Lord and Lady Coswain

Eye of Beholder

Royal waiting

Persephone woke slowly and glanced out the window and could tell the weather would be cold, nothing new to the Lunarian woman whom rolled onto her back and grabbed some cold water near to her. The past time had not been too eventful, apart from the splitting migraine of her visions… a golden wolf still was a haunting memory, it walked on water and headed out into the mountains…

That could not be a good omen, those mountains lead to places even deeper than dawn haven. Or Gloom Haven as some called it for a joke, Dawn had not risen I'm far too long. Persephone sipped as she looked about, saddle bags, armour, various effects lay about the room off to the side, the main bedroom was largest in the place and they had a luxury second only to the owner who they came to know lived on the entire top floor, her apartment would be one of larger homes in Dawn Haven if she really thought about it.

“Same as always Adon” She said, using her partner to keep warm and being unwilling to leave the bed, it was warm and the covers thick. Sure it was not the best quality or design but the Eye of the Beholder did best to keep them warm even despite the winter's chill that bore down on the large building.

“Daphne ever get back?" He Asked with a notice to his wife's smile at the topic, she seemed to be quite distracted by the priestess and honestly if they wanted to, they were adults. The priestess had to serve Seluna, but she did not have to be alone.

“Not that I Saw, let her be, be good and I'm sure i recognise her, she seemed familiar. But they had a hard day, let them have theit comfort.” Persephone said as she tried and failed to make “dawn” go away as she used her partner like a human cuddle pillow. In her private comments she still was a human being however much they both did difficult jobs.

“Come on seph, I know how you sleep, but i'll probably have to answer to the Sun Prince no doubt… Damaged armour will have to do.” He said as he threw a log onto the embers and stoked the small fire in their room to generate some heat.

Persephone woke up like a cat, Aka slowly… and without much desire to rise, she had slept badly tonight but was plain too tired to not sleep after the forced sight of the golden wolf. She blinked awake and they dressed and headed down to eat a hot meal, even if Sya was away she allowed guests to warm whatever they wanted in the small kitchen, it was easier and Persephone wondered if she could borrow the baking oven some time today perhaps, what way to break the ice than food?

That was decided as a potential idea for the day she joined her husband's arm as they headed down for breakfast, maybe some hot porridge and warm bread would be available.

They could deal with Royal stuff later, breakfast was more important as they moved to the bar area of the Inn with its fire that never stopped burning.

Flynn descended the stairs slowly, every step heavily weighted with exhaustion. The long day clung to him, visible in the disheveled way he carried himself—his coat discarded, blond hair an unkempt mess, clothes wrinkled and untucked. The absence of his coat left a chill at his back, but he hardly noticed anymore.

He couldn’t sleep, so he’d come downstairs for tea. Something warm, something familiar. Perhaps a book or a round of cards with one of the guards. A small comfort, though he wasn’t sure if it would bring him much solace anymore.

Reaching the bottom step, he stilled.

Across the hall, Amaya sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, her figure illuminated in flickering gold. Shadows stretched long across the floor, her face cast in shifting light and dark, unreadable, yet pensive. Alone.

Slowly, as if moving too quickly might shatter the delicate atmosphere of the room, he stepped forward. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the doorframe and took her in. For a few heartbeats, he simply let the quiet settle. The crackle of the fire the only sound between them.

Then, softly, he asked, “How’re you feeling?”

The words hung between them in the open air. Amaya felt them, like snowflakes fluttering back into place after being disturbed by an errant breeze.

All that time listening to him move about the house, and she hadn’t thought of how she would… be with him, when he inevitably found her. If she would try to distance herself again. If she would… well, she didn’t know. There had only ever been one way for her to be with Flynn, and in the span of a single day it had been rendered impossible.

And so she’d sat there, bundled in a blanket, legs curled under her body, her hair loose, and her face bare. He’d never seen her like this — Amaya had made certain of it. But whatever nervousness or embarrassment she might’ve felt was muted beneath the weight of the day. She counted her failures like they were the logs feeding the fire, filling the hearth with ash and smoke. Sir Abel, dead by her foolishness. Elara, heartbroken and vulnerable by her selfishness. Ranni, terrified by her paranoia. Amaya had watched the flames dance as she listened to him close the distance.

