Céline (@SkeankySnack) | Aurora Halliwell (@BlackRoseSiren)

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Pity. That was truly the only feeling that Ranni could feel as she watched her fellow Blightborn suffering before her. Telling Ranni about her hunger, and why that made her a danger. Thoughts which nearly brought the young Priestess to tears, as she couldn't imagine what it was liking being such a danger to everybody around you. Well... maybe she'd be able to soon enough, after all there was so much that she didn't know about her new condition. This poor soul needed comfort, she needed... somebody to help ease the pain. After all, what kind of life was it to be dedicated to service and then being forced to endanger people just so you could survive? A dreadful test. With a little sigh, the Priestess stood up to stoke the flames in their little brazier before turning her attention back on Celine. After but a moment; Ranni gently drifted closer as the woman continued to speak, kneeling down to take one of her hands in both of Ranni's own. Her eyes meeting with Celine's with a soft, yet fierce, determination burning within.

"Would you like to know what I see?" She asked softly, offering a reassuring smile towards Celine. Ranni did not wait for an answer before continuing to speak. "I see somebody who is past the point that most would break and cave to their desires, the very ground that drives good men to perform evil deeds. Yet, I see somebody who walks that ground with her concern still very much being with the welfare and in service of others." She said softly, tilting her head slightly to the side as her tail gently flicked behind herself. "That requires strength, alot of it. The very kind of Strength one must have in order to help another. That strength, is also what separates us from the monsters of the world, and what reassures me that you are not, in fact, a danger to those around you." She said softly, allowing herself to sit next to Celine even as she still held the woman's hand within her own. "So please, do not the frustration and bad thoughts control you. Else we'll never be able to find a way to help you, and if we can't do that... then we won't be able to get you back to a focus on helping others. Then Dawnhaven, I fear, might lose one of the strongest souls whose mind I've touched since arriving." She offered with a little smile.

Ranni then turned her attention forwards the flames for a long moment, seeming to fall deep into thought before looking over towards Celine once more. " 'Tis my belief, that Aelios must test each and every one of us at some time in our life. It would seem that she had chosen your trial to be faced now, exposing you to such temptations with your condition." Ranni said, cocking her head to the side as a thought occurred to her. "Tell me, when you must... feed on emotions. Does it also take some of that feeling from the one you are sampling from? Perhaps then, we've a potential path forward. You could, with self control I must admit, use that to both satisfy your hunger and ease some of the hardships of your fellows. Not enough to remove the feeling entirely, mind you, but to make it... easier to deal with." She said, offering a little smile as she already found herself trying to find ways to resolve the moral conundrum Celine found herself in... even as the Priestess silently worried if something similar would happen to her.

It was at that very moment that another voice cut into their conversation, and the Priestess visibly jumped a bit from where she was sat with a small yelp helping to announce her surprise. At the same time, the shrill sound of the alarm cut into her mind... just barely audibly over the crackling flame and soft whispers of the wind outside their little alcove. Ranni wondered how she'd even missed the sound until now. So engrossed had she been in their conversation, and with the other noise in her immediate area they must've drowned it out. As Ranni stared at the woman before her for a long moment, she closed her eyes to clumsily grasp around for the two presences she knew best in this town. Dyna, was easy, and Ranni got a flash of a sense of purpose along with a myriad of armed people being with her... along with a boulder for some reason. Still, it was clear, Dyna was on the hunt for whatever had caused the alarm. Tia, however was far away... which Ranni found strange but couldn't exactly do much about. She willed Tia to be safe, uncertain if her prayer or thoughts would ever reach her sister, then pulled herself back to the moment.

She wore a sheepish smile, as she quickly bowed in apology towards both Aurora and Celine. "Apologies, I did not... hear the alarm, I'm afraid I am quite new to Dawnhaven." She said softly, then immediately stepped back towards the temple's entrance. "The High Priestess appears to be dealing with something, though most assuredly she is keeping safe." She explained, mostly a subtle indication to Celine that it would be safe to step back inside. "With there being an alarm about, the three of us should step back inside. We'll be safer inside than we would out here. Come, Come." She said, beckoning the two to follow her without giving either woman much room for a debate at the moment. "Miss... I will need to ask your name, you can help us by staying with us inside. Please, so I can confirm you're safe." She said, a hint of firmness attempting to be forced into the girl's tone.

After all, she did have a job to do still. Right now, that meant ensuring any nearby got indoors where it would likely be safer... and focusing on a task did keep her mind from wandering down darker avenues she'd already tread that morning...

Ranni shook her head as she entered the empty Temple, holding the door open for both women before slipping inside herself. "Please, take a seat. I'll keep a watch of the situation from inside, though I would appreciate additional pairs of eyes. Just in case, I'd feel dreadful if we locked out somebody in need of shelter." The Priestess explained as she turned lock on the doors. Taking up a position where she could see out a window near the doors, she spoke up softly towards the two within the building. "Since I am relatively new to Dawnhaven, does this sort of thing happen often? The alarms?" She asked, fishing to see if this town was somehow dangerous... and just how worried she needed to be about her sisters.

As Amaya withdrew, the sudden absence carved an aching void within Elara, a pang so acute it sent tremors through the very marrow of her being. The delicate intimacy that had enfolded only moments before dissipated, unravelling into an expanse of unfamiliar distance-an expanse Elra could not have foreseen, nor prepared for. Her gaze, once bright with an unguarded tenderness, hardened with an embryonic discontent, the sting of her friend’s persistent insistence on being fine striking a discordant note within her. The incongruity between Amaya’s unwavering facade and her fragility, though not new to her, seemed to release an unrelenting spectre demanding recognition before her, and it set a slow-burning blaze within that Elara’s usual temperate nature now struggled against.

But it was when Amaya’s gaze shifted, drawn inexorably toward Flynn, that the handmaiden felt the fragile scaffolding of her restraint buckle beneath the weight of an unarticulated longing. The strange, the new, affection that flickered between them, intangible yet undeniable, pressed against her like an invisible force, sharpening every single one of her frayed nerves. Beneath the polished mask of self-possession she wore so dutifully in the face of royalty, something fissured-a raw, simmering frustration that refused to remain contained.

And then, like a sudden squall upon tranquil water, it finally broke free.

“Stop,” she said, “Just stop it already.” Elara’s voice emerged cool yet edged with steel, its undercurrent betraying the storm roiling beneath the simple denotation of the word. Amaya’s eyes snapped to Elara, caught off guard. “You’re being a fool, and you know it.” She stood up, grabbing at Amaya’s forearm and turning it to display the bruises there once more.

“Pray tell, what defines ‘fine’ in your lexicon? Because having one of our best sages walk out of this room to grab a priestess, who we don’t know, but is supposed to be our best sun-blighted hope is the exact. Opposite. Of fine!”

“Fine is alive,” Amaya snapped as she wrenched her arm back, “as it has always been. And frankly, that’s all we can afford.” She levelled Elara with a cold look of growing anger. It wasn’t often that the two fought – life in the palace meant they were too often focused on survival, finding comfort and support in each other. But Amaya still knew the storm in her friend’s eyes, just as she recognized the blizzard surging through her veins to meet it. All her chaotic emotions began to coalesce into something sharp and lethal. Pain reverberated through Amaya’s arm in time with her heartbeat.

“And if my survival should ever be in question, I’m confident that adequate resources will be devoted to ensuring that I remain fine, because apparently my entire life has just been a series of men deciding that it’s not yet the opportune time to be rid of me, and there are still at least nine months on the clock.” Her words were precise, steadily gaining speed and volume as she threw the prophecy in Elara’s face, and its inevitable conclusion – a painful, unspoken grief that neither had been willing to address. It sat between them now, a raw wound festering in the open air.

“But what about your survival?” Something fractured the ice in Amaya’s eyes, revealing the fear beneath. Her voice had the slightest tremble. “Hmm? Will the same level of care be taken to make sure you live?” Amaya leaned towards Elara, eyes searching hers like she hoped she might actually find the answer. Then her gaze hardened again, the flash of vulnerability sealed away. “Or Lady Hightower? The innkeeper? Those two sisters from the feast?” Amaya shook her head as she watched Elara. She pulled back again. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, but no less intense.

“Do you think that what happened today will be the only threat Dawnhaven ever faces? All of our best healers are Aurelian, and their magic will only grow weaker. I am not willing to discover the point at which they run dry, nor whom they are unable to save, and I will not have them drain themselves on things that will heal, on their own, because they want to make sure that the Princess is a pretty enough offering for Seluna!”

"Enough." Flynn’s voice cut through the tension, calm but weighted with an authority he rarely leaned into. "Both of you."

Flynn’s green eyes flicked to Elara first, narrowing slightly as he regarded her. The fire in her words held a boldness he wasn’t accustomed to hearing directed toward the Princess—toward his wife. The way she spoke with a familiarity that bordered on insolence bristled against his instincts. A part of him wanted to remind her that Amaya was royalty, deserving of a certain deference.

But as the words settled in the air, Flynn had to admit to himself that he didn't truly know the depth of their relationship. The ease with which Elara spoke to Amaya—how she challenged her without hesitation—hinted at a bond far deeper than any he'd ever shared with the palace staff.

Elara wasn’t just Amaya’s handmaiden. She was a friend—an equal in a way that Flynn hadn’t fully grasped until this moment. She wasn’t speaking out of turn; she was speaking out of care.

Amaya's fears were justified, but Elara was right. Amaya wasn’t fine. And it was time someone made her see it.

His focus shifted to Amaya, his gaze softening. "She's right." he said firmly, even as Amaya's expression sharpened in response, defiance reigniting like flint against steel. His heart skipped a beat, nervous that he had just lost the intoxicating vulnerable way she had looked at him not long ago.

"You survived, but survival isn’t enough—not for me." His eyes locked onto hers, unflinching under her scrutiny. "I didn't fight this hard just to pretend like survival is all you deserve. I want you to live."

Flynn took a breath, his jaw tightening. "And if it were Elara sitting here, wounded, and refusing aid, or even one of the guards, I wouldn’t hesitate to spend every resource at my disposal to save them—to make sure they had the best chance.” His gaze dropped only briefly, looking at her hands as he longed to reach out, but refrained, unsure if she’d accept the gesture. "Because they all matter… Because you matter, Amaya. Not as a Princess, not as some symbol of hope or offering to the Goddess, but as you." He paused, his eyes searching hers.

He knew all too well the fears she carried, the bitter ache of being reduced to a name etched into prophecy, a pawn in a game played by Goddesses. “I want you to be able to wake up one day without having to carry this pain, this burden, every second of your life. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. But you have to let us help you.”

Elara’s lips pressed into a taut, bloodless line, the gravity of Flynn’s words settling within her and curling into the hollow spaces she had long since fortified against such intrusions.

His words were not solely for Amaya; they were for her as well.

The realization coiled tightly within her, a thorned truth she could neither ignore nor dislodge. She detested it. The way his voice now seemed to carry a quiet dominion over Amaya’s well-being. He spoke with the assuredness of a man who thought he knew Amaya’s every need and the audacity of it sent a bitter pulse of resentment through her veins. It was not jealousy in the simple petty sense-it was something far more complex, a lamentation of space lost, of a role once unquestioned. Truly, this time.

Nonetheless, Elara cast a glance toward Flynn, offering him a curt nod as if he’d said nothing of significance, nothing she’d already expressed. “I shall…procure fresh water,” she murmured the excuse as if it was anything but, retreating with the seamless grace ingrained in her since her earliest training days. At the threshold, she lingered but an instant, her gaze drawn irresistibly back to Amaya. Then, without further hesitation, she slipped through the doorway without waiting for dismissal, her departure marked only by the soft rustle of fabric.

It seemed she’d taken all the air in the room with her.

Amaya deflated, slumping back against the headboard as she squeezed her eyes closed. She brought her hands up to cover her face, like she could simply shut the world — Flynn’s words, her emotions, Elara’s departure — out. The blizzard contained in her body slowed. But ice still crept through her, down the channels of her blood and bones.

