Wrong.” He said, it sounded stupid but he saw the environment, the noise, the lack of noise…something was.. off. Maybe he was likely paranoid but paranoia kept you alive right?

Additionally, the briskness that accompanied the lack of noise was not merely the customary, stinging chill of a winter’s day. Instead, it bore a stronger quality, as though the very forest had drawn in a deep breath and held it. Orion could feel it as the light hum of residual magic clinging to the ground of the perimeter of the scene he approached. It was just like the guard had described right before he’d run off the rest of the group, though his description did not do justice to the unnatural spirals of ice that jutted skyward like cruel sculptures before him.

And yet, it was not the chilling beauty of these ice formations that captivated him now, for something more sinister demanded his full attention.

A grotesque silhouette shifted near the base of an imposing pine tree not far from where he stood, its erratic and spasmodic movements arresting his focus. The creature’s disheveled fur clung desperately to its oversized frame, matted and stained with dark clots of blood that painted a gruesome picture of its recent endeavours. Orion felt a tightening in his chest at the sight and as he followed its furtive gaze toward a distant sound- the crunching of snow underfoot as two figures emerged from north of where he stood. With a sudden realization dawning upon him, his eyes widened in horror, but the abomination was swift. Still, he stepped forward with urgency, his eyes glowing a deeper crimson if possible.

“Watch out!”

Wolf-thyr's jaws opened slightly as if to save the tiny fractions of a second it would take to do so when having to actually bite. He could feel the freezing air flowing gently around his enormous teeth, almost taste the scent of blood. Or no - he could taste it for real by just letting his tongue touch the ground. Sometimes even he himself forgot just how wicked this illusion could be, but what he tasted was possibly even more abnormal. The blight ? Was this how the blight tasted or was it ordinary blood stained with something else ?

Valthyr turned his ears to take in the voice coming from a bit further out still. Watch out ? Wasn't that what they were already doing all the time ? That kind of statement could have come from the very beast they tried to find itself in an attempt to disguise its true identity, yet it could also be the truth. He stopped his lumbering body for a brief moment and gazed at his companion. What was Coswain thinking ? Did he know this crimson-eyed individual ? In any other situation than Dawnhaven, the mere sight of this kind of eye color would have triggered all defensive instincts at once, but here the lines were not so clear.

The very forest smelt and felt wrong indeed here as Lord Coswains blade rose Faster than it should, putting power into his ability to enhance his speed, rotating to the threat with an impressive turn of speed. The ability was tiring and he had to use it carefully but now was not a question of haste.

Red eyes, a voice in the darkness. That was a secondary problem as he brought the blade defensively in a move that would not win awards in the fencing arena but made space and distance for him as he began to see the true horror he was facing. Whatever it was, one of them was going to die and he would not make that easy. “Fuck” he said with a tone that implied his very souls displeasure.

The other red eyes, he had no idea if friend or foe. Those lines had gotten rather too grey here. “If you are here to help, help.” He said bluntly, especially if it was one like the woman who had lurked in the shadows… she seemed to not be interested in intrigues.

The wolf, focused on the soldier and the distant crimson-eyed man, seemingly failed to sense the abomination’s swift approach. A low growl reverberated in its throat as it dashed across the snow, paying no mind to the blight-born man behind it. Driven by ravenous tunnel vision, the creature fixated entirely on Valthyr, whose attention lingered a moment too long on the soldier.

With a sudden, feral burst of speed, the abomination lunged, clamping its jaw around Valthyr’s front right leg. Its jagged teeth sunk in deep, tearing through fur and flesh with brutal efficiency. For a fleeting moment, the illusion magic concealing Valthyr’s form wavered under the strain, revealing the unmistakable shape of a man’s forearm between the creature’s fangs before snapping back into the guise of a wolf’s leg.

The pressure was immense, iron jaws locking in place, and a spray of crimson tainted the snow beneath them. The creature hissed through clenched teeth, the taste of blood driving it into a maddened frenzy. It thrashed violently, its body twisting and wrenching, desperate to tear the wolf-man’s limb clean off.

The wolf growled, an expression of agony masked by the illusion as well. Of all the things... a squirrel ? A pretty rotten one, definitely blighted. Wolf-thyr shook the affected leg violently in an attempt to throw the nasty creature off, but all he managed to achieve was to make his own blood spatter around in small droplets that changed color and viscosity as they were ejected from his immediate vicinity, no longer affected by the magic holding them together in the state they had been in before.

He snapped with fangs that could have impaled the thing -- had they actually been able to reach it. The squirrel had attached itself to the backside of his leg, so he would have had to chew through his own limb in order to get to it. Maybe scratching with his hind legs would work better ? He stopped himself from trying that at the last moment as that could have made the squirrel jump to the other limb, too.

The creature flailed chaotically while emitting guttural hisses. Orion, still positioned behind it, reached forth, and as he did the atmosphere around his hand grew heavy and foreboding, swirling tendrils of shadow magic manifesting like living wisps of darkness. They spiralled together, converging to form a whip of unadulterated energy. With a decisive flick of his wrist, the whip sliced through the air with a crack, a motion executed with the intent to sever the creature’s vile grasp on Valthyr.

It struck true against the abomination’s mangy torso.

The force of the whip resonated throughout the creature’s sinewy figure, compelling it to release its grip on Valthyr’s leg. A slick line of crimson cut across its decaying skin, cut open by the whip. With a shrill hiss, it twisted violently, whipping its head toward the source of its pain.

Orion instinctively advanced, poised to exploit its momentary diversion; however, a sudden, agonizing sensation ignited in his palm, halting his progress. The dark energy that had surged within him crackled unpredictably before dissipating entirely, leaving him momentarily bewildered. The advisor clenched his fist, frustration etching lines across his brow.

“Move!” he bellowed, his voice filled with commanding authority. “It’s fixated on me now-use that!”

For once Luck favoured Lord Coswain, the monster's attention was away from him and he had the initiative for the first time in the whole event. No longer reacting and able to react he took direct action to help the wolf and noting whatever…. Dark attack, it made him question who was helping but he could deal with that after. First things first was the monster squirrel.

He struck with speed and force aiming to hopefully cripple the beast or limit its combat abilities. Even if it was wounded it was dangerous but it was a living creature and it could bleed out. They just had to buy time, cause smaller and steady wounds and wear it down. “Not going to say no to an opening.” He replied with a shout and a grunt as the two handed longsword forged in the fires of a lost forge bit deep into the monster's flank cutting without much resistance.

The creature screeched in agony, the force of the blow driving it sideways and leaving a gaping wound in its side, oozing unnaturally thick dark blood onto the snow. It thrashed, claws digging into the ground as it scrambled to maintain its balance, limbs trembling with spasms of pain.

As its blood pooled on the snow, it began to bubble, emitting a noxious, sulfuric stench. A sizzling sound followed as the tainted liquid melted through the thick layer of snow beneath it, carving a path straight down and seeping into the earth. A similar reaction sparked on Coswain’s blade—the blood clinging to his sword and bubbling aggressively as it attempted to corrode the metal.

Hunched and wheezing, the creature hissed through bloodied teeth, its strength waning but its rage undiminished. It lunged at Coswain with desperation, claws slashing wildly, driven more by instinct rather than accuracy, as if aware that its time was short, but unwilling to surrender. As it attacked, sharp claws scraped across Coswain’s breastplate, just managing to pierce the metal. Had the armor not been there, claws would have easily torn through his gut.

Valthyr felt rage approaching him, or rather his own mind slowly creeping across the thin line which bore such great significance. The arm that was one of his front legs hurt terribly and he had not even spent much of a thought about all the rotten teeth and flesh that had come into contact with it yet. The idea of having to pray for a healer had not yet crossed his mind for all the fight going on around him.