“As you’d expect.” An answer that was not an answer. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth, and he would see through a lie. Her words wove between the crackling of the fire, the muffled rattle of the wind, soft enough that they might’ve just been another feature of the winter landscape.

“The healers are quite competent.” It was a weak deflection — but at least it was honest. She’d even allowed them to close the wound on her arm after they’d finished clearing her blood. It felt selfish. Ranni and Lady Hightower had been exhausted with the work of detoxifying her, and it seemed wasteful to tire them more to heal a simple cut. But she’d kept her protests to herself, Elara’s anger ringing in her ears. She’d watched Ranni, withdrawn and ashamed, knit her skin back together until it was smooth.

Amaya could taste the smoke in the air as she took in a slow breath.

Finally, she turned to look at Flynn. For a heartbeat — two, three — he was the only thing in the world. He was messy and unpolished, exhaustion draped around him as heavy as a cloak. The shadows played tricks, deepening the lines in his face and making him look older than he was. It was stunning to realize he was unguarded — that he had a guard to hide behind, at all. Amaya had always thought him too open, too careless with what he let others see, but this…

This was a man who carried the weight of the sunrise on his back. He’d stood against both their kingdoms and clergies, willed this community into existence, and would likely drag the sun up from the depths of the ocean himself, if that’s what it took.

How had it taken Amaya this long to realize that it was killing him?

He was watching her, attentive and patient as ever. The firelight in his green eyes caught like dawn against sea glass. Something soft flickered over her face, but she looked away before it could overwhelm her. Her fingers curled around the edge of the spare blanket she’d pulled from her room. Instinct told her to retreat.

“Though sleep seems difficult to come by tonight,” she murmured instead. It was an offering — a subtle connection, even as Amaya kept her eyes trained on the fire. He wasn’t alone with this struggle at least, as small as it was.

Flynn nodded in agreement, the silence stretching between them as he searched for the right words. There were still so many things he needed to say—so many things she needed to know, despite everything that had already happened.

Running a hand through his unruly hair, he pushed off the doorframe and he stepped further into the room. "Amaya, I—" The words caught in his throat. He hesitated for a moment, then, rather than taking the armchair across from her, he sat down at the other end of the couch. Not too close—he wouldn't push her—but close enough that the space between them didn’t feel like a chasm.

For a few breaths he fell silent, his gaze flickering to the fire as if the right thing to say might be waiting for him there. Then, finally, he turned to her again, his eyes full of quiet regret. “I’m sorry for leaving you today. I thought, with the—” He stopped himself, lips pressing into a thin line, not wanting to offer her any excuses. This was his mistake to bear. “I shouldn’t have.”

Something small and ugly in Amaya wanted to snap at him. He shouldn’t have left her. He’d —

But she swallowed the thoughts down.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she reminded both of them. Flynn’s voice was the same as it’d always been whenever he’d tried to talk to her. Sad. Cautious. Soft in a way that used to spark an anger so frigid she’d thought she’d turn the walls of their home to ice. But now Amaya listened with new ears, fresh shame filling her. She heard him trying to place another weight on his own back. To think, she’d spent two months punishing him for it. “I made a reckless choice. You don’t get to carry that.”

For a moment, Flynn didn’t respond. He didn’t agree with her, he never would, but he knew better than to argue. He would carry his choices with him wherever he went—whether she allowed it or not.

His gaze drifted back to the fire, recalling every misstep of the day—beginning with the moment he’d left her alone.

“I went to talk to the Aurelian High Priestess. I should have asked you to join me.” He admitted, the memory of Tia’s nervous face flashing in his mind. “The Sage… she found something. One of the blight-born has blood that reacts to light magic—like a compass, pointing to blight.” His voice was flat, distant. The discovery had held some semblance of hope for him earlier, but he no longer felt the same spark. The weight of everything that had followed had dulled its significance.

His words landed with a shock that rippled through her, though she sat motionless beneath the blanket. Amaya heard the shift in his voice. There was a formality to it that caught her off guard — a bluntness and clarity that was almost businesslike. Her eyes unfocused as she listened, her mind quickening.

“She told me the High Priestess gave her a clue to look into this blight-born’s blood, but didn’t know why. Or how she knew.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple before letting his hand fall away. “So I went to ask her.”

And he hadn’t thought to include Amaya.