Their care for her was a miasma in the air, and her lungs didn’t know how to breathe it in. It wrapped itself around Amaya, suffocating her. The weight of it pressed into her skin as it formed a new layer to cover her. She was too busy trying to keep herself from shattering — she didn’t notice the way her magic stirred, rising to shield her from her own sense of helplessness. It encased her, a sluggish buzz under her skin, like it was the only thing holding her together.

When her hands dropped away, her eyes glistened with tears she refused to let fall. Something in his chest cracked, aching. She stubbornly looked at that candle against the wall, again — even as Flynn burned his presence into her reality, his inescapable weight pressing against the edge of her attention, demanding more.

“This isn’t Aurelia.” Amaya’s voice was hollow as she chose the words she thought might create distance, to disentangle his world from hers and draw careful borders between them again. Perhaps he might leave her as Elara had. Slowly, subtly, the temperature in the room started to drop. “We do not have your abundance. Sometimes survival is all there is.” She said it like a reminder — like to forget would only court more grief.

Flynn stared at her in silence, his gaze unrelenting even as she refused to meet it. She was right—this wasn’t Aurelia. But neither did it feel like Lunaris.

The air between them grew heavy and cold with the weight of her magic, a chill enveloping him and causing his skin to prickle. His own magic stirred in response, a quiet buzz beneath the surface, instinctively seeking to soften her frost, as if something inside had been unleashed by the raw emotion in the room, unguarded by barriers that had been stripped away from him. Unlike Amaya, he made no attempt to rebuild them.

Elara had left, but Flynn had never been so easily deterred. Whether born of his upbringing or his inherent stubbornness, his patience was a quiet rebellion against the walls she’d built. He wasn’t going anywhere. She could try to push him away, but he’d already come this far past the barriers she’d raised, and now he felt a desperation in his soul.

Without a second thought, Flynn closed the distance between them. She didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need her to. Gently, he reached for her, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into him. She was stiff in his hold.

He had no words that could heal all the wounds she carried, no magic to undo all the pain she’d endured. He didn’t know how to fix any of this. All he knew was this ache to be closer, to offer her all the comfort he could in the only way he knew how.

His lips hovered near her ear as he held her, the words low and hushed, meant only for her. “Don’t lock me out again.”

Amaya shivered, his breath feathering over her skin. She closed her eyes — allowed herself the small comfort of breathing him in, feeling his body around hers. Even that felt like too big a risk. But she couldn’t pull away. Being in his arms felt too much like…

Like…

Amaya broke. Melting into him, she pressed herself deeper into his warmth. She was trembling again, whether from her magic, or the force of her own heartache pulling her apart.

Her hands moved, slow and hesitant. Eventually her arms found their way around Flynn’s body, her fingers curling into the fabric at his back. Relief coursed through him like a tidal wave. It was such a small thing — not just being held, but holding. It should’ve been small. But it set Amaya’s heart hammering in her chest as she discovered the way she fit around his body. Her grip tightened, slender arms trying to keep him, despite the doubts in her mind.

“I’m not wrong,” she whispered, still stubborn despite it all.

“I know,” he murmured against her, lips curving into the faintest smile as she still refused to relent. “But there’s more to life than just survival. More than just being… fine.”

His hand rose to cradle her jaw, his fingers light as he pulled back just enough to tilt her head upward. His eyes sought hers with intensity, willing her to feel the depth of what he could offer. “Let me show you.”

His thumb brushed along the curve of her cheek, pausing just below her lips. His gaze lingered, silently asking her to believe him—to trust him with all the pieces of her that she kept so guarded. To give in. To stop fighting against him at every opportunity.

He leaned closer, the space between them charged. “I’ll find a way.” he whispered, the words carrying a quiet, unshakable conviction, as though her faith in him was all he needed to take on everything the world had levied against them. What else could he possibly need?

His warmth seeped into her, flushing her skin, traveling down her spine, nestling deep in her stomach. Flynn held her gaze. Amaya held him back. The force of him was overwhelming in a way that left her breathless, even as his eyes were patient and open as always. He was a riptide asking her to venture into the depths, waiting for her to take the first step.

Amaya looked up at him with wide eyes as his words moved through her. Her gaze flickered to his lips.

Then she brought her hands back up to his shoulders, as if she could hold him in place. Amaya leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, even as her senses begged for more. Tilting her head down, she buried herself in the dip of his shoulder. She tried to take a breath.

“Cocky,” she mumbled into him, even as she hid a soft smile. A quiet chuckle escaped him, his arms tightening around her protectively. Amaya let herself stay there – just for a moment. Just long enough to remember his smell, savor his warmth. Then she pulled away.

Amaya leaned back against the headboard, the warmth seeping from her expression – but the softness stayed. The walls did not return. Her eyes were distant as she sighed to herself. A hand remained, resting lightly on Flynn’s knee.

“I need to apologize to Elara.” Her voice was tired. She thought of her friend’s fury, the cold way she’d excused herself. Elara didn't deserve what Amaya had said to her. Not the harsh tone nor the cruel reality of their situation, especially after all they’d gone through today. Her other hand curled in her lap as she thought of Elara’s grief.

His gaze drifted to the door, a moment of quiet thought passing over him before he returned his focus to her. "She cares for you," he said, his voice quiet but assured. He paused for a beat, his eyes searching hers, before a small smile curved his lips.

"Judging by the way she spoke to you," he continued, a touch of amusement in his tone, "I’d say you two must have known each other a long time?" His head tilted slightly, brows raised. "At least, I certainly hope so." he added with a soft chuckle. In Aurelia, a servant who dared speak to or even touch a royal the way Elara had would have been dismissed on the spot—if not worse. It was a strange sight, seeing Elara act in such a way, even if the circumstances had called for it.

Amaya felt her cheeks warm at his observation. She knew her relationship with Elara was unusual. They were normally so careful to keep up appearances around others, lest they be separated — or punished. But somehow they’d completely failed to hide themselves in front of Flynn. She couldn’t help the twinge of shame in her heart as she thought of what he’d witnessed.

“Elara is…”

She didn’t have the chance to finish her thought, half formed as it was. Amaya stopped as the doorknob started to turn.

Daphne

Lunaris Temple

Medical hand holding is a thing. Temple. Of the Heart....

Daphne's joy as she felt…whatever that feeling was from their kiss was certainly very different to what she normally felt from a first kiss and she did not know exactly what she meant to do about that feeling. She had fun, but this felt like something else and she had no frame of reference to exactly describe or make things make sense.

Her lips parted from Kat and she let her hand go from the woman's cheek, it was soft and warm in her palm and fingers, she wanted to ask but was scared to even describe what her mind was running through trying to make any sense at all.

Then it all went upside down, backwards and turned into a reaction she had no idea and this was entirely different to anything else she had experienced again. Most people were happy and had returned the kiss, or at least grabbed her ass… She was in excellent shape. Daphne looked as Kat left her, excused herself from the situation. Talk about a kill to a woman's confidence or ability to kiss, she had no idea about the reaction or why and very much unsure what to do.

She was a confident guard, but in personal situations she was not as calm and confident as might have been seen.

She flopped down onto the floor next to the pool and dropped the swords with a clatter, followed by dropping her face into her hands and sighing as she looked down at the pool. Looking up after a few minutes she looked at the sky, a large vista of stars and light glittered from the skies. A cool breeze came from the centre of the temple where the building's centre formed a window into the night sky, fully open to the heavens.

Then something came to her in the peace of the movement, she saw part of the glow of the moon that never left them, the eternal night that had cloaked the land in darkness for months on end.

“Seluna, help me…” She said softly as she looked up and admired the stark bright lights against the deep and endless black.

“Did I manage to offend you, or did I hurt Kat, did I do something wrong, because they said never to lie in a Temple.. “ Her brain wandered off to the kiss and her inability to hide her feeling that she wanted to kiss the smaller woman, she did not normally go for those, but something pulled her that way.

“What did I do wrong, she Is cute, interesting and something else entirely. Sir Abel is dead, monsters lurk, and we have Only a small hope that light will return. What else, What else do you want from us, what else do we need to do? How can I protect people from all this and themselves?” Daphne asked, maybe the goddess could change things, hopefully.Daphne had done all of her service in times of the blight, in the darkness and the depths of the end times.

“If I cannot hold it together , how can those I'm meant to serve ? Keep my friends and those risking their lives aafe this day, and the others, the danger does not stop and we alone cannot be lucky every single time. ” Daphne asked into the cold night, even the calm Squire had a limit and a breaking point.

Daphne looked down at her hands, worn, she had small Scars and marks, she had a damaged nail from clipping it against her belt. Her training had been brutal, basic, selection and then under Lord Coswain and Hector, everything had been a hard road but she was here…

She did not move for a little while and just contemplated things, thought and how life had led her here from the Orphanage of Selene in Garrison Town Cadia. She still could recall the rough stone and the small fire that kept them warm on cold nights, when ice snuck though and tried to turn even the drinking water to ice.

One thing never froze. The Holy Pool, it had been a salvation for many, in religion and also always provided a safe place to seek shelter, clean water for travelers in need of those not Inhabited. People kept them clean and left a coin or two in thanks to the lady's grace and kindness.

Daphne rose slowly to her feet as she put the swords away without any real answers and no more idea of what to do than before. She hoped guidance would find her.

Slowly she made a stiff walk having been sat on the cold stones of the Temple, Holy but not comfortable!

Something felt very wrong deep in her feelings, her gut feeling, something was off and she was alive because she never ignored that.

“Kat, Kat…” She said softly as she approached braced to feel the hot and bitter sting of being rejected by someone whom you risked a chance to open yourself to. Guard or not she was still human and still a woman with a sense of pride and self.

She nudged at the door gingerly and it seemed to be almost pitch black in the gap, not just dark…not just grey…pitch utter black.

“Kat, are you OK, please, regardless of if you want to kiss me again? Whatever happens, its my job to keep you safe.” She said trying to project her aura of calm and control like she was taught. Kat, was the name her mind gave the woman, she was Kat, and it felt.. right however forward as it was and an assumption.

Always be calm, if you are calm, the situation could be handled safely, fear was what got you and others hurt or even killed.

Mentions

@SpicyMeatball

Beyond the threshold, Elara stood in rigid stillness, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the tension coiling through her frame like a vice. The steady, insistent drum of her heartbeat reverberated in her ears, a relentless cadence that refused to be silenced. Against her palm, she could still perceive the ghostly vestige of Amaya’s touch, a lingering warmth that once felt sacrosanct—now marred by the inescapable presence of the man within that room. The intimacy they had shared, once untainted and inviolate, now seemed eclipsed by an unwelcome reality, a fracture she could neither name nor ignore.

Not as a Princess but as you.

They were meant to be reassuring, those words crafted to offer solace, a promise that Amaya had found a champion willing to stand unwavering by her side in ways Elara never could (at least in ways that were enough for Amaya). And yet, the words did not soothe; instead, they festered, hollow and discordant, resonating with a quiet devastation she dared not voice.

The most lamentable aspect, however, lay in the irrefutable truth that Flynn’s assertions weren’t devoid of merit. His concern was well-placed and resonated with an almost palpable intensity. Amid her corporeal torment-an insistent throb in her ribs- and the smouldering ire roiling just beneath her skin, Elara discerned an undeniable reality: Amaya required Flynn’s presence as fervently as she herself craved companionship. And the sooner she accepted this, the better off she would be.

She didn’t want to go back inside.

Nonetheless, the moment came when…

The door emitted a lamenting creak as Elara reentered the room. Her gaze found Amaya immediately, flickering briefly to the hand still resting on Flynn’s knee. Something passed through her expression before she quickly schooled it into neutrality. Amaya lifted her hand away from Flynn like a reflex.

“I brought the water,” Elara announced, brandishing the pitcher she had ostensibly retrieved as a pretext to escape the overwhelming atmosphere.

Flynn’s eyes briefly flickered to the empty spot on his knee, the sudden absence of Amaya’s warmth striking him more sharply than he’d expected. He glanced up toward her, noticing her gaze locked on Elara, before turning his attention to Elara himself. Tension thickened the air, suffocating in its weight. He wasn’t sure if it was Amaya’s magic, chilling the room, or his own selfishness that caused the shift—Elara’s interruption, the reason Amaya had pulled away.