The beast appeared wounded, but that had also helped to unveal some more of its highly aggressive properties. The druid quickly discarded the plan of tearing it apart in his wolven mouth. He needed another weapon, something that wasn't part of himself. Wolf-thyr put himself on his hind legs to reach up a tree and break off a large branch off an adjacent tree by the sheer might of his jaw. He realigned it so it pointed a bit more forward and then used that to just thrash the abomination.

The creature lay sprawled in the blood-soaked snow, utterly incapacitated and exposed following the wolf’s ferocious onslaught. Orion stepped forward, his eyes fixed intently on its trembling form while his every movement bespoke a predator stalking its prey, ready to strike the final blow. Faint wisps of shadow magic still lingered around his hand, and as he raised it he conjured a serrated sword of obsidian energy within his outstretched palm. Then, Orion thrust it forcefully into the creature’s chest, as it writhed in a desperate, futile choreography against death. Gradually, the dark blade also dissipated, leaving the blight-born man standing contemplative and poised in the stillness that followed.

Orion exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the unnatural remains. Even in death, its form radiated a sense of wrongness, a blight on the natural order. But then that word-blight- stirred something within him. He understood all too intimately how others, like guards from before, might gaze upon him and discern the same sense of aberration. The creature, undeniably a monstrosity, was marred by decay and an insatiable rage beyond salvation. It all made him ponder….

Could he find solace in the notion that he, too, could be destined for the same grim fate-overtaken by his darkness and hunger?

Orion clenched his first, dispelling the fleeting tendrils of dark energy still coiled around his hand. No, he resolved silently. He was not this thing. Whatever corruption coursed through his veins, it had not stripped him of his will, his purpose, or his humanity. This creature had completely surrendered to its hunger; Orion had not. And he never would.

“This thing,” Orion muttered under his breath, his voice low and grim. “It feels…random. An opportunist, not a hunter with a purpose.” He straightened, his gaze sweeping the darkened forest. “Whatever’s responsible for the princess, it’s still out there. This was just…a distraction.”

Backing off and making a quick glance at his blade he saw the metal was discoloured and the blood was bubbling upon the edges. His armour had taken damage but nothing had managed to draw blood and cause serious wounds. He has gotten very lucky. That quick second before he could begin to make his next move the beast was hit by attacks, a wolf using a weapon! A man …blight? Yeah..red eyes using some kind of magical attack…but was he hostile?

Lord Coswain shoved the sword into the snow bank, he gave it several shakes and would have to clean it in much more care later, however this was the best he could do and it seemed to remove the continued damage. It remained discoloured and messy though, the engravings were clogged with gunked up snow.

“And you are? I arrived just before the storm.” lord Coswain said keeping his blade in a position he could be moved, but also not directly in an offensive posture. a cautious stance. “Lord Castellan Coswain, Royal Guard. I agree, wounds too precise. This thing…was savage… too clean.” He said with a disgusted glance at the monster slowly bubbling into the snow. Whatever this one seemed to have good instincts and understanding of the situation. He was no fool and all the more dangerous.

“Wolf is not Wolf… Are you good to carry on? We stuck working together. They will see any of us as an enemy.” He said with a blunt tone, pragmatic as right now he had no luxury of what he wanted but what was available giving a short version of what the situation was.

Emerging from the road that led into town, nearly a dozen guards arrived, heavy breaths visible in the cold air, armor clinking faintly as they approached the chaotic scene. Among them was a mix of both Aurelian and Lunarian soldiers, their polished plates catching faint glimmers of moonlight. The one leading—a broad-shouldered Aurelian knight—halted abruptly as his eyes fell on Orion. Recognizing the Prince’s advisor, he stepped forward, torchlight in hand.

“Lord Nightingale, Sir,” he called out, voice steady despite his labored breathing from the run in full armor. “What are your ord—" His words faltered as his gaze shifted to the grotesque, bloodied creature sprawled on the ground, its body twitching and gurgling grotesquely as its flesh slowly dissolved into a bubbling, blackened mess.

"By the Gods," he grimaced, the disgust clear in his tone as he asked, “This… thing—it attacked the Princess?”

Behind him, the other guards made similar noises of revulsion, hands instinctively gripping the hilts of their swords and spears, as if the creature might rise again. One muttered under his breath, “What in the name of Seluna is that?” while another kicked at the disintegrating snow to keep his boots clear.

Oh now they arrive! Couldn't the prince have told us that he had called in for reinforcements and that we should just wait?

Having spent a moment on not mourning his estimate of Flynn's leadership skills as it went a fair bit further down the same unfathomable drain he'd have liked to dispose of the squirrel's corpse in, Wolf-thyr answered Lord Coswain's question with a slight nod. He could move on, even though he'd prefer not getting hit a second time or at least not in that manner. Sadly, a quick inspection revealed that none of the new arrivals looked like a healer of sorts. The wound needed some serious attention better sooner than later.

The wooden club slipped out of his maw, its tip now decaying in the same discomforting, bubbling manner just like the snow it came in touch with. Someone asked for orders or at least tried so before interrupting himself -- and again this did not make much sense in Valthyr's mind. Would it not have been better for this Flynn guy to give proper orders right away instead of delegating this task to Lord Nightingale whose encounter could not have been foreseen ? Or was it one of those cases when ‘prince’ was a mere label while everything was handled by advisors ?

Valthyr raised his non-injured leg and pointed towards the dead squirrel, shaking his head violently. This was not the culprit! Hopefully anybody would understand even without words. He had not the slightest interest in shifting back to human without any clothes just to explain the situation yet another time.

Orion turned to the assembled guards. “Secure the perimeter. Whatever this thing was, it isn’t responsible for the princess.”

The guard gave a sharp nod, his eyes still lingering on the disintegrating creature. “Aye.” He turned to his comrades, barking orders. “Form up! Keep your eyes sharp—no telling what else might be lurking.”

The other guards quickly spread out, their heavy armor clanking as they moved to establish a protective perimeter around the area.

Orion glanced between the wolf and the soldier. “I’m sorry I even have to ask this, but how much do you know about the current situation? The last I was told, the princess was attacked by… something. Blightborn, they said. A guard barely managed to escape.” His crimson eyes flicked briefly toward the trail behind them, his brow furrowing. “They spoke of a path, tracks, and an aura—much like this creature’s, but... stronger.”

He paused, the faint glow of his eyes dimming as his voice dropped lower. “If either of you knows more than what the guards could manage to stammer out, now is the time to share it. Every detail matters, even the ones that seem insignificant.”

Lord Coswain was used to such reports and requests and took it without pause of offense. “I arrived on site alone, hostile, a blightborn, physic type suspected, something about using blood. Natural weapons, but also able to use a sword from the blow that removed the dead guards head. Picked up the Wolf here, and The peacock Lord. Tracked them. Was looking for Princess.

Prince Flynn” He paused and his tone turned somewhat judgemental. “Split our forces, My Squire Daphne and the priestess witness found at the scene went to the temple with a sage. He split off from us, ran off after seeing a messenger, no idea where, he told no one, broke chain of command and also ran off alone into an unknown hostile zone. Could be anywhere…they are currently unaccounted for. His…best friend? Marquis floofed off to his pillows at the first sign of trouble.”

He paused and checked the blade frowning at the discounted marks and what this thing had done to his sword. “We made pursuit and hoped to find the attacker, but we ran into this instead.”

He paused, resting his blade down and panting slightly from the adrenaline of the fight. “In summary. Attacker is unknown, probably fled. The Messenger found Prince and he ran off to an unknown destination, Princess is Unknown. Situation is a Fluster Cuck of a fuckery, and we are about the only coordinated unit operating I know of.” He finished with a tone of report that the Officer in him had serious and grave concerns about the situation and the fact they had two Unknown high value persons unknown, one attacker unknown..

“That's about the short of it.” He said detailing the catalogue of drama.