“Thank you.” he said, straightening slightly and focusing his gaze on Elara. He wasn’t sure whether to address the tension that hung in the air or let it remain, but he was acutely aware of it. For now, he said nothing more, letting the moment stretch into awkward silence.

Amaya’s nerves grew, pressing against the boundaries of her body. The quiet calm of the previous moment evaporated. Elara captured her focus — the still way she held herself, her carefully neutral expression, how she hadn’t approached beyond entering the room and now stood so very far away like she couldn’t close the distance.

Amaya knew the words. They were thick and heavy in her throat.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” They were quiet, but they crossed the distance of the room, reaching for her only friend. Amaya held her breath, watching for any sign of forgiveness. “I’m sorry.” It seemed she couldn’t stop apologizing to Elara today.

Elara’s grip on the pitcher tightened, her knuckles blanching under the strain. A brittle silence stretched in response, but inside, her thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea. Amaya’s apology was expected-inevitable even- but it did little to soothe the wound left by their earlier exchange.

Did she even understand what she had done? Or was this just another attempt to smooth things over?

Elara’s gaze drifted past Amaya to Flynn, sitting there as if he belonged-as if he had always belonged. The possessive way his presence filled the room, the quiet confidence with which he’d taken up space in Amaya’s life, gnawed at something deep within Elara that she couldn’t name.

But no. She could now.

Loss.

Sucking in a measured breath, Elara finally advanced, setting the pitcher on the bedside table. Upon regaining her stance, her gaze reconnected with Amaya’s, and therein, she detected something that resurrected her melancholic longing anew.

Guilt. And more alarmingly fear.

Amaya feared losing her, and Elara knew it.

But fear was not enough. Fear was never enough. And fear was never going to be enough.

The words were there just the same, resting on the tip of her tongue- I know, it’s alright, we’re alright- but they felt too much like surrender. Thus, her lips formed a muted line, and, after an oppressive pause, she inclined her head with the slightest gesture.

“You should rest while Lady Hightower is still away,” she said at last, her voice offering neither forgiveness nor reproach, only a quiet suggestion wrapped in duty. Duty-because it was easier than facing what truly lay between them.

Amaya felt the shift in the air. It was subtle – but undeniable. Her blood stilled in her veins as something she couldn’t name started to crawl its way through her. Elara’s detached tone fractured something inside her.

Elara’s fingers brushed the periphery of the table and she hesitated a little before she retreated, reestablishing distance. “We’ll talk later,” she added, softer now, but with a finality that left little room for argument. Without waiting for Amaya’s reply, Elara turned her attention to Flynn, offering him the barest nod of acknowledgment-polite, distant, and a reminder that despite everything, her place in this room remained secondary to his. Her footsteps then ushered her to the window, where her gaze traversed the nocturnal expanse beyond, even as her mind remained detached from its landscape.

Was it more painful that she hadn’t left the room? Amaya couldn’t tell. Elara’s rejection – because that’s what it’d been, a rejection – created a new storm within her. It whipped up all her broken pieces, their razor edges tearing at her from the inside out, even as she tried to cling to Elara’s promise of talk.

Her face was blank. She couldn’t move. The only changes were the slight tensing of her brow and the way her pupils grew and shrank, as she grappled with this new reality where Elara stood on the other side of the room, and she didn’t look at Amaya with love and gentleness.

She wanted to go to her – to beg her forgiveness, to see the places she’d hurt Elara so she could make it right. But she was frozen in place. The blanket covering her legs was ledden. And Elara chose to stand apart from her, cold and beautiful as the winter, staring out the window.

Suddenly she realized why it hurt so much, why it was worse that Elara had remained: because without warmth, or concern, or even anger, there was nothing but cold obligation to keep her in this room. And for Amaya’s entire life, that was all she had ever known until Elara.

Amaya’s breath escaped her in a tiny wisp, barely visible. The water began to freeze in the pitcher beside her.

Flynn’s gaze shifted from Elara to Amaya, feeling the suffocating weight of unspoken words between them. The frozen detachment in Amaya’s eyes wasn’t entirely unfamiliar—it was a dissociation he had seen from her before, one that left him feeling helpless every time. Seeing it now tore at him, and a flicker of annoyance rose within him, directed at Elara for causing it in the first place.

But this wasn’t the first time he’d seen a standoff like this. Memories of his sisters flashed in his mind—fiery arguments, wounded silences, and the inevitable mending that always followed. This felt uncomfortable, but familiar.

He considered leaving, giving them the privacy they clearly needed. Staying might only make things worse. Nothing he said or did ever seemed to truly soothe Amaya—not really, not when it mattered most. The thought twisted viciously in his chest.

He tried to shake off creeping doubt, reminding himself of the way she had melted into him—the way she looked at him. That proved his insecure thoughts were wrong... didn’t it? Uncertainty gnawed at him, but he clung to the memory, hoping it outweighed the fear that he was wrong.

His sisters had always just needed time to cool off, but time wasn’t a luxury they had now. He briefly looked at the pitcher of water, ice crystals forming along the surface. No, they needed a push—space to bridge whatever divide had grown between them without his presence hovering nearby.

Flynn leaned in closer to Amaya, his hand reaching for the one she had pulled away from him earlier. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he said softly, his voice steady as he wrapped his warm fingers around hers. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before lifting it to his lips, pressing a gentle parting kiss against her skin. “I’m going to check with the guards on the search status,” His gaze lingered on hers, holding a silent promise that he would return.

Yet beneath that lay another unspoken question. Did she want him to stay? To leave? She gave nothing away, leaving him caught in a maddening uncertainty that was both frustrating and, in some strange way, exhilarating.

Slowly, he released her hand and rose to his feet, gathering his boots and slipping them on. His coat and sword still rested at the edge of the bed, waiting where he had left them. Flynn strapped the blade to his waist and shrugged his coat over his shoulders.

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes flicking to Elara where she stood by the window, her back to them both. She remained distant, unmoving. Finally, Flynn turned back to Amaya, his gaze lingering on her one last time before he stepped toward the door.

“I won’t be long,” he said quietly as he opened the door. He could only hope he’d made the right choice—that giving them this moment would allow them to mend whatever rift had grown. Still, he intended to make it quick, if only for fear that Amaya would cover the entire room in ice by the time he returned.

The warrior-monk's eyes snapped open on hearing the bells ringing.

'My my… for whom does the bells toll? Let us hope it shall not be to taxing for the prince.' He mentally mused as he walked up closer to the bars of the cell. It seemed like everyone was taking their dear time, no priestess in sight, no prince and no guardsman with coal and papers. If things would turn out to take too long, he would have to bid the cell his leave, but for now patience was no doubt the best key. He wasn't one to disregard laws, well at the very least not the law he lived by. His own code. Most of the other warrior-monks had them aswell, albeit very different from his own, and their dedication to Aelios.

He had not been the fastest to rise in rank amidst them, for he was refusing to kneel or pray at the small shrine within the monastery. The superiors within the order did their best to try and punish him for it, were it isolation, hard labor or some other form of punishment. To the blonde however, all these punishments just further amplified his despise for the divine and for the King, which the order was in fact serving.

The order of Golden Death. Created by the kingdom of Aurelia to train young men into becoming fanatical defenders of the kingdom and it's sovereign and hunt down any would be claimants to the throne and other threats. How ironic. An order made to hunt down people like him, yet they were completely unaware that he was right under their nose. The sin made flesh. The very anti-thesis to all they stood for. Yet they had forged him into a weapon. And despite constantly irritating the superiors, the elders and the other younger ones. He ultimately reached the apex, having issued the challenge to defeat each and everyone of the others and doing so. Any rank or title however meant nothing. It didn't mean a thing then and not now.

It was all about proving something. The mind and body had to be like one. The monks had some things correct. But often they would prove themselves unable to live up to their own mantras. How many of them had he coerced into a fit of anger just to prove a point? He couldn't remember. But he did remember how liberating it felt when the monastery finally burned. Much like his old home. Fire always paved the way. It did so in the blizzard aswell. What better element to represent his devotion to his task than a fierce fire… ready to consume whatever happens to end up standing in the way.

But fire can also be warm and keep one from cold. The fire in ones heart could be two different things and he had experienced them both, yet one of them nearly rendered him blind. Blissfully so. Had he died back then, it would still have left a bittersweet feeling.

King Auric would have to die.

But each child born into the world have two parents, a father and a mother. Who was his mother? A traveller from the lands of frozen earth and jagged spines. How had she managed to slip past all the guards so easily? He didn't know. He couldn't know. But what he did know were that she settled in Aurelia, built a mansion outside of the capitol and had her servants with her. He could still remember her fierce blue eyes. The same kind which he inherited. Yet her other traits? What else did he inherit? Her heart and mind perhaps? And the devious and shrewd side of his father.

Yet while they were different, both had the same intentions. To turn him into nothing more than a puppet. No matter what, their paths would lead to him sitting on a chair unable to live. Freedom that was life. Choice is life. To chose what to do with it. What other purpose is there to exist, but to traverse down the path you've chosen for yourself?

The father threatened the mother, seeking to lay claim on his heir and bring him with him, and the mother sought to lead him far away to be under the thumb of another. Having heard and witnessed their meeting, he had just been a young boy, but he knew what it meant. Both sides of the coin led him to the same kind of place. But what about the edge of the coin? The path between. A narrow way to go. But it was better than the other two.

The boy gathered a few belongings, a music box, a ring and a few other things. Before he took the candle and brought it to the curtains and lit the mansion ablaze. Everyone managed to get out unscathed. He watched from the bushes in the night how his mother tried her best to get back into the building, but being held back by her servants. He knew his mother had a heart. Unlike his father. Yet it wasn't her heart he needed to heed… but his own.

Besides it wasn't he who broke her heart. But his father.

Love. Such a fleeting emotion. Dangerous. Volatile. Ruinous. His father had cast away that feeling as easily as one would discard the core of an apple, yet his mother had been unable to let go and was crushed by the truth.

She took her caravan and servants and left Aurelia. A long time ago. Never to return alive.

She was likely at least ten years older than his father, having caught the attention of the much younger Aurelian man with her exotic appearance. Her piercing blue eyes. The way she spoke with that northern accent, regal and proud, yet with a soothing and calming tone. How her dark long wavy hair flickered in the breeze and her tanned skin resembling the most warm of browns.

He could vividly picture her in his mind. But he never saw her again. She died a long time ago. Yet she had offspring. He knew this.

A sister who in turn also had a child. That he would have some distant relatives who were likely completely unaware of his existence did bring him some amusement. He knew they too had to deal with wicked men. Just because the land would change under the feet didn't mean human nature did.

Until now.

The warrior-monk smiled broadly as he observed his surroundings. To almost anyone else. He was indeed caged. But this was nothing compared to the cage he could have been in. The cage someone else now finds themselves unwittingly pushed into.

'Let see what can be done to break all the cages… and set everyone free. Are you watching, my grimalkin, maker of the gem? The bells... ring of fire, water, air and earth. The time is approaching for the revelation, of a father's sin written upon skin.' He mused and waited.

The room wasn’t large, and the sound of the door clicking shut wasn’t loud. Still, it seemed to echo through the space with finality. Amaya’s eyes were still locked on the other woman in the room. She brought her hands together in her lap, trying to hold onto the warmth Flynn had pressed into her.

The silence stretched between them like the distance.

“Elara…” Her name sounded as fragile as Amaya felt.

The muted thud of the door settling into place reverberated through Elara’s frame, an understated finality that carved itself into the room’s fabric, leaving behind a hollow stillness weighted with unsaid things. She didn’t move, her gaze still fixed beyond the window, though the reflection in the glass betrayed the way Amaya’s eyes never left her.

Elara’s throat constricted against the rising tide of emotion, her fingers coiling involuntarily against the windowsill. She had anticipated relief when he left, some return to the tenuous balance they had once shared. But instead, the absence only sharpened the edges of everything she had tried to push aside.