Valthyr looked down onto the snow and saw that it was slowly turning red around his left paw as blood was dripping down his fur in a macabre, miniature waterfall. He shifted more of his weight onto the other leg and moved away to the side, limping slightly. A bit of a brainwave had just hit his mind and urged for immediate implementation. That one would hurt however as he could impossibly use the still healthy front leg for this while only standing on the other. Slowly but surely, he started scratching large letter after letter into the still pristine and fluffy white around them in a large circle. It was not exactly a work of literature, but hopefully the others would be able to add in the many words and characters he left out for the sake of making the process less arduous than it already was.

So, after some considerable moments had passed and with the occasional drop of blood sharing its company, the snow read the following:

"Not jst wolf, Valthyr. Atackr hmnoid, blight ? Was frst to witns attck, tried defend women as cat so atackr back injry. Alarmd Daphne, ran into prnce and idiot. Offrd my help, snifng trail of atackr. Woman slgt injry, ran away with othr. Prnce serch them, idiot thnks I am atackr, insltd me. Just arrivd in villg, not know any yet."

He then also carved an arrow that pointed into the direction he thought the attacker's trail he had originally picked up was going.

Orion’s eyes flitted between the soldier and the wolf as each recounted their narratives. Lord Coswain’s incisive and caustic critique of the prince’s decisions, along with the disarray among their ranks, elicited a profound furrow upon Orion’s brow. Despite the swell of emotions, he refrained from interjecting until both parties had exhaustively articulated all they understood.

“The prince splitting off along…” He exhaled through his nose, frustration evident but contained. “It is undeniably impulsive, even for one so audacious. Nevertheless, I’ve known him for a very long time and cannot fathom that he would forsake the pursuit without just cause. If he is not here, it is likely because he is convinced the princess is similarly unreachable. We must put our faith in his instincts directing him to a more promising path, perhaps even towards her.” Orion’s gaze fell on the bubbling remains of the dispatched creature.

“That leaves us with one option: we follow the trail of the attacker. If this blightborn was involved, it’s our only lead. Either it will guide us to the princess, or it will unravel the mystery of who or what is behind this.”

Without pause Lord Coswain quickly checked his gear was all where it was meant to be located and strapped something tighter as he took a drink from a canteen of water. “I wrote too many damn letters of services end to be damn polite about it. My wife is ill, I'm here, I'm not losing my damn head like a child playing soldiers.” He said harshly with evident held down emotion about the fact he was on this chaotic hunt than where he wanted to be.

“Get your gear in order, I can see gaps, and gaps mean you're dead. Straps tight. Almost lost a man due to a loose plate and a fast dagger.” He gave a look at one of the guards, he was being harsh but he also did not want to see him hurt because he did not tell him. He took his responsibility seriously to the soldiers under or about him.

“Seems we have a direction. Are you sure you can carry on?” He felt odd asking the wolf but oddly he respected him too. The … man..wolf had not run away and actively volunteered… and committed. That counted.

”If not take too long, yes. Hurts, can still walk, bite. Need clothes back in village. Grow room and mayb armor.” Valthyr scribbled into the snow. The bleeding seemed to weaken slowly, but it was still dripping a bit. He did not ask for a healer at that point, but just assumed this village of theirs had one. If they had a prince, they should have at least one of those as well. Wasn't a prince one of both Aurelia’s and Lunaris’ super important roles that rendered every tiny scratch a medical emergency threatening the integrity of the kingdom ?

Mentions
@The Muse@Qia@Fetzen

@c3p-0h

Aliseth

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Tavern

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Aliseth crumpled back onto his seat, the momentary shock turning into a flash of anger as realisation set in. It took a bit slower than usual due to the alcohol but it was definitely there, along with the faint hint of a promise 'You will be sorry for that'.
The anger however never manifested, instead transforming into a cold amusement as he gaze at Elio with a subtle smile. Intrigued eyes studied the masons face as silence stretched out. He took it to the cusps of Elio's tolerance before making a show of looking about and leaning forward to cautiously whisper.

"I.. I can't say any more. But maybe... Yes. I can help you find out for yourself. Go to the temple. Tell them I sent you to help identify the body. If you are quick, that should do it."

He nod solemnly as he let out a sad sigh, acting as if he had just done Elio some great big favour. "Wait, could you identify him based on his body alone?" he add in earnestly. "Oh never mind. You must get there quickly if you want to know." The sense of urgency real on his whispered words.

Again, he went to stand, watching the placement of his stool this time.

Tia tried very hard not to cower under the giant’s piercing stare. Her eyes drifted over his hulking form. She was mortified with herself when she flinched at his bow, his massive head coming close to hers. The sound of the heavy temple doors closing echoed down the hallway — and Tia was alone with the massive blight-born man. Her fingers tightened around the staff.

He was… disarmingly polite, despite his towering figure and harsh accent. Tia jumped when he let out a guttural curse and stomped away from her.

One hand against her chest, she tried to slow her breathing. She… she needed a break. It seemed like today had only piled one overwhelming development after the other, and Tia was exhausted. Her eyebrows scrunched together and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to steady herself.

She had a guest in the temple — an enormous, terrifying guest who’d just witnessed the arrest of a possible traitor to the crown — and Tia was still responsible to see to his needs. Even if she would’ve really appreciated a nap instead. Or to bury herself underground. Or just a nice good cry.

When the man came clomping back to her, Tia’s eyes were open and she had a polite, if strained, smile on her place. She hoped he paid no mind to the enormous weapon she carried.

He shoved his hand towards her and she flinched back. An… offering. Well, it was thoughtful if nothing else. Tia smiled up at him, her expression slightly bemused. If he had gone to all this trouble to procure this… offering, then it was a blessed gift for Aelios. She would… just need to figure out what to do with it. Soon. Before it started to smell.

She shook her head up at the man — Ivor — in response to his hope that Aelios wouldn’t be mad. Trying to fight through her worries and anxiety, she gave him as encouraging a smile as she could manage.

Then she looked from his face to the fish. Time stopped.

Its scales sparkled with a path of blue and purple starlight. “Where…”Her throat wasn’t recovered yet. Her was soft and rough, the word burning her throat. Tia stopped herself. Tried to swallow. Then she looked back up at Ivor’s face.

“Hm?” Had she said something? There was a noise that came from her shocked expression, but perhaps it was just a gasp? No, this time there was a word, but it was almost whispered, barely perceptible for the giant to hear. “Speak up please, yes?” Ivor said, approaching a little closer, “Ivor is having trouble hearing…” he stopped and cocked his head to the side, really taking in her expressions and stance. He had noticed it earlier, but the flinching, the strained face, it reminded him of Eris when he first began taking lessons from her. He remembered asking what was wrong with her face and the lesson was cut shortly after that. She would later explain to him that a man as large as he was considered by many to be ‘intimidating’ and ‘unapproachable’. His lesson for the day, at his request, was how to be ‘less scary to tiny people’.

“Oh, what was it Miss Eris said?” he paused, pondering the depths of his mind.

‘Smile at people when you meet them…b-but maybe not so intense like that. Softer, like this.’

Ivor forced a smile, not the kind of smile he’d give that was wide, happy, toothy, but more subdued like Miss Eris had shown him. What resulted looked something more akin to a set of puckered lips with an upward curve.

Tia blinked at him, fresh alarm on her face.

‘You’re also pretty…tall, so m-maybe make yourself shorter like the person you’re speaking with.’

Ivor had lowered himself down on one knee earlier, but even then he was still towering over the priestess. Perhaps if he took a seat? Checking behind himself first, Ivor began to lower himself down on his rear, careful not to drop the fish as he plopped to the ground with a dull thud, shaking the floor in the process. Tia’s hand darted back to the staff as she tried to steady it — or herself. Just as he was about to speak, Eris’ words poured into his brain once more.

‘And maybe don’t yell at people when you talk to them, lower your voice, especially indoors…’

Oh right, ‘inside voices’; “Miss Priestess,” Ivor whispered, “Could you please maybe, speak a little louder, Ivor cannot hear what it is you were saying.”

Tia’s eyebrows raised as she tried to make sense of the display. Then her cheeks started to pink as realization set in. He was… trying not to scare her. This behemoth of a man, arm muscles thicker than her torso, with a voice that boomed so loudly it filled the entire temple — even sitting down, he was still nearly at her eye level. Tia felt embarrassment flood her, that her fear had been so obvious that he’d taken it upon himself to treat her so carefully. Even if his attempts were clumsy and he still dwarfed her, it was… oddly touching.

This time when Tia smiled at him, it was softer. More genuine. Even if there was an apology buried in it as she met his crimson eyes.

Her lips pressed together. Then she gave a small shake of her head in answer to his question, raising a hand to tap against the scarf covering her throat.

Ivor watched as her body language seemed to relax a little and with it, Ivor’s strained smile turned a little more genuine, still soft, and not so toothy. Ivor cocked his head in the other direction to ponder her action, then it clicked, “You..cannot speak?” That didn’t seem right, he definitely heard her say something. Maybe something happened that was preventing her from speaking, maybe why she had her neck covered? He didn’t know all the answers, but he knew enough to nod in solidarity. Whether it was something physical, or a personal choice, Ivor wouldn’t pry further into the matter.

She looked back down at the fish. It seemed bigger, now that it wasn’t held in Ivor’s enormous hands. Familiar shades of blue and purple danced along its scales and for a moment Tia was lost in the river of colors. Looking up at Ivor again, she hesitated before pointing a finger at the fish. She stopped herself. She bit her lip. Then she used both hands to tilt the weapon she was holding towards Ivor, a silent request to hold it.

He watched as the priestess pointed towards the fish, hesitating before leaning the staff towards him. Looking between her and it, he figured it was getting in the way of whatever she was trying to do. Leaning forward he grabbed the staff, easily lifting from her grip. Inspecting the tool over, he hadn’t noticed the exposed blade, nearly the same length as the handle. His eyebrow raised curiously before he returned his attention back to the priestess, whose sight laid upon the fish offering. “Is good fish yes? You want to know more about it?” He paused and thought, “if you cannot speak though, how is Ivor to do the talking with you?”

Tia watched as he handled Gadez’s weapon, guilt briefly sweeping through her. It was so important to him… but Ivor wouldn’t damage it, right? It would be fine. Tia was only letting go of it for a little while, she told herself. Then she met Ivor’s eyes again.

Holding up a hand for a gesture to wait, Tia turned from Ivor to move back into her room. Her pulse spiked as she put her back to him — claws and teeth and pain flashed in her mind. But… Ivor was sitting. He whispered to her like he was trying to soothe a small, scared animal — and Tia supposed that to him, that was exactly what she was.

She crossed her room to her bedside table and pulled the drawer open, the paper and pencils rattling slightly within. Tia glanced over her shoulder to find Ivor still sitting in the hallway, holding the weapon. The fish glittered on the floor before him.

Turning back to the drawer, she pulled out a loose sheet and hurriedly wrote a message on it. Tia walked back to Ivor to hold the paper up. Her hands trembled slightly as anticipation built within her. The fish was a heavy presence between them.

Thank you for the offering — it’s very kind. Where did you find the fish? Was there a cave nearby?

Ivor waited as she held up her hand and returned to her room, watching as she reappeared with a sheet of paper. Holding it up to him he stared at the words, a mess of lines and scribbles, a contrast of black and white. He blinked, staring at the note for a few moments, it wasn’t nearly as neat as Miss Eris’ handwriting and her letters were much bigger than whatever was written on the sheet in front of him. He looked to the priestess, then the paper again, slowly he reached out and grabbed the sheet from her hands to look it over more closely. Some of the words he recognized, others…well he needed the practice for Miss Eris’ next lesson.

“Th- Tank..you, for, the, the off- the offer- offferrring…offering. It is, very, ki- kid? Ware…did, you, finned, the the….hmmmm fie-shu. Was, there, a…a cave, nerby….”

Stars above, he can’t read.

He looked up from the sheet back to her, “what is fie-shu?”

Tia made a small, distressed sound — or at least, she tried to. It came out as more of a breathy, half-formed squeak as her nerves grew. Her hand shot out to point down at the fish again.

He looked at the fish on the floor, then the paper in his hand. “Ohhhhh! The fish!” He bellowed out in laughter at his blunder, quickly covering his mouth as the noise echoed, “Ivor apologizes,” he spoke softly.

“Where did Ivor find fish and was there cave nearby?” Ivor asked before shaking his head, “no…” then he paused, “wait..yes, there was cave,” he reminisced, “Ivor fell down a hole before blizzard, stumbled upon cave that glittered like like sparkle at twilight, found many MANY fish!” He emphasized by stretching his arms out wide. “There is more outside, for the town, should keep many bellies full, yes?”

Tia’s heart was thundering in her ears — but his words cut through. She was nodding before he even finished speaking. Kneeling down on the floor, Tia wrote again on the paper. She tried to take a deep breath, writing as clearly as she could even as her hands shook. She held the paper back up to him.

Please show me?

He read over the words aloud again, and with that simplicity came clarity for the non-native speaker. “You want me to show you the fish cave?” His eye scrunched as he assessed the woman before him. Ivor hadn’t intended on showing anyone his recent fishing spot discovery, lest some greedy thieves come along and fish up the whole supply. He didn’t really feel that would happen if he showed the priestess, but the request was unusual coming from a person of her status. Then again, maybe she just found peace fishing? Ivor could understand that sentiment.

“Okay, Ivor will show you,” he smiled and nodded, “but, why do you want to see the fish cave?” His inquiry was serious, but his grin didn’t fade, hoping to ease her nerves.

Again, Tia hesitated. She knew her request was odd. She knew she was treating this fish — the cave — with more importance than would be expected. The force of all the secrets she was supposed to keep slammed into her, and it was nearly suffocating. She looked up at the large man who’d been nothing but courteous to her. Tia didn’t want to lie to him. But the Prince’s warnings, along with the Arch Priest’s echoed in her mind — don’t tell him.

For a moment she just looked up at Ivor. Then she brought the paper down again and wrote out another note.

I need to follow the crystals.

Ivor thought for a moment, “Cry…stall…criiiii oh.. The crystals! Küch, the spellings is strange on that one,” he recalled the cave formation, two entrances, one on either side. Technically he made one of those finding his way through the first time, but there was no crystals outside of that room. Ivor shook his head, “I do not know which of these crystals you can follow, the fish cave was the only place with the crystals…” he paused thinking harder, “although…I could see the fish down in the water because…crystals were lighting up in the water…” he looked at her seriously, “can you swim?”

Tia’s mind whirled. The crystals were… underwater? She thought of the snow — the Lunarian chill that she still wasn’t used to. Living in Dawnhaven was the coldest she’d ever been in her life, nevermind going for a swim —

But her dreams flashed in her mind. The glitter of the stars, embedded in the black of the cave. The burning, bristling heat, urging her forward.

She met Ivor’s gaze again. She nodded.

“Jabool!” Ivor rolled back before kicking his body up onto his feet, “what in the world are we waiting for, let’s go then!” Ivor turned and started walking for the door then stopped. “Oh,” he turned back, realizing he was doing the thing again where he does but needed to think, “you might want things, our journey takes us around the lake to base of mountain,” he approached the priestess again. “We may also want extra companion for the journey, in case of ‘the danger’.”

Tia’s eyes widened at the word danger. Somehow the thought hadn’t even occurred to her — that she might be walking into something that was impossible to walk out of. Her scar seemed to burn beneath her scarf. The fabric was weighed down and sticky, soaked through with crimson.

The last time she’d ventured out, desperate to help, desperate to prove useful…

Tia was laying on the ground, staring up at the river of stars in the sky, her blood soaking the earth.