Amaya’s voice drifted across the space between them, the syllables of her name delivered soft and tentative. Elara considered ignoring it for a heartbeat—maintaining the fragile walls she had erected, letting duty speak louder than longing. But the raw sincerity embedded within that single name unspooled something tightly wound within her.

Her grip loosened on the sill, and slowly, Elara turned.

She met Amaya’s gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the mask she wore cracked—just enough for something tender, something weary, to slip through. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced with a measured expression, cool but not unkind. The quiet inhale that followed steadied her, and when she spoke, her voice lacked the crisp austerity she had wielded so efficiently before.

“You should rest,” Elara said. “I’ll stay... if you want me to.”

The offer was cautious, tentative—a bridge extended, though not without reservations. She wouldn’t let herself fall so easily back into the role she once held, not without some assurance that she wouldn’t be cast aside again. But for now, in the quiet space between them, it was enough to let the choice be Amaya’s.

Her eyes lingered on Amaya’s hands, still curled in her lap, clutching at something unseen. And despite herself, despite the ache that hadn’t yet settled, Elara took a step closer. Not quite closing the distance, but enough to show she hadn’t entirely retreated. Not yet.

“Just for a little while,” she added, softer still.

Amaya wanted to shrink away as Elara approached. She wanted to reach for her. She wanted to hold onto that brief flicker of emotion in her friend’s eyes (her friend, she wanted her friend) and beg her to stay, just as much as she wanted Elara to leave, if only so she wouldn’t have to fear the inevitable loss anymore.

Wanting. That was always the issue, wasn’t it?

“If I want you to…” Her voice was softer, with less distance to travel between them. Her hands grew cold. “Would that be the only reason to do it?”

Elara’s lips parted, but no immediate answer came. Instead, her gaze dropped to Amaya’s hands, her fingers twitching with the impulse to reach out. But hesitation stilled her.

“I am at a loss,” she ultimately confessed, the confession seeping from her lips with an understated, poignant candour. “Would it even bear significance?” Amaya’s eyebrows pulled together, stunned that Elara had even asked.

Elara’s tone bore no trace of provocation; rather, it resonated with the fatigue of one who has surrendered so much of her essence that the demarcation between obligation and self has become indistinct.

She inhaled deeply and then lifted her gaze once more to meet Amaya’s. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Amaya. Not anymore.”

Anymore?

But despite the resignation in her tone, Elara took another small step forward, her presence lingering within reach—within an arm's reach, suffusing the space between them with warmth, should Amaya choose to dissolve the distance.

“But I can stay,” she offered again, her voice quieter, gentler, a quiet plea wrapped in something resembling hope. “If that is your desire.”

With every step Elara took, Amaya was pulled towards her, sitting up inch by inch as her body longed to close the distance — to return to what was familiar. What was safe.

“My…” The word was little more than a whisper as Amaya tried to understand, doubts and fears creeping through her like frost along a riverbank. She shook her head, a tear finally escaping her. “What have I ever desired from you, but… you?”

Amaya’s whole life had been masks and careful control. But being with Elara had felt honest. A decade of memories flashed through Amaya’s mind. Shared smiles, whispered secrets, hands gripped tightly around each other as they weathered the palace chill… Elara had made up so much of Amaya’s world, been one of the few flowers that had survived against the haunting winter storms.

…Had it been real? Had Amaya misunderstood? Had her words been so unforgivable that she’d ruined the only love she had left?

Something fractured in Amaya’s eyes as she looked at the only friend she’d ever had.

It was learning of her mother’s death and falling to pieces, because Elara wasn’t there to hold her together. It was venturing to her friend’s home for the first time after a lonely, grief-filled week apart, only to find it empty and cold. But this time it wasn’t just poor timing or happenstance – instead it was Amaya’s fault.

“Elara, I’m sorry,” she tried again, her voice breaking on the word. It escaped her in a cloud, too small and quick to grasp.

For a fleeting breath, it appeared as though Elara would remain speechless, allowing the stillness to unfurl like a gossamer veil. Yet, in the tenderest of moments, she daringly advanced, as if testing the very essence of the earth beneath her soles. Her fingers trembled, suspended within the air, tantalizingly close to Amaya yet restrained, as she drew forth an exhalation she hadn’t recognized she had kept at bay.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” she murmured, each syllable laced with an ache too profound to name. “I know you’re sorry. I know.” And yet, despite the certainty of those words, the hollowness in her chest remained, a lingering spectre that knowing alone could not exorcise. “But... I need to know if you want me here because you need me, or because you want me.” The query was laden with unresolved longing, as she finally allowed her fingertips to skim across Amaya's arm.

“If it’s just duty—if I’m merely…” Her voice faltered, and Elara swallowed against the knot rising in her throat. “If I’m just something you’re afraid of losing because it’s all you’ve ever known—” Her breath hitched, and with a subtle shake of her head, she let the unspoken words settle like dust between them. Softer now, the next words slipped out, scarcely more than a whisper,

“Then I can’t do this anymore.”

It was as if Elara had struck her. Her voice was gentle, wrapping around Amaya so carefully, but she felt the words tighten and constrict around her throat. The stark reminder of how small Amaya’s world had been – how small she was, confined to a handful of faces and the boundaries of the Moonlit Palace – was harsh, in Elara’s soft voice.

Amaya wasn’t a person. She was a doll with hollow eyes, waiting to see who would pick her up. She was a covered portrait, hidden in storage to keep her frame clean and her colors pretty. She was a shadow on the wall, silent and intangible.

She was a Princess. Not two hours ago, Elara had been the last person remaining who made Amaya feel like she could be more than that.

Amaya knew the words to say. She knew her role. She’d always been good at saying the correct thing, if only to guard herself and keep the consequences of her father’s displeasure at bay. But she’d never known how to guard herself from Elara.

They were so close – Elara’s soft fingers on her arm, her eyes clear and grieving. For a moment, she thought of other fingers – of warmth. Of holding and being held. Of wanting. Another tear slipped down Amaya’s cheek.

“I don’t think I know the difference.” The whispered confession was little more than the air shared between them now.

Stay. Please stay.

At Amaya's murmured revelation, Elara’s breath caught in her throat. Her stare melted into a tender haze. Still, her fingertips lingered upon Amaya’s arm, as if she could etch the delicate boundary between obligation and yearning within the silken warmth of her flesh.

“I know,” she said, her voice carrying with it the quiet heartbreak of someone who had spent years waiting—hoping—that Amaya might truly see her one day. “I think... I’ve always known.”

A breath, heavy with resignation, slipped past her lips as she withdrew her hand.

The chasm between them yawned open with uncanny swiftness, as if time itself had momentarily faltered - though Elara remained rooted to her spot, unyielding to the subtle yet undeniable currents that drew her apart from the inside out. Like a lotus blooming in tranquil waters, her posture adapted with an air of quiet acceptance, surrendering to the inescapable truth: she could no longer evade the role assigned to her.

“I’ll stay. As I always have,” she murmured, the words, though gentle, bearing the weight of something that had been tested by time and longing and still remained. Though her expression remained an unshaken mask, there was a shift in the depths of her gaze—a quiet transformation that could not be undone. The tender warmth that once illuminated her eyes had been tempered, subdued into something calmer, something resolute. No longer did they shimmer with unchecked devotion, freely given and rarely received; instead, they held the quiet endurance of one who had learned to guard what remained of herself.

“You should rest,” Elara intoned for the third and final time, her tone reverting to decorum that had long been forsaken in their cherished interludes.

Amaya had always known that she’d lose Elara one day, if only because she loved her. She just thought that there’d be… more to it. Her father’s oppressive presence. Screaming. A punishing grip holding her down. Something to rage against. Blood.

She had mistakenly thought that Elara would be taken, like her mother was.

She couldn’t look at – at her handmaiden. Tears flowed down her cheeks even as she tried desperately to retreat into herself. Her walls were rubble at her feet, the aftershocks sending tremors through her body. Her chin was high. Her back was straight. It all felt feeble and pointless, but Amaya didn’t know what to do but try and hide, even if she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t match Elara’s graceful composure, even if she saw the weariness and felt the pain in the shared space between them. Ten years sat between them, echoing through Amaya with every quake that shook her. The pitcher beside her had completely frozen. Frost crept across the window behind Elara. Everything about Amaya – her body, her voice, her tears, the very air that she chilled – betrayed her.

But she knew the words.

Amaya knew her role – finally.

“Thank you Elara.” The name cut Amaya from the inside out. Her voice was tattered when it left her. Small. Hollow, like her. “But I think I’d like to be alone.” It was a lie. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry, to grieve, and come apart because her own shattered edges were cutting into her and bleeding her dry. And she could no longer do that with Elara.

“And I’m sure I’m not the only one who needs rest,” she whispered. It was the last gift Amaya could offer her – the opportunity to leave, and see to her own wounds that she concealed better than Amaya did hers. She didn’t know if she was pushing Elara away, or letting her go. But the difference wouldn’t matter, in the end.

“Please request an escort from the guards to see you home safely.”

The nobleman found himself surrounded in his bed by pillows, to the point of finding him would be an undertaking. The various walls bearing his portraits of himself. It was indeed a good thing he had brought them with him, the room would have felt insufficient and empty without these familiar faces.

Ayel allowed himself a satisfied smirk as he cuddled his way deeper down into his bed with the various pillows and his favorite doll next to him which was made in his own image. But it was a bed companion which he did not need anyone to know about, there would be all manner of ill rumors from such. Was it wrong to feel so beholden to an object which identified everything he liked. It was having an unchanging wrinkle-free face and the head was of the most fine porcelain. The artist had made good work of making it resemble him.

But as pleasing as the sights were, even his noble eyes required to rest, he simply couldn't strain his eyesight. He had plans to be the oldest man alive, proving for everyone to see that his blood was flawless and he could walk over to his dead adversaries graves and gloat. Then again… perhaps gloating to someone which couldn't respond back was bad sport? He couldn't be a bad sport.

The darkhaired Marquess smugly arranged the cucumber slices over his eyes and adjusted them to neatly cover up the only parts his face-mask was not covering.

He took a deep inhale and relaxed. Now he could get his beauty sleep. Nothing to worry about. The prince would have everything solved by the morning no doubt, string up some lowlife barbarian and that would be the end of that. He snuggled further down amidst the pillows.

[Bells toll]

"Ahhhhhhhh!" He screamed aloud as he was rudely disturbed by the sounds of bells being rung. He sat up amidst his pillows and the cucumber slices fell off his eyes and he angrily moved his cover away and grunted as he slide out of the bed, clad only in his nightgown, which was a knee-length white shirt, a sleeping net for his hair and the face mask.

He angrily moved over to the window which his workers had very recently put in place, he looked out the glass but couldn't see anything. Why in the world were there bells being sounded?

Were they being attacked? Was the Lunaris army attacking?! Or perhaps it was just some lunatic trying to ruin his sleep. Either way the ever determined nobleman made his way over to his wardrobe, slid a morning-robe of finest quality over his nightgown. He threw away the net holding his hair in place and carefully rearranged it, slipping on one of his feather adorned hats. He was clad in blue now. The colour was surely flattering him. Then again. What colour did not?

He scoffed and walked over and slid on his boots in a quick manner, darting out into the dining chamber where Anora was trying to sleep on a couch.

"Ayel.. what's going on?" She yawned slightly, not having slept but was reading a book and gradually getting there.

"I am about to find out! This better be an attack by those lousy half-bred barbarians! If I find out it's some drunk I'll string him up myself! Now excuse me!" Ayel straightened his back and walked over to put his elegant black overcoat over the blue morning robe he had donned.

He stepped out and heard some commotion.

But before he could make his way over there, he saw someone strutting over his lawn. He had clearly claimed this site as his home. This unsavory intruder was not only intruding, he was being caught redhanded!

"You there what do you think you are doing?! What in Aelios name is going on?!" Ayel barked out towards a man he could only assume was some swindler or bar patron with a coat that looked like it had been through some rough fifteen or so years.

"Ohoi landlubber! Tha' a mighty fine dress ye get yerself there madam! Me haven' got a clue 'bout wha's up. 'Cept the sky of curse." Claret tipped his imaginary hat at Ayel, as he no longer had his mighty headwear.