And the thought of bringing another on their journey, into danger, nearly made her take back her request to explore the cave. Not to mention… what would the Prince say? He’d looked at her so coldly, the distance between them a gaping chasm as he’d told her about the upcoming expedition and to keep her visions a secret — to tell him if she’d had any more. She was already lying to him by omission. What would he say — how would he punish her — if he knew about this unsanctioned expedition to explore a vision she hadn’t told him about?

But there was that sensation again… that weight on the back of her neck that whispered and urged her forward. Tia looked down at her hands. She still wore the ring that had been given to her by the family of the boy she’d healed that first day in Dawnhaven. The fire opal glittered as her hand trembled, the flecks of color dancing light firelight.

Like stars.

Tia looked back up at Ivor. He was still holding Gadez’s spear. Tia didn’t know if he would approve of another wielding it — but somehow Tia felt better if it went on the journey with them. And she certainly wasn’t strong enough to use it. Finally, she gave Ivor a nod. She hoped it looked more confident than she felt. She doubted it, though.

She fluttered around her room, assembling what little she could in a bag. She paused though, as she looked through her closet. An ornate box, gilded and glittering in gemstones, sat hidden at the bottom. The word danger echoed in her mind again.

Tia was a healer. She didn’t know the first thing about combat or defending herself — she’d never carried a weapon before. But her fingers touched the scarf wrapped around her neck.

A weapon wouldn’t have protected her that day, she knew. She hadn’t even seen the attack coming, and trained soldiers had been ripped apart like it was nothing. Tia remembered the scattered bodies she’d woken amongst.

But still, her gaze stayed on the box.

Finally, she opened it and pulled out a ceremonial dagger, with an ornate hilt and a glittering sheath. It wasn’t meant to be used for combat. It felt blasphemous even holding it before its time had come. It was heavy in Tia’s hands, the metal almost hot to the touch. But it was all she had and the blade was sharp, she knew - sharp enough to pierce a heart.

Tia slipped it into the thick fabric that secured her robe, adjusting the belt until it covered it completely. She would take care of it — it would only come out if absolutely necessary, she promised.

She finished her preparations, stopping by her table again to leave a note for Ranni and Dyna and all but inhale the forgotten bowl of soup (it was warm as it filled her, centering her… and making her sad again as she thought of the one who’d brought it to her) and then she was finally ready…ish. Ready-ish.

She stood before Ivor, nodding at him as confidently as she could. Even as her heart drummed in her chest. She held up the paper again, another note written at the bottom.

Post office first?

While the priestess ran off to gather her supplies Ivor stood quietly in the hallway, boredom quickly set in as he fidgeted with the weapon he was given. It wasn’t his, but he was impressed with its design and even weight distribution. It wasn’t anything like his battleaxe he kept mounted on his hut’s wall, but it was a good blade. He took a few practice swings, noting the hardened metal ball on the other end felt more familiar than the sword end. Its design suggested it was meant as a walking stick, but it was too short for Ivor to wield as such. Reaching for his belt, he pulled some rope slung to the side, cutting a length and fashioning a sort of sling to rest the blade across his shoulder and back. Taking a few more practice swings, he slung it over his shoulder once the priestess reammerged from her chambers, another note in hand.

“Post office? Do you know someone there? Strange place to go to before cave, but who am I to do the judging.” Ivor stepped aside, allowing her to lead them, “I will follow where you go, when you’re ready to go to the cave, just let Ivor know.” He smiled, “Ready when you are.”

Tia led them through the side door near the springs — she needed to retrieve her notebook and charcoal that she’d dropped what felt like a lifetime ago… before her sisters had returned to her, before she’d gone against the Arch Priest to reveal her visions to the Prince, before Gadez had… been so very Gadez, only for Dyna to haul him off to a cell. She buried the fish in its place, hoping the snow would keep it fresh.

And then the priestess and barbarian were off, finally headed into town and away from the temple grounds.

As the Champion leveled her accusations, Zeph arched an intrigued brow. Threats against either King weren’t taken lightly, and even he knew better than to speak so recklessly about royalty. This man was brash—or perhaps just plain foolish. Likely both.

Zeph’s gaze shifted to the prisoner behind the bars, taking in the smug smile and sharp remarks he flung at the Champion’s back. When she paused to offer Zeph an Aelios blessing before making her exit, he couldn’t suppress the smirk that played at his lips, entertained despite himself.

For a brief moment, silence followed, but the prisoner seemed more than willing to fill it.

Turning his full attention onto the man, Zeph leaned casually against the wall, his amusement growing as the man launched into a theatrical spiel. Gadez certainly lived up to the Champion’s warning—he liked to talk. Granting him with the audience he so desperately desired, Zeph listened, his expression shifting between skepticism and entertainment.

When Gadez unapologetically doubled down on his accusations rather than backpedaling, Zeph chuckled under his breath. There was something to be said for a man who stood firm on his convictions. Still, while Zeph could certainly sympathize with a distaste for King Auric—and, frankly, the Aurelians as a whole—he couldn’t imagine letting that dislike consume him so thoroughly. It seemed exhausting. Life was too short to be bogged down by grudges and grand schemes.

Eventually, the incessant flow of words prompted Zeph’s gaze to wander to a stool tucked in a corner. Deciding he might as well get comfortable, he pulled it over and seated himself a few feet from the bars. From here, the torches lining the hallway flickered a faint amber glow across Gadez’s face, casting shifting shadows into the dark cell that seemed to suit the man’s performance.

As Gadez finished with a bow, Zeph let out a laugh. “Bold, aren’t you?” he said, his tone laced with mirth. His smirk widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on his knees. “Zephyros.” he introduced himself with a slight gesture towards his chest. “I’ve gotta give ya credit. Takes guts—or maybe just a complete lack of self-preservation. Hard to say.”

Keeping his gaze fixed on Gadez, he wondered what sort of gardener or performer would harbor such a burning grudge against the King of Aurelia—and why? And did this sentiment include the Prince?

Though Zeph found the man thoroughly entertaining, he was far from trusting a single word that left his mouth. Zeph had noticed his muscular build, now hidden beneath the man’s shirt—far more defined than any gardener or performer Zeph had ever encountered. And that tattoo… a design unlike anything he’d seen before. But for now, he tucked those observations away, deciding to keep his cards close to his chest.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Zeph asked, ignoring Gadez’s earlier question about what had brought him to Dawnhaven. “What is this place really, Paladice?”

---

_{Interactions: Gadez @Dezuel}

"Fortune favours the bold, and our darkened world needs all the fortune it can get. But I am, what I have to be. Zephyros then? Curious name. But I suppose the wind has guided you here for a reason. Each soul within these walls play a part in a grand play, which shall determine the fate of this world. You may think it mere ravings of a madman, or you may indulge yourself in the possibility…" Gadez softly spoke as he walked slightly closer towards the bars separating him and Zeph.

"Guts hm? We all have them. When it comes to self-preservation though, none is more adept at it than the King of Aurelia. I pray that Prince Flynn has inherited that part, but not his heart. There's many curious traits in that bloodline though, sometimes the apple falls very far away from the tree. Perhaps to someday become a tree itself with apples of it's own? The prophecy isn't quite what it seems to be. Then again? How many things are? Could you discern the truth from the lies?" The blonde man chuckled, and dragged his right index finger along the bars as he walked.

"Despite how well barred something is, even at the smallest of gaps, things can slip through. However, you need not worry that I would somehow break out of here. I put myself here at my own discretion. I'll let you in on one of a few reasons, as you seem to be a good listener. Earlier this day a boy approached the princess. Darkhaired and dark-eyed, hungry and with quite the gaze. One can only wonder what intentions he had in mind. I know his ilk, the kind whose overly eager to prove their mettle against other wolves, but what if said wolf was growling at a bear? A very sly bear." Gadez allowed himself an amused smirk as he pointed his finger at his forehead.

"That boy will no doubt come looking for me, and what better place to trap a wolf, than in a cage... with a bear. If said boy will not give chase, then I am not at a loss. For I have free lodgings and my other reasons keeping me well placed in the chapter which we all find ourselves, Zephyros the breeze. Including people who seeks the dangerous knowledge which some would label as... truth." He momentarily turned around, his gaze over his shoulder as he walked around the cell, throwing a momentary glance at the small barred window of the cell far above.

"Now to your question... what is Dawnhaven? It is a trap, but also a staging ground. To the two kingdoms, a loss of an heir would be reason enough to wage a just war. But what if you could in the same stroke as you lose your golden beacon, also have the opposing kingdom attack the place to subdue the growing threat. That is the blightborn. Neither kingdoms' citizens would feel at ease knowing there's a wolf den in their backyard. Would you let your children out to play, knowing fully well what's out there? People can easily be ruled by fear. It has been a thing of the past, and will always sadly be a part of human nature, to fear that which we find foreign... obscure... anomaly." He blew some air through his mouth and stretched his arms slightly.

"If Lunaris attacks Dawnhaven and Prince Flynn dies, then Aurelia will not only have remnants of Dawnhaven on it's side and a weaker Lunaris, they will also have a reason to see the kingdom of ice and snow… burn. Aurelia however will not attack Dawnhaven unless Dawnhaven itself manages to eclipse Lunaris. Thereby becoming the larger threat. I find it highly ironic that the weapon which Aurelia relies upon, the blight, is the same weapon which may cause it's undoing." He allowed himself a laugh and set his blue eyes on Zephyros.

"My loyalty lies with Dawnhaven ultimately. Regardless of what it may think of me. Because the blight, despite the pain and suffering spread across our world, has done the unthinkable. It has allowed people to see past the two sides of the coin and realized that there's an edge to a coin too. And now we are standing upon it, hoping that it will grant us the future, that neither warring goddess would let us have willingly." He held his hands behind his back as he gave another smirk, taking a moment to pause before continuing.

"If the sun returns to how it were, with either kingdom as the ultimate victor, we would be all thrown back into the endless loop. The wheel of time. Only difference is that all blightborn would be destroyed, either by the return of the bright skies or by people who will not accept them. They claim they seek a cure for the blight? The cure is already here under their noses. Acceptance. Like one has to accept that nothing in our world is truly eternal. Not even the divine. What does matter in the end, is what you lived for... or died for. In my case, I am here to make certain that Dawnhaven will prevail, no matter what ending that is awaiting. But that is what makes life thrilling isn't it? Not knowing the truth from the lies." He quickly turned around, his hair swaying in the air as he almost took on a sinister facial expression.

"The lynx in shadows silent, keeps a hidden truth… it softly weeps. The heart of alchemy it holds, the secret turning stone to gold. With eyes that shimmer brighter still, It guards the key with iron will. An oath written in ink upon the skin, a mark of death and father's sin, an olden secret kept within. For all whom lay eyes upon it, has the knowledge to turn the stone to gold." The gardener almost chanted, like he was reciting some text from an old tome.

"Hahah… ahh… now imagine if someone like yourself were to simply drop a key. Now that would be a certain way to make a particular champion very, very sour. Quite tempting isn't it? Well… accidents do happen. I am certain my younger brother would understand once he finds the time. Hopefully he found the princess in time." He chuckled and went over to sit on the bed in the cell, crossing one leg over the other.

@The Muse

Amaya was no longer warm where he touched her — she was burning, set aflame by the feel of his skin. All her senses were heightened, attuned to the sound and smell and touch of him. She felt so much, it was dizzying. She wanted to catalogue this moment piece by piece. The calluses on his hand, holding the nape of her neck. The quiet, breathless joy in his voice. The wave of his fine strands of hair against her fingers, contrasting with the scratch of his beard on her palm. The way her lips tingled with every silent promise he breathed into her.

She wanted this moment. Just this. Was it small enough to keep hidden away in her heart?

Her hand flattened against his chest. The steady beat of his heart answered her: no, this was not small. This was the avalanche that felled the forest as it claimed the mountainside, and now she stood in the settling dust.

He stood with her.

Her eyes drifted open. She could barely see him. He was so close that he surrounded her, blocking out the candlelight. Amaya couldn’t find her voice. She was afraid of what she might say if she did — a quick rebuttal to protect herself. A request for promises she was terrified to hope for. Or worst of all, the truth — that Flynn, this audacious man who felt, and protected, and consumed her so thoroughly that it took her breath away, made her want to forget what it had ever been like to be alone.

Amaya’s hand slid down his face, just enough for her thumb to find the swell of his cheek. It drifted over his skin and she marveled at the feel.

‘He is mine.’

The thought reverberated through her. Then she tilted his face towards her again for a soft kiss. It wasn’t his summertime heat and overflowing life. It was quiet and tender like the winter, with all the frail honesty she could give him.

Flynn faintly smiled against her lips as he returned her delicate kiss, trying his best not to eagerly overpower her. A nervousness in his chest caused his heart to skip a beat, though, in tandem, a sense of relief coursed through him. Her touch, her kiss, the way she allowed herself to lean into him—she wanted this, too. The pull between them wasn’t one-sided.

This feeling was so foreign, one he couldn’t remember ever feeling—giddy, anxious, breathless, all at once. In the past, everything had been so straightforward when it came to women. Effortless, even. Women had wanted him, and he had known it. That certainty had always stripped away any nerves that might have come.

But this… this was different. Intoxicating. His heart pounded against his chest, and he knew nothing—not a single past experience—could ever compare to the way this felt.

The soft, enticing sounds that had escaped her lips echoed in his mind. A new craving arose, a desperate need to hear her again, to be the cause of that delicious surrender. His lips returned to hers, capturing another kiss—slow, measured.

But then, begrudgingly, he pulled away, lips lingering just above hers as if he struggled with the decision. After a few moments, he took in a deep, steadying breath. He had to stop himself. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability, not after everything she’d just endured. As much as he wanted her—more than anything—he couldn’t think only of himself.

Opening his eyes, his hand slipped behind her back, gently pulling her against him. She held herself stiffly at first. Then after a moment’s hesitation, she let herself relax in his hold. He knew she could hear the nervous rhythm of his heart, something he so rarely allowed to be revealed. Yet, with her, he didn’t seem to mind. Somehow, the vulnerability felt right.

For a moment, he simply held her, savoring the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, her head resting beneath his chin. Every fiber of his being ached to kiss her again, with every ounce of passion he felt, but he forced the feeling down.

His voice, low and gentle, broke the quiet. “Please,” he whispered, his words a tender plea, “don’t put yourself in danger like that again. My heart can’t take it.” His arms tightened ever so slightly around her, as if he were afraid she might slip away from him at any moment.

“We’ll figure this out,” he murmured, “Together.” His hands shifted, one threading into her hair while the other pressed against the small of her back.

“He’ll never take anything from you again.” He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing her temple, a silent promise that she would never have to face the world alone again.

Amaya squeezed her eyes shut as she breathed him in. His words landed heavy in her heart. He sounded so… certain. Her father loomed large in her mind, his shadow darkening her entire world. Amaya curled her legs under herself, trying to find a position that would let her stay here, wrapped in his arms. When she was satisfied, she sank into him again. Flynn’s arms tightened around her, securing her to him, as if he alone could keep her there. As if his promises could be kept.

Even if Flynn could stand against a King – especially one as ruthless and cruel as her father – there were other dangers in the world. The blight consumed more and more every day. There was still blood on Amaya’s sleeve and pain in her arm. Even their marriage, the thing that had initially brought them together, had only added time to the ticking clock that measured their lives – time that had allowed Amaya’s heart to be unwillingly bound to the one that now beat against her ear. The sound of it anchored her, even as she worried. It was loud and quick. For all of his confidence, he was affected by this, just as she was. She sighed into him, savoring the feel of his hand in her hair, his strong arm holding her to him.