"What did you just call me? I am Lord Ayel Raunefeldt, I am very much a man! And you are intruding on my home and what is that disgusting accent you have? You are not a border-region crossbreed are you? Nevermind that! Get your reeking ill-timely self off my lawn!" Ayel yelled at the man, clearly agitated mostly from having woken up. But was this man the source of the problem? He didn't look like some murderer. He knew how those looked. This man was more like a sad poverted merchant of some kind.

"Aye? Beg ma pard'n yer lordshippiness! Me be on me merry way to find meself a room, shag an' drenk. So ye can get back to..." Claret replied and then his eyes wandered over the various statues that littered the front of the nobleman's home-in-progress.

"Yerself." He made a overexaggerated bow and turned around to walk away.

"No one tell me what to do! You hear me! You do not have permission to turn your back to me! I will turn my back to you! You hear me?! I have more pressing matters to attend to anyways!" Ayel raised his chin and nose up and turned to walk back in, before being reminded that he still needed to find out why the bells was ringing. He gruntingly waited for the irritating border-region brute to leave, before he carefully locked the door and scurried over the road to assess the situation. He peeked around a corner.

It didn't look like an attack. But maybe that was just what those underhanded barbarians wanted them to think. He wasn't going to let some uneducated apes get the better of him. Perhaps the guards had caught the murderer? He would inspect and if that didn't do it, perhaps he should ask those good-for-nothing guards by the jail.

'Ahh yes, the jail. I should see about funding the construction of a much bigger one. So much work to do. So many troublemakers to lock away.' He strode up to listen in on the announcements.

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

“I see. Thank you,” Nesna beamed. Her smile settled into a relaxed, optimistic expression as she watched Sya go on her way. Hopefully, once this mess was handled, there could be fruitful relationships to be made in Dawnhaven. An odd group, they’d be, no doubt even more so with the addition of whatever other misfits the friendly innkeeper had surely accumulated, but if most others were as hospitable as Sya, Zeph, or, really, in a pinch, even that other fellow, perhaps this place had some chance of resembling the so-called haven that the Aurelian prince seemed keen on cultivating. Presuming, of course, that if the blight was sent into retreat, King Jericho didn’t declare the place a part of the royal hunting grounds. But as long as the Princess was around, that seemed unlikely.

With any luck, there would be better options than chicken broth for sustenance once the curfew was lifted. Really, it was endearing, the effort that the innkeeper went to in order to attend to her varied clientele, but a simple broth is always just a broth, no matter how many little bits of things might be floating in it. Not that Nesna could eat those anyway. But there was something nice about it even so, she could grant. It was much lighter, much easier to consume than blood. Blood of any sort was a viscous thing, even when fresh. It sat heavy, rich, and decadent. Really, even if it weren’t pure blood, a comparable substance would still feel rather forbidden to consume anyway, for how much it was in every respect.

If she ever had to eat broth in the future, Nesna resolved to ask for it in a cup. Blood deserved the dignity of a bowl, no doubt. A sip rather than a spoonful had always felt imprudent, even when she had nothing but a cup to collect the stuff in. But broth? It was practically hot water—not unlike a meat-tea, really.

Meat tea. The thought made Nesna take pause from spooning up another bit of broth into her mouth. Definitely better to call the stuff broth—meat tea was a deeply unappetizing term, even if it was another perfectly accurate way to describe broth.

Nesna took another few spoonfuls of broth before stopping. Looking down at the half-consumed bowl, she frowned. She really hadn’t eaten much, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to go for another spoonful. Meat tea—it was meat tea. And that thought—the thought that she was essentially eating meat tea with a spoon—had thoroughly put her off from the soup.

Well, there was always wine. And normal tea. Normal, decent, perfectly sensible tea. Yes, that would be a good way to get her mind off the subject of meat tea. A conversation with a merchant about normal, appetizing types of tea. Hopefully this Lunarian merchant might have some variation in his selection.

Nesna set her spoon down for the last time. She picked up her glass, extended her tail down to take hold of her bags, and melted into the shadow under the bar. She reconstituted right next to the Lunarian merchant, retracted her tail back into the depths of her dress, set down her glass gently, and spoke.

“If you’ll pardon the intrusion, you wouldn’t happen to be a merchant, would you?” she asked. Knowing the man was Lunarian, Nesna took extra care to sit upright and appear pleasant. She pulled her expression into a soft, inoffensive smile, and tilted her head sympathetically. And as she spoke, she spoke as softly as possible while remaining easily audible, in a way not dissimilar to how she had presented herself before the guards earlier, albeit with less in the way of prostration.

Interactions
@PrinceAlexus, @Theyra

---

_{Location: Town Square > Temple of Aelios}

---

Torchlight flickered across the snow-dusted streets as two Lunarian guards made their way through town, their breath curling into the cold night air. Their pace was leisurely—neither particularly concerned with the so-called "threat" that had locked the town down, nor the orders that had been given to them.

The taller of the two, a grizzled veteran with silver streaking through his dark hair, cast a glance at his younger companion.

"You catch a look at that little thing beside Kain?" he muttered, a smirk tugging at his chapped lips. “Big blue eyes, all quiet-like.” His grin widened as he elbowed the younger guard. “Wouldn’t mind keeping her warm tonight, aye?”

The younger guard, with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes, chuckled and shot the other guard a sidelong glance. "Yeah, that little thing happens to be Lady Hightower. You know, the lead Sage?"

The older man blinked. “No shit?”

“No shit.” The blonde nodded, a smug look passing over his features. “I get posted at the Alchemy Chambers pretty often.”

“Hm.” A beat of silence passed as the veteran considered this new information.

“What’s she doing with the likes of Kain?” he finally asked, his brow furrowing for a brief moment before softening with another playful smile. “You think she’s got a stick up ‘er ass like the rest of them Aurelians?”

“Probably,” the younger guard replied with a chuckle. “And speaking of—you should watch your mouth. If one of those uptight bastards overheard you talking like that, you’d be cleaning stables.”

The veteran barked a laugh. “Hah! Like they don’t think the same about their Sage.”

They both shared a laugh, boots crunching through the snow as they trudged on toward the temple of Aelios. The town was eerily quiet under the emergency order, the usual bustling streets emptied, doors barred shut.

"Y'know," the older guard mused, kicking at a chunk of frozen slush, "I don’t see what the fuss is about. If there really was some blight-born freak running around, they’d have bolted by now. What kind of attacker sticks around after that?”

“Only if they’re an idiot,” the younger one quipped.

"Exactly! Hope they call this off soon,” the veteran grumbled. “I’d rather not freeze my ass off all night."

They muttered complaints all the way to the temple, the towering structure looming over them. Steam curled into the air from behind the building, catching in the moonlight—a sign of the hot springs beyond.

Their boots clanked against the stone steps as they ascended, the warm glow of firelight shimmered behind one of the windows. A silhouette moved against it—unmistakably adorned with horns.

Both guards slowed their steps, exchanging a wary glance.

“Think that’s her?” the younger one murmured.

“Hope not.”

Reaching the temple doors, the older guard pressed a hand against the wood and gave it a firm push. It didn’t budge. They frowned, then the younger guard knocked against the wood.

Their gaze shifted to the window as they noticed movement. The shadow in the window shifted, and for a brief moment, they saw a pair of bright eyes peer out at them through the window before vanishing. A second later, the heavy thunk of a lock was turned on the other side.

As the door opened, both men stiffened at the sight. A woman clad in the flowing robes of a priestess—golden-haired, violet-eyed, with horns and a long, slender tail swaying idly behind her.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, with a deep breath, the younger guard recovered first and cleared his throat, offering his best diplomatic smile.

“Greetings, Priestess,” he began, offering a very slight bow of his head to her. “We’ve been sent to escort you to the Prince and Princess. Your presence is required immediately.”

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_{Interactions: Ranni @Queen Arya, Aurora @BlackRoseSiren, Celine @SkeankySnack}

Nathaniel Stormlight

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Location: The Lunarian temple.

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Nathaniel stood with his mouth slightly open at the drama slash romantic scene happening. He was impressed by the boldness that Daphne showed in taking this step forward by kissing someone that they only just met. He shifted his body turning to look away to give them some privacy.

It was only when he heard the sounds of footsteps echoing through the silent temple followed by the sound of a closing door. His gaze went back thinking that both would have left for the bedroom. Only Daphne was there. Did Katherine just walk away? He took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say to help her. Honestly, what could he say in this situation? He has very little experience when it comes to romance; he's had chances, but they've always slipped through his grasp. A heavy sigh came out of him as he watched Daphne walk to the pool looking at her gaze up to the Moon and and the constellations of stars partly blocked by the moving clouds. His gaze went back to Daphne, he wanted to say something to her, something to help her. He opened his mouth and then closed it, still struggling to find the words. Hearing her praying to Seluna, for her guidance.

Then he watched Daphne stand once more watching her slowly make her way to the door that Katherine went through. Hearing her ask through a closed door. Nathaniel couldn't take it anymore; he had to say something to Daphne. "Daphne.” speaking softly as he approached her. "Look, I don't really have much experience in this,” gesturing to the situation that is unfolding. "Never lose confidence in yourself. The moment you do. It can affect people who are close to you.”

"You said that I'm your friend. Well, that's my advice as your friend. You took a bold step with that kiss.”

"Give her some time. She was there when Sir Abel was murdered.” he smiled. "After some time, when she's been able to untangle everything that has happened so far. She'll come round. She'll talk about your affection. For now, this is the only way into her room,” he turned on his heels to walk away "Stay here until she comes out.”

Once back at the main chamber of the temple, his gaze went to the front door that he barricaded. Then it went to the open sky that was above the Holy pool of Seluna. As he approached, the footsteps of his boots echoed across the empty room. Sitting on the floor, it would have felt wrong to him to sit on a bench. He looked up, gazing at the eternal night sky. He took a deep breath. Wondering how long it would be until the all-clear is and he's allowed to leave. He still had his satchel attached to him. Removing it, he went through the contents. Everything inside seemed to be safe and secure.

He pulled out a notepad. Resting it on his lap, he pulled a charcoal pencil. Opening the notebook, there were portraits of various people: A woman on one page, a man on another. A teenage boy then a teenage girl. Various pages all have different people or objects sketched onto the pages. "Might as well make use of my time, until the all clear is given, or something happens.” A smile comes across his face as he begins sketching the moon, the stars and the sky.

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Mentions/Interactions: Daphne @PrinceAlexus, Kat @SpicyMeatball

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---

Ivor’s body unfurled as he allowed his body to fall deeper into the depths. It seemed the crystals only illuminated the cavern above, as the lower he sank, the more the crystals lost their luster, until eventually darkness consumed the blightborn. The darkness had never been a real issue since his transformation, but in the water it was different as the liquid somewhat obscured his vision, making his daunting task all the more difficult. Still he persevered, kicking his legs just enough to direct himself somewhat as he floated deeper downward. The darkness persisted further, but Ivor noticed that the walls were beginning to taper around him, a small blessing as he reached out to grasp the rocky surface closing in. Eventually it became narrow enough for him to gain purchase, perching himself for a moment to observe his surroundings. A small glimmer shone from the depths, a similar hue of violet and blue to the cave above.

Determined, he climbed down head first, forcing himself further into the well, the walls now pressing his body, their crystalline structure scratching into his skin. Eventually the walls closed in too much for him to comfortably force himself any further, but he caught sight of what lay beyond; a crevice too small for any adult to go through. More crystals glowed beyond, deep into this place he could not reach, it was only a small blessing that a glint lay just at the far edge of the hole. A gemstone, supple and smooth, hued the same violets and blues as the crystals, seeming to almost glow with an energy and light he could only describe as ethereal. The object certainly struck him as curious given its difference to the remaining geologic features.