She was still grieving her mother. She was terrified for Elara’s safety. And now Flynn… Flynn and this thing between them that was too big for her to keep. Amaya had learned long ago to hide her wants, her joys. She knew better. The only protection against loss was to create the illusion that there was nothing left to take.

But there was too much now. She hadn’t thought she would survive losing her mother. What would the next heartbreak do?

There was quiet for a long moment as they sat wrapped around each other. Flynn’s fingers idly combed through her hair, the repetitive motion grounding him as much as it seemed to calm her. Yet, his thoughts began to drift to the mountain of challenges before them, spiraling through endless corridors of doubt.

“This is all very upsetting,” she murmured, even as she nestled closer to him. Amaya tried to hide behind her light words, to create space that might obscure her fears. Her hand smoothed over his chest, a soothing motion. She wasn’t sure if it was for his sake or hers. “You should’ve been easier to hate.” How desperately she’d tried.

Flynn’s gaze flicked down to her, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. “You didn’t think the Golden Prince of Aurelia would really be that easy to hate, did you?” he teased, though the title felt bitter on his tongue. It always had.

His hand paused briefly in her hair, the smirk softening as his thumb traced along a loose curl. “I'll give you credit—you had me convinced.” His tone was playful, but the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes betrayed just how much her disdain had stung his ego. “I guess I should thank you for keeping me humble.”

After a beat, his voice dropped, quiet but curious. “What did you know of me, before all this?”

Amaya paused at his question — her question, used against her. Another wave of insecurity swelled. “They wouldn’t tell me much. I was kept from modern political life in Lunaris, let alone Aurelia. The most I had was gossip.” He already knew she’d lived her life trapped behind the palace walls. What more could the depth of her ignorance reveal?

“You were handsome and cocky.” There was a slight teasing edge to her voice. “A potentially dangerous rival when you took the throne until… something changed.” Amaya’s hand slid up his chest to find the slope where his neck met his shoulder and she gave a small squeeze in apology. Whatever had caused the shift in the nobles’ perception, she couldn’t imagine it was something Flynn wanted to remember, let alone discuss.

She remembered the first time she’d heard one of her father’s cabinet members refer to him with mockery rather than gravity a year ago. It had caught Amaya so off guard that she’d paused to look at him fully. She’d spent all night cursing herself for the reaction – the man had realized his mistake immediately and redirected the conversation to something inane. Her curiosity, her desperation for knowledge felt callous now.

“My father agreed to the marriage so easily, I expected the worst… but my mother said you’d be kind. I suspect that’s why I didn’t freeze you on the spot.”

She thought of Flynn, the first time she saw him. Looking every bit the dashing Prince with his elegant Aurelian suit and practiced smile, he’d held her hand and slipped a ring on her finger. He’d looked back up to meet her eyes, his hand tightening slightly around hers – and there’d been a flash of vulnerability.

Amaya had been furious.

“Though it was a near thing.”

Flynn tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Your mother must’ve been a good judge of character," he said lightly. "It seems I owe her my life."

His gaze dropped briefly to where strands of her dark hair slipped through his fingers, the candlelight casting soft, golden hues across it. After a beat, his sly smile returned. "Or maybe," he added, his voice taking on a teasing edge, "you just couldn’t resist how handsome and cocky I was."

“I could still do it, you know,” she lied.

Softly, he took her hand, cradling it in his before lifting it to his lips. His gaze flicked to hers, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand—a Prince honoring his Princess. All that had happened between them today, and this simple act still caused her cheeks to darken. His lips lingered for just a moment longer than necessary before he lowered her hand, resting it carefully between them.

Grazing his thumb over the delicate skin of her wrist, his gaze settled on the faint marks of her injury, and the light in his expression slowly dimmed. His touch stilled, the faint smile falling away as the weight of reality crept back in. His brow furrowed slightly, though he remained silent, and pulled her a little closer. As if proximity alone might shield her from harm.

Amaya pressed herself back into him as she felt him graze the edge of her half-healed wound. Her voice was careful when she spoke again.

“Elara will need to be guarded. I… upset him. He threatened her for it.” And he’d promised to return. “Nothing can happen to her, Flynn.”

Flynn’s gaze hardened, a cold anger coiling deep within. His jaw tightened as he gave a curt nod. “I’ll double the watch for her, too.”

His voice was steady, deliberate, but an unmistakable tension simmered beneath the calm. “What did he look like?” he asked, curious if this had been a blight-born he had already given the pass to—if he had failed. “Did he give you a name?”

Flynn had gone very still around her. She knew this stillness — not on him, though.

“It was the man from the feast,” She said, her nerves starting to rise again. His face flashed through her mind, his voice, the blood. “He was shorter than you, young, pale skin, dark eyes and hair. But by the end he was… changing.” Her pulse started to drum in her chest, even as she tried to hold her reactions as tightly as possible. “It was like he was withering away.” Until he’d torn Sir Abel’s face away and gorged himself on blood. “He said his name was Rezith Branshaw.” Amaya’s voice sounded very far away to her own ears.

Flynn clicked his tongue at the mention of the man from the tavern, his gaze shifting to the ceiling as a scoff of disbelief escaped him. ‘Of course,’ he thought, his mind reeling. Of course it had been him. The vermin who had looked at her with that gaze Flynn had despised. He should’ve known.

Anger coiled tighter in his chest, but he forced himself to focus on Amaya, to breathe, to push aside the building fury. Shifting his gaze back to her, all that fire almost completely snuffed itself out. He knew that look.

He could see the shadows of those memories in her eyes. His heart twisted with guilt, his own failures threatening to swallow him whole.

“Look at me,” he whispered as he gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing softly over her skin.

Amaya did not flinch. She didn’t gasp. She put herself in as small a box as possible, and when she looked up at him with a neutral expression, the only sign of her distress was the way her breath seemed shallower than normal. But she couldn’t stop the brief flash of emotion in her eyes when they met his, even as she tried to smother it.

He couldn’t help but smile faintly when her eyes met his again—those vivid, endless depths of pale blue, like frozen lakes bathed in moonlight. She was beautiful in a way that hurt.

"You’re safe here." he said quietly, a tinge of sorrow reflecting behind his own eyes as he looked at her. The blade of guilt twisting in his chest.

Leaning forward, he pressed a light, tender kiss to her forehead. She let out a shaking breath. “Rest,” he murmured, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. “It’ll be okay.”

Then, with care, he began to move, removing his heavy jacket and tossing it over the bedpost.The soft thud of his boots hitting the floor followed as he kicked them off. His hand moved to the sword sheathed at his side, and with a practiced motion, he unbuckled it, laying it carefully along the edge of the opposite side of the bed—still within reach, but far enough away to let them settle into the moment.

When he turned back to her, her boots were carefully lined up on the ground and her coat was folded on the bedside table, the sleeve tucked away to hide the stain. Her narrow shoulders were straight and stiff. She was looking down at her arm in her lap.

Most of the dried blood had flaked away by now. There was only the thickest layer left, scabbing around the entry point where the blight-horn’s blood had torn into her. Almost her entire forearm below the quarter sleeve of her dress was covered in a speckled bruise, her brown skin dotted with the red and purple of burst blood vessels. Her fingers drifted over the watercolor stain.

Shifting behind her on the bed, Flynn gently guided her to lay down with him, pulling her in close. She hesitated, before silently obeying. His chest pressed against her back, fingers brushing over her waist.

Wrapping her in his arms, his mind raced, the tension coiled within him refusing to fully dissipate. The image of that man's grin, looking at Amaya, haunted his thoughts. He did everything he could to push it aside, focusing instead on her—the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the soft scent of her perfume, the way every curve of her body fit against his.

She melted against him, bit by bit — like she was trying to fight it off, only to find that it was a losing battle. Cocooned in his warmth, his heavy arms holding her to him, his breath dusting the top of her head like a gentle touch, there was little she could do against it. When she finally drifted off to sleep, she was soft and safe against him, with her fingers loosely threaded through his.

It was enough to quiet the storm inside him, if only for a moment. At least, for now, all that mattered was this.

"Oh.... okay Valgo," Desmond replayed as he heard Valgo's slow and disjointed response. Looking rather wided eye opened and a bit nervous. So the rumors were right, he thought as he took a small sip from his drink. Well, not all of them but, the ones about a blightborn sucking your soul out is actually true apparently. But if that is the case then why would the prince and princess allow them to live in the town? Since they are dangerous it appears and yet.... he is now living with them and already having a business opportunity with one. Does she eat souls or flesh or....?

Desmond sighed at the thought and realize he may have to watch himself and his staff just in case. He wanted to press Valgo further about the blighborn but considering his slow response and how he might react. Desmond opted not to ask him further and simply took the information he as given. Though he would like to know what a hakdeesha is and why it is lucky to find a hungry one.

Still, there has to be a reason how the blightborn are able to seemly coexist here given their feeding requirements... Is there something he is missing or what is the princess thinking? This perplexes him and he sighed again after taking a long sip from his drink. Time to investigate it sounds like to see how dangerous the blightborn can be and how they coexist here.

But remembering he is talking to someone, Desmond bounced back from his thoughts, back to the table and the last thing that Valgo said. Desmond managing to make a smile despite his worrying thoughts. "Yes, Valgo, it was nice to meet you too and yeah we will meet again." Sounding sincere and would have hoisted his drink up so they could tap each others mugs but, since Valgo did not have a mug, Desmond did not try. "Just be careful okay?"

Interact - @Dark Light

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Nesna swirled her drink around in the cup passively as Sya dismissed her apology and then asked about styling. After a moment of pause, Nesna responded.

“It’s all well,” she cryptically said. Her tone was a bit wistful, though what she said to conclude had a firm downturn in tone clearly indicating she was not currently interested in elaborating further, “I’ve just never been a Miss before.”

To avoid making an awkward situation of it, Nesna took a small sip of the wine and offered a polite smile. As the innkeeper soon needed to hurry off, Nesna then responded, “Of course, there is no hurry,” though she was unsure if the innkeeper had indeed heard her response. As she stood idly, her attention turned to her bags. Looking at them, at the map, and then around the room, she took a step and flagged down one of the inn’s workers.

“I’ll need these brought to room number six,” she stated firmly. With a flick of the wrist, she floated the bags into the hands of the man, and then reached over and grabbed the smallest of the bags from him—the bag from which she had produced the earrings.

“Never you mind this one. I’ll keep it on my person,” she added. She turned her attention back to the bar for a moment, before adding “Thank you,” as the man walked off with her clothes. Once the worker was properly on his way, Nesna returned her attention fully to the conversations going on nearby. She watched from the corner of her eye as Guard Kain continued to speak to another man—and then that same man prevented him from leaving for a spell.

If there was one small consolation about her eyes, their lack of pupils made it altogether impossible to see precisely where she was looking. And Nesna had forgotten, only now remembering, just how interesting it could be the eavesdrop.

It was making sense, now. Of course Guard Kain had suspected her. Evidently, there were others about who might have borne a resemblance to her in some way. Or at least, it must have to his battered and bruised eyes. How inconvenient. Though it made sense, in the end. Things couldn’t very well have been fully auspicious; meeting Zeph obviously meant an open, waiting hand from fate to receive its proportionate repayment. More than one step forward, most often, demanded at least one step back, if not more steps back than forward. As Nesna’s eyelids and brow sunk in slow resignation to the conclusion, the innkeeper returned with food.

Nesna leaned forward slightly, inspecting the spread. Her expression remained largely the same, though she reminded herself to put a smile back on.

“Thank you,” she replied, then adding, “I’ll let you know how it suits me.”

Nesna took the nearest seat at the bar—the one right next to the man who had been speaking with Guard Kain.

“Pardon,” Nesna said, mostly to him, as she went to sit, setting her drink down as she approached. She swept her peacock-blue dress forward as she took her seat on the stool, and then pivoted to face the bar properly. With three fingers outstretched, Nesna pointed to the food, and then curled them inward, drawing to food in front of her.

Uncertain whether the man was going to rush off or not, Nesna pulled both wings tightly to her, so they would neither rest on the floor nor stick out far back. She turned her attention back to the food, and nudged the bread away from her. It was tempting, certainly, but a terrible idea.

Interactions
@PrinceAlexus, @c3p-0h

_{Location: Outside --- front of Aelios’ Temple}

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Step after agonizing step, the pounding in her head dulled the further she got away from Tia. When the doors closed behind them, it was almost as if they left a music hall, the beating of war drums replaced with a calm and chilled wind. She still felt nauseous, but at least she could think more clearly, and be less inhibited by that primal nature deep within. Ranni led the two to a brazier fire, the crackling heat immediately warming Céline’s face as it kissed her flesh. She focused on her breathing, swallowing through each breath to hold back whatever bile may try to come. Eventually her stomach settled and Ranni seemed to pick up on this, beginning her inquiry. Regardless of the gentle tone and focused eyes, even though she knew this was coming, Céline found the words difficult to voice. Still, Ranni had come to Céline’s aid when she needed it most, it was only fair that she received an answer.

Céline’s eyes reflected the firelight, their flames dancing in those shimmering mirrors of her irises; their gaze never tearing away from Ranni’s. “I mentioned to you earlier inside that I’m able to sense the emotions of others and while the extent of my abilities are just as I described to you, I believe the main reason I can sense emotions is for finding sustenance. In other words, I feed on the emotions of those around me, stealing their life force so that I may sustain my own.” Céline’s ears drooped as her stomach churned, causing her to ungraciously drop to her knees whilst clutching her abdomen.

Breathe in! Hssssssssth

Breathe out! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

After a few breaths the nausea subsided and Céline fell back on her rear, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion. Her gaze shifted up to a concerned Ranni, before drooping slightly as she continued to catch her breath. “Have you ever had a day, where you’re just so hungry, that when food is finally in front of you, all you feel is sick, even if you want to eat it?” She wrapped a hand over her stomach, “The emotions coming from Tia were so strong, that if you hadn’t taken me away.. I don’t even want to think of what I could have done to her…”

Céline suddenly felt sick for a different reason, Tingara was a kind woman who showed her such hospitality, even if a blizzard did force it upon her. Thinking of the blizzard cast her mind upon their other unexpected guest, the enigmatic Gadez. He was kind enough, their interactions were brief, but to pass the time he did tell wonderful stories. For him to be arrested, what could he have done? If it was to hurt Tia, Céline would have already been over to render her aid. The extreme emotions Tia was feeling, anxiety, fear, could he have told her something? Then there was the champion, announcing the arrest with such authority, even Céline in her haze could hear her words cut through. Her emotions on the other hand, while Tia’s were much more wild and intense, Dyna’s almost felt..muted, subdued. Somewhere in the back of her mind it made Céline wonder if she really was human, but then again, not as many people were anymore.

Céline looked to Ranni, realizing she hadn’t spoken for a while, “Thank you, for helping me, Ranni,” she sighed, “frankly that’s what I’m supposed to be doing here myself; helping people.” Céline wanted to kick something, “instead I can barely hold the contents of my stomach when someone’s having a bad day, or worse I want to devour them when they’re having a complete emotional meltdown!” The mounting frustration caused her voice to rise with each word and again she found herself breathing, this time to exhale the frustration away. “How am I to help anyone if I can barely help myself…perhaps it was a mistake to come here if I’m only going to put others in harm's way..”

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_{mentions Tia@c3p-0h, Gadez @Dezuel; speaking with: Ranni@Queen Arya}