Willing his girthy mass through, he forced his arm upwards sticking it deep into the crevice, the small jagged crystalline walls scratching into his flesh as he dug his way through. His hand tapped and felt around eventually finding the smooth, rounded features of the gemstone. Ivor attempted to retrieve it, but the gem was firmly attached to the surface. Not wanting to resurface empty handed, Ivor grasped onto the object firmly, pulling and straining his muscles as much as he could, until eventually it popped out of place. As he retrieved the gem from the wall, his whole arm was forced out of the crevice as well, dragging along a particularly large shard of crystal that sliced deep into his arm. The shock pulled him from the hole he forced himself into him, simultaneously he dropped the gemstone to clutch at the wound.

Ivor cursed himself, it had been so long since he’d made a blunder like that, but he couldn’t let that stop him in the moment, for now, he needed to secure that gem. Fortunately he didn’t have to look far as the soft glow guided him to his prize, safely propped against a crystalline cluster. Just as he was about to retrieve it however, a sharp pain gripped his shoulder as dozens of razor sharp teeth plunged into his flesh. Shock, adrenaline, pain, Ivor also cursed himself for getting caught so unawares by whatever was attacking him. His free arm shot up and gripped at scaly flesh, forcibly ripping away a now very aggressive and very hungry blue and purple fish. It’s maw mashed and chomped as it tried to regain purchase upon its perceived meal. In Ivor’s mind, this was extremely wrong, he was supposed to be eating the fish, not the other way around.

Quickly he dispatched the creature by slamming its head as hard as he could into the crystal, if not killing it as least stunning it temporarily. His arm shot down once more for the gem, retrieving he prepared himself for the long climb up. His gaze went skyward, his eyes widened as he was met with the unholy sight of a hundred furious fish, ready to claim him as their dinner.

On the surface, Zeph’s stomach plummeted as he watched faint traces of blood curl up from the depths. His eyes scanned the water for any signs of Ivor, watching as fish eerily turned in unison before darting into darkness.

“Fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.” he muttered a flurry of curses under his breath, his body rapidly moving on instinct to strip off his heavy metal armor piece by piece and tossing them carelessly onto the cavern floor. Down to nothing but his underwear, he snatched up the spear Ivor had left behind—a peculiar weapon with a metal ball at the base. It wasn’t ideal, but it would fare better underwater than his sword.

Zeph turned to Tia, his voice steady despite the tension in his body. “Stay here.” he ordered firmly, his eyes locking onto hers with a seriousness that left no room for argument. Her breath came out in frantic little puffs as she looked up at him - then she did a double take at the flash of bare skin. Her eyes widened as they found his again, realizing his plan. Her head started shaking. “Do not follow me. If we’re not back soon, head straight to Dawnhaven. Got it?” He paused, his eyes searching hers to make sure she understood. She could only stare back at him, the hotspring towel clutched tightly in front of her.

Satisfied, Zeph faced the water again, forcing deep, controlled breaths to steel his body and mind against the inevitable shock. The water would steal his breath if he wasn’t careful. This was hardly his first time taking an ice plunge, but his experience never made it easier.

A final breath. One more curse. Then he dove.

Tia’s hand reached out reflexively after him, her face a mask of fear. She flinched back from the splash, more icy droplets hitting her. For a few pounding heartbeats, all she could do was watch his rippling form disappear into the depths.

The freezing water hit Zeph like a thousand needles piercing his skin. Every instinct screamed for him to gasp, to claw his way back to the surface, but he clenched his jaw and kicked downward.

The faint glow of crystals along the cavern walls provided a guide, their light fading the deeper he swam until they became distant, flickering stars in the abyss. Swimming with the spear was awkward, the weighted ball at its end dragging against his movements, but he clutched it tightly, his only sense of defense here.

The fish darted past him, seemingly uninterested, and he followed their path, deeper into the dark. His lungs burned with the effort, but he pressed on, his eyes scanning for any sign of Ivor.

Then, silhouetted against a faint glow emanating from smaller caverns, Zeph spotted him. Ivor was surrounded, twisting and striking wildly at a swarm of fish who sought to latch rows of jagged teeth into his arm. Blood spiraled upward, the source of the crimson they had seen from above.

Zeph gritted his teeth, the pressure in his lungs building as he steadied himself in the water. He adjusted his grip on the spear and thrust it through the swarm, the resistance of the water making each movement agonizingly slow. The blade sliced cleanly through several fish at once, their blood erupting around him in a murky cloud. Every swing was a fight against the water, the weighted ball threatening to pull him deeper and testing his strength, but the sharp edge proved effective.

The water grew heavier with blood, the once pristine pool stained with violence. He could feel his body screaming—the need to surface, the creeping numbness in his limbs—but he pushed through, focusing on clearing the way for Ivor.

Ivor was not a stranger to pain, to blood, to warfare, to wild animals and their unpredictable nature. This was, however, all of the above in a tiny packaged pool of water. Every bite, every ripped piece of flesh and muscle, was its own fresh hell as Ivor struggled to survive every bloody inch he climbed. Adrenaline coursed through him as he willed his body to climb higher and higher, taking some moments to defend himself as he swung his fists. It was all in vain though, their numbers greatly outnumbered him and despite all his strength, it mattered little when the water slowed his movements. Holding the gemstone was making the exercise more difficult, Ivor eventually forcing it into his mouth so he could purely focus his hands on climbing.

His eyes tried to make out the light, it was still so far away and he could feel his lungs burning; his body burned, everything hurt. He didn’t doubt that he could make it to the top, but he didn’t doubt that it wouldn’t take everything he had either. A small glimmer of hope though as a larger shadow seemed to be approaching from above and began to strike out at the fish. He focused through the swarm to see Zeph, attacking the fish using the weapon Ivor had so carelessly left behind. While the fish didn’t stop their relentless assault, there were already less biting at Ivor, giving him a chance to pick up the pace a little. Higher and higher he climbed, the illuminating glow beginning to encroach him as he raced to the surface.

Clinging to the edge of the pool, Zeph braced his feet against an uneven surface to stay afloat, still swiping at the ravenous swarm. For a moment, his vision wavered, blurred by exhaustion and the stinging cold, and he wondered how long he could keep this up.

As Ivor rose, so did Zeph—or at least, he tried. The weight of the weapon in his hand yanked him back, threatening to make this his watery grave. Frustrated, Zeph decided to take a page from Ivor’s book and climb up the side of the wall instead of attempting to swim against it.

His lungs burned, a sharp, searing pain that warned him he had seconds left, maybe less. With a frantic push, he launched himself from the cavern wall, desperate to break the surface. A mistake.

Pain lanced through his upper left arm as he grazed a sharp edge, slicing deep. He grimaced, but didn’t dare look. There was no time. No air.

Fresh blood swirled into the water, the fish turning on him in an instant.

Zeph barely had time to react before one of them latched onto his arm, several rows of razor blade teeth sinking into flesh. A strangled, muffled shout bubbled from his lips as he flinched, more precious air escaping.

Each grip brought Ivor closer to the surface, brought him further up into the glowing light, making it easier to find the next grip to take. A sharp pain jolted up his leg as one of the fish clamped down onto his thigh, making him nearly lose grip. He dug his fingers in deep, searing pain gripping his flesh all over as he forced himself to climb higher. Second after agonizing second he suffered new cuts, scrapes, bruises and bites. Bloodshot eyes focused on the pool’s surface above, so close, almost to the top; a breach.

Zeph swam harder, using the wall for support, his muscles straining and his vision narrowing as his pulse pounded in his skull. The fish twisted, digging deeper, and his grip faltered. A searing pain forced his fingers open, the spear slipping from his grasp as he involuntarily sucked in water. Instinct kicked in and he wrenched the fish off, tearing through skin, blood spilling freely into the water.

Lungs screaming, his gaze darted to the weapon—slowly beginning to sink. He reached out, fingers barely brushing against its metal surface before he was able to fully grasp it. With what little remained of his failing strength, he hurled it toward the shallows that he could see faintly illuminated by crystal light.

Ivor’s body resurfaced, air rushing into his lungs as he gasped and sputtered for air, his fingers scraping along the ground to grip onto the crystalline surface. His body, along with a gallon of bloody water was pulled from the pool as he flopped onto the cave floor, promptly spitting out the gemstone so he could properly cough out excess water and compose himself. He didn’t know how bad he was hurt, he just knew his entire body felt raw. He knew there was something missing from his shoulder, his leg, frankly bits of him everywhere. His hands felt slick, dozens of micro cuts from forcing his body to climb those uncut crystals.

Tia gasped, skittering backwards as Ivor erupted from the water. He looked a mess – Tia was only slightly better. Her entire body shook, her face blotchy and tearstained as she held a golden, glittering dagger in a white-knuckled grip. The jeweled scabbard was discarded on the cave floor. She hadn’t been alone long. But it felt like an eternity, with only her memories to keep her company as she waited to see if her companions survived. The entire time, all she had been able to think was –

Not again.

Ivor brought the sickening scent of iron with him, drenching the floor scarlet. It was all Tia could see. Blood. A river of it. His body was misshapen, carved and cut where he’d once been whole.

Training overpowered fear – or perhaps was fueled by it. The dagger clattered to the ground next to the gem as Tia raced forward to place shaking hands on Ivor, a golden glow mixing with the blues and purples of the cave.

Ivor inhaled sharply as he felt her magic flow into him, a white hot energy that seemed to burn deep into his core and flesh.

Free of weight down below, Zeph hauled himself faster toward the surface. Kicking and clawing, he did anything he could to propel himself upward. And finally—finally—he reached the shallow ledge. He barely had strength to pull himself over, but somehow, he did.

Crawling forward, shaking and drenched, his arms trembled as he sought the dry cavern floor. He gasped and choked, lungs seizing as they fought to rid themselves of the water he’d swallowed.

Tia couldn’t think as she desperately poured her magic into Ivor, cataloguing his breathing, his wounds, his pulse. His blood coated her hands as she moved over him, her robes staining crimson where she kneeled in the small pond he’d created. Her head snapped to the side when she heard Zeph emerge, and his exhausted, labored breathing. Relief was so sharp in Tia’s body that it was painful.

They were both accounted for. They were both alive.

Zeph was bleeding. His skin was pallid, his lips blue.

Feeling cold, dry stone beneath him, he collapsed onto his back, the world spinning. Lights danced in and out of his vision—specks of black, white, purple and blue spread out across the ceiling. He didn’t even feel the warmth of his own blood pooling beneath him.

Breathless and delirious, he lazily turned his head toward the waters edge. The tainted pool churned with hungry, frenzied fish. The spear gleamed faintly in the glow of the crystals, resting safely in the shallows.

Zeph exhaled, shuddering, his eyelids growing unbearably heavy. Just… a moment. He needed… a moment…

His eyes slowly drifted shut.

As Tia’s magic flowed out of her, fresh panic rushed in to fill the space. Looking back at Ivor, she tried not to see a person, or his booming laugh, or how he’d pat her head. She couldn’t afford to. There was just a body to be healed, a mass of flesh to sew back together, muscle and sinew and skin.

And now there was another body behind her – smaller. Colder. More fragile than this hulking form that dwarfed her own.

She couldn’t stop. Her fear wouldn’t allow it. Anxiety was tight and painful around her heart, clawing up her throat. Her breathing grew more and more labored as her magic emptied out of her. Scrunching her eyebrows together, Tia grit her teeth and forced a bloody hand away from Ivor. She didn’t lessen the amount of magic she channeled, though. The arm she still held against him shook as the stream of her power intensified, with only one outlet.

As far as Tia could tell, the injuries both men had suffered were fairly straightforward flesh wounds. They looked painful and needed care, but there were no broken bones, no poison that she could detect within Ivor, just the soft fabric of their bodies that Tia knew she could mend easily enough. Had this occurred six months ago – had this even occurred three months ago, and her hair was still dark and her voice still clear – then perhaps she would’ve acted with more clarity.

Instead, when Tia looked back towards Zeph, she didn’t see the Lunarian guard. She saw a different face, with vacant eyes and an Aurelian uniform soaked with blood, laying lifeless under the starry sky.

Half her attention still on Ivor, Tia squeezed her eyes shut and brought her free hand to the space in front of her stomach. She felt for the diminishing well of power that churned in time with her heartbeat. Tia flexed her fingers, willing a fresh stream of magic to lift away from her core. She pulled. Raising her hand up, up, up, along the path of her torso, Tia forced her magic through her body, down her arm, and finally into the icy skin of Zeph’s shoulder. Golden warmth flowed down the veins of both her arms, leaving a hollow chill in her core.

Zeph’s eyes fluttered open, vision swimming in a haze of color. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his body trembling violently beyond his control. The cold felt suffocating, his limbs unresponsive. Panic set in.

But then… Tia. Bathed in a faint yellow glow that filled the edges of his blurred vision, she looked ethereal, shimmering against hues of blue and purple.

He blinked sluggishly, his gaze trailing down her arm until he spotted the bloodied hand she was pressing to his mangled skin. He couldn’t feel her, but something in him eased. His heartbeat, once frantic, slowed, steadied. The faintest smile ghosted his lips before the darkness pulled him under once more.

Not again, please, please not again.

Despite her station, she so rarely entreated Aelios. But now, her mind focused on the two bodies she’d connected herself to, Tia found herself frantically reciting prayers for mercy and light that she’d been forced to memorize as a child. There was no voice to them, her mouth moving silently. Only Aelios would hear – if She was even listening at all.

Eventually, her magic scoured the bodies for additional wounds to heal, only to find the two men whole again. She was shaking, her cheeks damp, a dull ache pounding in her head. But all she knew was their steady pulses and her palms.

Zeph was still too cold.

Ivor’s eyes slowly opened and as the hot glow receded, so too did the pain. The giant sat upwards and checked himself over, his wounds having miraculously healed under the priestess’ magic. He’d never seen Aurelian magic in action before, let alone be the recipient to it, it was powerful and he understood why it was so respected and feared. Ivor flexed his muscles, no tenderness, no pain, just a feeling of being whole once again. He smiled as he turned to the priestess, ready to thank her, only to realize that things were still dire. She looked out of it and to make matters worse, though Zeph appeared physically healed, he was shaking heavily.

Ivor quickly got to his feet, ran to his gear and grabbed his furs and leathers, doubling back to drape them over Zeph’s body. It wasn’t enough, as he could see Zeph continue to violently shake. Ivor had seen this a few times before, people who had been out too long from his village, people who were rescued from the cold who couldn’t seem to warm up. In those cases his people would have wrapped the individual in multiple layers of furs, setting them by a roaring fire and after some time, their bodies would respond to the heat. There were not enough furs here, no fire big enough nor enough materials to prepare one. Body heat was an alternative, however all three of them were ice cold…unless he became something bigger and warmer than either of them.

Ivor briefly debated within himself before coming to a decision and addressing Tia. “Miss Priestess,” Ivor kneeled in front of her. Her eyes snapped up to him. “Mr. Guard, he is not going to be making it, not unless he gets warm,” he turned his head briefly to him before looking back at Tia, “Ivor can help warm him up, but…I must be warning you, Ivor will be scary…” the blightborn stood up and walked to the edge of the pool. Tia watched, her attention glued to him even as her hand measured Zeph’s heartbeat. In the water below the fish frenzied, now cannibalizing the carcasses that Zeph had killed while down below. It wasn’t a lot, but he needed as much energy as possible to do what he needed to. Reaching out, he beckoned the fallen souls forth, inhaling as a cloudy white mist emerged from the water, entering Ivor’s mouth as his lungs filled, his chest expanding. Tia’s lips parted, her breath catching as she realized what she was witnessing – the blight-born was feeding. She was petrified, unable to look away from the evidence of how very inhuman he was. When he gathered as much as available he turned back to Tia, “Do not be afraid, just remember, Ivor is here to help,” he smiled sheepishly. Dark eyes met glowing purple.

Ivor closed his eyes, willing himself to focus as he searched deep within, that wild form that inhabited a part of his spirit. A dull roar from the back of his mind, he called it forth, willing it into existence, so that he and the creature were one. He felt the emergence like a snap as his body hunched forward, his frame crouching as he felt his entering form changing. Muscles shifted and rearranged, bones cracked and grew thick with the new physiology, hair began to grow and multiply along his flesh. All the while he grunted and groaned, holding back his yells as a new kind of pain wracked him. His ears grew rounder, his face elongated into a snout, his grunts turning into growls and yells into roars as he willed himself into the form of the bear. What once stood before the priestess in the body of a man, was now that of a massive, thick, black haired beast with glowing purple eyes. Clouds of hot vapor escaped with each breath as he stared at the terrified woman and unconscious man. He didn’t want to scare her, but only a few people knew of this form, among them included the prince and princess, as well as Eris being both the lead sage and a good friend.

Something was caught in Tia’s throat. She thought it might’ve been a scream. Or maybe her heart. Her breathing was shallow and frantic, both hands clutching at Zeph’s body under the furs as if she could pull him away from the monstrous creature. The transformation had been unlike anything she’d ever seen before – a horrific twisting of his massive body, like something out of a nightmare, the way his flesh had pushed and pulled from within to accommodate a beast. The snapping of his bones seemed to echo in Tia’s ears. The pained shouts that had morphed into snarls.

Hoping that his words reached her earlier, he laid his entire body down so as not to be a threat. His head plopped to the cave floor as he licked his chops and yawned, the transformation had felt a bit draining on him.

Tia was frozen. She trembled violently, hands tightening against Zeph. All she could feel was the cold that seeped through her, and the phantom burn of blood against her neck.

Zeph drifted into consciousness, his eyes barely cracking open. The world around him was still a blur, but one shape stood out—a massive, dark figure resting not far from him. A bear.

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, a new sort of panic surging through his veins. Instinct told him to get up, but his limbs remained numb and useless. For a moment, he simply watched, his breathing shallow and ragged as he wondered if he was dreaming.

The moment stretched between them. Tia counted the heartbeats – one of them would be her last.

But the counting didn’t stop.

She continued to live.

The monster across the cave didn’t pounce. He continued to lay there, watching her with glowing purple eyes.

“...Ivor?” Her voice was frail and fractured as she stared at him. Somehow Tia managed to pull a shaking hand away from Zeph, lifting it out from under the furs. She couldn’t hold it steady. Icy air bit into her skin as she raised her bloody hand up to him, waiting for him to approach – or tear them to pieces.

Ivor lifted his head, ears perking up as logic and recognition replaced terror. The bear made a groaning sort of sound, nothing ferocious, something that said, ‘there you are’. Ivor lifted his body up as she stretched her hand out, his massive padded paws plopped along the cave floor as he neared the two humans. Tia’s hand was covered in blood, instinctually he sniffed the hand, recognizing this as a source of food, tasty sustenance. He was in control though and he only pressed his snout gently into her outstretched palm, feeling her flinch against his touch.

His head pulled back slightly as he stared at her, he knew this was unusual, it was just as much for him too. He took notice of her shivering, how her clothes and hair were soaked, face damp; she needed just as much warmth as Zeph did and the only way to do that was to bundle up together. Ivor used his rather large sized head to gently prod and move the priestess closer to the guard, he needed them to come together if he was going to envelop the pair in combined warmth. Once satisfied the two were close enough he began to pace around them, finding what would be the most comfortable spot. Was it necessary? Instinctually yes, something needed to feel right about where he was going to lay. Eventually that moment came after a few passes where he plopped himself as coiled around the pair as he could, his fur pressing into their bodies, squeezing the three of them together into a cuddle puddle.

Zeph’s shaking didn’t stop, but slowly, as warmth enveloped him, he began to feel the numbness receding. His fingers twitched beneath the furs, a small movement that sent a spark of relief through him. His mind still felt fogged, the line of reality and dream blurred together, but his eyes flicked toward the bear—docile, purple eyes briefly meeting his. The bear seemed… aware?

Feeling his nerves slowly return to life, his fingers moved to brush over his shoulder. His skin felt renewed, slick with blood and water still, but no torn flesh. He gently squeezed his shoulder, testing reality, but there was no pain—as if it hadn’t happened at all.

As a body pressed into him, his eyes found Tia again. Blood stained her in varying shades of red and he exhaled an uneasy breath. Though shivers, a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Th-thanks, F-firefly…” Tia’s eyes met his briefly, something soft cutting through the fear and chill.

His gaze drifted back to the bear, still unsure if this was all just a dream. Perhaps he had actually died in those waters after all.

With a barely conscious effort, he shifted closer, reaching out to press his fingers into the bear’s fur. Its warmth seeped into him, and for a moment, he felt a fleeting sense of comfort, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Tia was fighting her own battle against exhaustion. She wasn’t completely drained of magic, but healing two bodies at once had been reckless. The sunless sky had diminished her magic day by day, and she was still unaccustomed to how hollow she felt after healing now. She felt emptied from the inside out, with heavy limbs and a pounding headache that only grew stronger the more her adrenaline drained out of her.

Cocooned in Ivor’s warmth and pressed against Zeph’s shaking body, she found that she couldn’t move much. She doubted she’d have the energy to, anyway. Or the desire. The cave was cold and bloodsoaked, and the Lunarian landscape stretched out beyond it in every direction, coated in snow and filled with danger.

No… she didn’t want to move. She was warm here. Held close. Even if the ones who had her were strangers that she’d put in danger with this foolhardy mission.

Something glittered in the periphery. Blinking, Tia forced her eyes to focus. There, sitting in a diluted puddle of blood, lay two glittering objects. The first was familiar: the golden dagger that she’d drawn, in case whatever had drawn Ivor’s blood underwater decided to emerge and find her as its next meal. But the other object…

A glow of the crystals bounced off of a small, perfectly cut gemstone. Its flat edges and corners created a geometric ball, an iridescent pink beneath the cave’s blues and purples. Tia’s world seemed to narrow to the tiny gem. She couldn’t look away from it.

A certainty echoed through her like the cold: she’d found what she was searching for.

The two bodies surrounding her breathed in time with each other. The steady rhythm of Ivor’s rise and fall, the soft sounds of Zeph’s exhales, eased Tia into something close to calm.

She didn’t want to move. She was warm here. Held close.

Tia finally looked away from the gem. She nestled into Zeph, pulling the fur over her body and wrapping her arms around him, that he might have more heat. She tried to time her breath with Ivor’s rise and fall, like bellows stoking a fragile flame. When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the traces of her own magic, still drifting through their bodies.

Huddled together, the three strangers created their own bubble of heat, bloodsoaked and exhausted as it was.

The gem sat beside them, its colors flickering like firelight.

Daphne

Lunaris Temple

Medical hand holding is a thing. Temple. Of the Heart....

Daphne slowly turned her head to see Nathanial and there was confusion in her violet eyes, she could hide her body language more but not that feature so easily and she sighed feeling helpless, unable to know what's going on, what's going on in Dawn Haven and News of the current events and yet to reach them isolated on the edge. That was partly why she decided to go defensive as there was a wide expense of unknown status ground between them and the town square.

She turned to face him, He was right, she called him a friend she should not be upset he chose to voice an opinion. “Its, hard. I'm not Coswain, Abel… I have a few more years than the green recruits, but I'm no veteran. Training to be a knight is a lot longer than a guard.” Daphne admitted, she did her best and tried her hardest but she still was just Daphne… Squire Daphne.

“I know, I just hope I don't ruin it. She was so cute…and I guess I like blondes. Alot. It was one thing I could decide, orders…alarms..” Daphne laughed and made a little Fun of herself, she did admit she had let herself just do something, take control of one thing, when everything else was chaos.

“My.. Coswain, he out there, alone maybe. I'm meant to be at his back, and Prince ordered me away.. “ Daphne said with frustration and glanced down at the pair of honour blades at her waist, hers and her master's.

Daphne nodded at the advice and waited, she was restless and paced a little to try and use some of her energy, much as she wanted to, practicing blade drill in a Temple would be wrong, just felt wrong.. She chose to pace, and to think as she did running though things, and the crazy day from feast to murders.

Her wait proved that she would be given a sign and as it turned out waiting was a good thing after all.

Daphne was standing, leaning against a wall as she waited, a noise caused her to turn her head and she caught the eyes of Kat, she definitely was complicated and what she could tell said that she would act in her own time. Daphne gave her the time she needed, a curious tilt to her head a a glitter of hope in the violet eyes of the Cadian Daphne, an local quirk that was rather rare in Lunaris

Kat moved closer and she was rather bold In her own way, arms extended around her neck and she was right on her toes to reach her lips. Daphne did not stop her and was caught too off guard to bend her knees. Softer, slower but there was something meaningful and more about this kiss than the bold kiss that started all this.

Her layers of armour meant she did not feel her press against Daphne as much, her more Amazonian form was solid and she put an arm to behind to hold Kat steady and help her keep her tiptoed balance.

Her words came out after Kat broke the contact of their lips and spoke, it made little sense, it made every sense to Daphne at the same time. Daphne did not break eye contact and just gave her a quick peck to confirm her apology, with an almost sparkle in the violet eyes again.

“I should ask you to forgive me, you where…and I…” She meandered off, not sorry but very reminded she was so forward and Kat had such a day. They both had a rather less than normal day in different ways.

Daphne had been partly concerned it was a really bad kiss, well a woman had to wonder when that happened, it turned out to be something deeper. Daphne would not pry, but she could not just ignore what she said, it was important.

She flashed Nathanial a thumbs up and a genuine smile for a quick second, in thanks, it had all worked out and spoke quietly to Katherine, he would understand she was sure.

“I'll not pry, we all had a rough day, your secrets are safe Kat. I'm not gonna push you.” Daphne reached for a hand and pulled her with little force to a small wooden bench where they could sit and talk, Kat looked a little… something Daphne could not place. She was not experienced at this, this was new to her, this…feeling….

If Kat chose to Snuggle into Daphne's side, well that would be a chore, or sit on her lap for sure… how dreadful her mind added with a major slice of sarcasm. It was more the spot was quieter, in a corner, safer, and hopefully made the woman she had these unknown feelings running through her mind more comfortable and feel safe.

Whatever secrets, we'll that could wait,m as even her limited understanding told her to let the woman be, and to let her open up if she chose to in own time.

Daphne somehow managed to mantain her calm, despite her emotions beating hard in confused places her voice remained softer, calmer and much more gentle than the guardswoman used in her duties. “kat. Breathe, slow, in, out… with me, you're safe with me.” She said to calm Kat down, remembering a lesson from Persephone as she tried to help Kat manage what she was not sure if another trauma response.

A gentle pressure on Kats hand hopefully would help her feel more grounded as she hopefully helped, Daphne had been in kats place more than once before.

What were they? Who honestly cared at this point the world was cast in eternal night as it was. Just two people taking a risk.

She spoke after a few minutes of quiet, a little curiosity. I'm her tone, had they met before? “So, Capitol? have we lived in circles and never met before? The Temple was one place where I could get time to breathe and feel calm even for a few minutes. I ended up being a recruit 3 times over. Cadia was busy, but the capital was something else.“ Daphne asked, interested in learning if they had a shared experience or been in similar places. She decided to break the subject and try to open something fresh, past, maybe comment how they may have met in passing, anything really to pull the cute blonde Kat out her shadows.

Daphne was feeling a little teasing trying to up the mood as she joked. “Unless my lap is more comfortable and our lips closer.” She joked with a smile and glitter to those Violet eyes, an off ramp, if she just did not want to open up and cuddle or anything really. Daphne had not exactly had an easy start and could tell the signs Someone was having a rough time of it.

By Selene the least she could show her was some kindness after a rough day.

...

She did not spot the older woman Persephone look out a little outside the door before she decided to rest a little more, the alarms would last for may hours and no one was gonna be going anywhere soon. She just smiled and returned to sit back, going over her meditations to try and help make sense of what was painfully forced into her brain. Visions where rough and she was struggling to make it all fit together.

At least Daphne was having fun, she trusted her Husband would return even as she worried. It was a soldiers life to take risks, and a partners life to have to be the one waiting.

Mentions
@SpicyMeatball@Echotech71

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_{Location: Guard Tower}

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Elio cast a glance over his shoulder as he descended the steps.

“And spoil my fun?” he tossed back at the guard, a note of humor in his voice. His mirth left him though, when he emerged from the guard tower to find a familiar figure stomping his way towards them. His smile dropped. Anger reestablished its hold over him.

“Look alive, Cadet,” he muttered, eyes never leaving Aliseth. When he was close enough, Elio brightened, his voice clearing a path through the falling snow.

“Guard Kain,” he called, smile wide and eyes sharp. “I was hopin’ to see you again. I wanted to thank you for pointing me towards the temple. Body wasn’t Zeph’s.” Elio watched him, taking in any hint of a reaction – confusion, guilt, smugness... any clue to whether Aliseth’s bad info had been a lie or a mistake.

In his mind’s eye, he saw that smile from the tavern again.

“Abel’s actually, may Seluna welcome his soul.” Elio’s gaze flicked over Aliseth’s shoulder, to find a lost little soul trailing after him. He paused though, as recognition flared: Hightower. She looked dazed and forlorn, with vacant eyes as she floated after Aliseth like a specter.

Elio found himself oddly… disappointed. He didn’t know her well, beyond the passing look or comment and her answering flustered blush. But he was used to seeing her move with a certain surety of purpose. She was meant to be the best in her field, as far as Dawnhaven was concerned. Wasn’t she their resident blight expert? And she all but shut down in a crisis?

Turning his attention back to Aliseth, Elio refocused.

“That blighter must’ve really fucked you up if you couldn’t tell them apart. Especially since I heard you and Zeph made a joint report to the old captain.” Elio faked a look of concern. He kept his voice loud, drawing the attention of any in the vicinity close enough to hear. “Is it the trauma that’s got you falling to pieces?” he goaded, lifting a hand to tap two fingers against the side of Aliseth's head. “Maybe you should go have a lie down. Seems you're not fit for much at the moment, and it'd be such a shame if the town had another highborn girl go missing on your watch.” Elio let the edge back into his voice, eyes flicking back to the sage.

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_{Interactions: Aliseth Kain @Dark Light, Charlotte Hawthorne @SpicyMeatball, Eris Hightower @The Muse}

The closer Elara and Eris drew to the royal estate, the thicker the guard presence became. Kira slowed her pace before eventually stopping altogether, unwilling to get caught up in their increasing activity. Pulling up her hood, she melted into the shadows of the treeline, trying to keep out of view. She had no interest in lingering near the royals’ home, but she remained long enough to watch Elara slip inside with the Sage—long enough to ensure nothing else lurking in the dark took notice of her first.

Only then did she shift, moving into the quiet residential streets to position herself on the opposite side of the estate.

Leaning against a tree near a flickering torchlight, Kira settled into her post. Hidden in plain sight, she made no effort to conceal herself—simply another figure taking a rest in the cold. She watched the guards fan out in disciplined patterns, carving paths through the deep snow, and lighting the edge of the forest with lanterns that sent shadows scattering. It was an impressive display of order, but one Kira had no interest in being part of. Not anymore, anyway.

Snow gathered atop her hood as time stretched on, layering itself over her as she stood motionless. Her breath remained slow, steady, visible in the frigid air.

After some time, she saw the Sage re-emerge in a rush. Kira tracked Eris' movements as she rushed toward the town square, her urgency plain. For a moment, curiosity tugged at her. Whatever was happening beyond the estate’s walls had set Eris moving with uncommon speed. But she let it pass, remaining in place, content to let Hightower reach her destination alone.

After a few minutes, the sharp sound of three alarm bells pierced through the still night air. A warning. A summons to find shelter.

Kira wrinkled her nose in distaste. The sound was a clear sign that she should probably get inside—lest the guards take notice of her lingering presence and start asking questions. The thought of being interrogated was a mild nuisance at best, but there was another thought, darker and more primal. ‘And if they came alone?’

An easy snack. A chance to satisfy the thing stirring, irritated, beneath her skin.

She shoved the thought down before it could take hold. Instead, her gaze remained locked on the royal residence in the distance. Something rooted her here, something far less dismissible than idle curiosity. Instinct. Hunger.

She had let her meal slip into that home, and though she had no intention of acting on the impulse, the knowledge of it held her in place. The predator inside was still awake, still aware, waiting to see if its prey would return into the night. Patient as ever.

Time continued its slow, steady march, and Kira remained, still as a statue. She watched not only the estate, but everything. She tracked the guards movements, the paths they created, the orders they followed. With every passing second, she committed their routes to memory—not out of necessity, but habit.

Hearing movement, her eyes flicked to her right. A guard, trudging through the snow, pulling someone along by the hand. Kira focused, narrowing her gaze. It took only a second to recognize the figure in his grip. Lady Hightower, returning not longer after she had gone.

Her brow lifted slightly. Eris’ heart was hammering in her chest, an anxious rhythm that carried across the snow. Odd. The Sage had always been skittish in Kira’s presence, but never like this.

‘Something’s wrong.’

Kira didn’t move, didn’t reveal herself—just observed, quiet as the shadows themselves.

The guard released the Sage once they reached a watchtower, stepping away and leaving her behind. But Eris didn’t move. Didn’t run. Yet, Kira could still hear her heart pounding frantically.

Her fingers twitched at her side, but her attention split the moment she heard a door open.

Her head snapped toward the royal residence. Elara.

Kira’s brows pulled together. She hadn’t been inside long, and yet there she was again, stepping back into the night. Kira tilted her head slightly, watching as Elara seemingly dismissed her guards.

A slow, disappointed exhale left her lips. Sending them away was foolish.

The predator stirred, unfurling like a shadow across her mind. Malicious excitement poured into the hollows of her chest, filling all the empty space that Elara had carved.

Her entire nervous system sparked to life, but Kira remained unmoving, almost afraid to take a single step away from the base of the tree.

Her gaze darted between the two situations before her. Eris and the guard. Elara and the darkened path leading away from the royal estate.

Her eyes found Elara once more. Pupils dilated. She took a step forward.

“Oy, you heard the bell?”

Kira went still, a sharp spike of anger cutting through her. Slowly, she turned, her fiery gaze locking onto the guard who had dared to interrupt her. She said nothing, only seared him with a glare that she wished could have reduced him to cinders.

“Get inside. That’s what it means. What you hanging ‘round for then?”

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_{Mentions: Elara @Qia, Aliseth @Dark Light}

Aliseth

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Guard Tower

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As Elio approached him through the snow, an unexpected figure since Aliseth left him in the tavern during lockdown, Aliseth's gaze briefly flicked up to the guard who only just now was visible in the tower.

He need do nothing to express his disappointment or frustration, it made clear in the tone of his short sharp call
"Soldier!" He beckoned the guard to him while eyeing the out-of-place mason.

As Elio approached and started taunting him, Aliseth only offered a growl as the man start to poke him."Don't touch me!" He hiss softly in an ignored warning.

As he took the berating his face was statuesque, stoic, an unresponsive mask. Except for the calm, cold anger that seemed to always be burning in his eyes. Jaw clenched, he listened to Elio's words, letting him speak, he listened to his breaths, watching his eyes.

There it was, a shifting in glance over his shoulder. Aliseth followed his gaze adding a slight natural twist to his form. Quicker than his lips could form a satisfied smile, from the other side of his body Aliseth drove a fist up at Elio's strong jaw. A short sharp hook. Despite not leaning into the attack or even pulling back for momentum, doing nothing that would give away his intentions, the guard still mustered a surprising amount of force and speed, striking like a viper.

"Your antics were cute before but now you're just being rude and intolerable." He kept his eyes on the mason but flicks his head towards the tower, gesturing in the direction of the other guard. "I wonder, was it rejection or an inability to perform that has you so worked up." He taunts, knowing Elio has not been here much longer than himself.

Standing tall, Aliseth was not in a fighting stance but his weight had shifted and he slightly angled himself towards Elio. "I'm on official business and if you hinder me any further I'll be forced to have you arrested." He informs him loudly, that sharp authoritive confidence echoing in his voice along with perhaps just a hint of arrogance.
"As if you even could." He whisper with a sly taunting smirk to Elio and Elio alone.

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_{Interactions: Aliseth Kain @Dark Light, Charlotte Hawthorne @SpicyMeatball, Eris Hightower @The Muse Elio @c3p-0h}