His jaw tensed. “I made the mistake of not asking you to be involved, but I…” he trailed off, looking back at her now. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and bright. He was still learning how to be a partner, how to move alongside her rather than forging a path all his own. But today it had nearly cost him more than he could bear.

“It won’t happen again.”

Amaya could only stare, trying to fit the pieces into place. The blood. The explanation, delivered clearly and without reservation. The way he looked at her, filled with a different sort of intensity — the same way she’d seen him look at Lord Nightingale or Lady Hightower, voices quick and weighted as they decided their next course of action.

He wanted her involved.

Amaya looked away, her heartbeat quick. She found the fire again, devouring blackened logs. Thoughts rushed in. She’d been reminded her entire life that she was locked out and unwelcome, forced to create her own winding paths and hidden entrances, and now… he was simply opening the front door. He expected her to walk through, but in her shock she’d forgotten how to move. And then of course there was the doubt. The fear. She would disappoint him. Worse, she would ruin him, and all his noble plans. Today was proof of that.

She shook her head. “Flynn…” But Amaya’s protests died on her tongue as she met his gaze again. His shoulders were square, for all that they carried. His eyes were tired and too old, but there was no hesitation when he looked at her — no doubt that she could put one foot in front of the other and walk through the door he’d opened. She thought suddenly of kissing him.

The silence stretched. The night only grew longer.

“Was it a mistake?” The question was frail where it sat between them. “I take a step and disaster follows. That’s not something you can afford, Flynn. Not when you’re finally making progress.”

"It was a mistake."

Flynn didn’t hesitate. The words left his mouth simply, matter-of-factly, as if there could be no other answer. Because there wasn’t. The very question was painful to hear. Of course it was a mistake. What he couldn't afford was to lose her.

The memory of the fear he'd felt, thinking she might have been dead... it hadn't left him. It sat at the edges of his mind, a shadow that had lingered ever since he’d found her unconscious on Elara’s floor. He exhaled, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at the wooden floorboards beneath them. His hair fell into his face, and he idly rubbed his tired, cold hands together in thought.

"You know," he started, his voice quieter now, "when I first sought to marry you, it was out of desperation. To buy us time." He shook his head slightly. "I had no idea how to be a partner. I’m sure I still don’t." He huffed a humorless breath, his hands stilling. "But..."

His voice trailed off, eyes shifting to her, something searching in his gaze. "You see things that I don’t. You know things I can’t begin to perceive." His brows knit slightly as he gestured toward upstairs. "You sensed the psychic magic Ranni was using when I hadn’t sensed it at all."

He straightened then, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It’s like before. At our wedding. You observe. You can see things in my blind spots.”

Flynn leaned back against the couch, meeting her gaze and holding it. "For all our differences, I think we complement each other well. The way partners should." The smile lingered, but there was something more in his eyes now, something steady and sure. “I want you here, Amaya. With me. Beside me.”

His expression faded into something more solemn. “I wish it hadn’t taken something so extreme for me to realize it, but…” His eyes flickered to her lips before finding those pale, ice-blue eyes once more. “I need you. In more ways than I had allowed myself to feel.”

He paused, letting the words settle between them. Then, after a moment, he added, “The progress being made is our progress. And I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel like you’re part of this, too.”

For a beat, he hesitated. Then, slowly, he extended a hand toward her, palm up, open. An offering, an invitation.

“Amaya,” A hint of a smile returned. “Would you like to be my partner?” His gaze softened, though there was a glint of something playful behind his eyes. “My Queen?”

His words wrapped around her, warmer than any blanket. Amaya stared at his open hand, and all it signified. Beneath her skin, in her chest, along her spine, energy crackled like the fire. And when she looked back up to Flynn and met his dancing eyes, Amaya thought — no. She didn’t think. She was tired of living in her head.

In the span of a heartbeat, Amaya pushed herself towards her husband, closing the careful distance he’d left between them. She brushed his hand aside and moved past it. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, pooling carelessly on the couch, and she was left with only her sleeping gown to ward off the chill. It didn’t matter.

Amaya kissed him and set herself aflame.

She didn’t know how to describe the feeling that coursed through her — what would a painting feel, if it was removed from its frame and became the landscape once more? What would it say to the first traveler to explore it after a lifetime of incurious stares and cold dismissal? Amaya was a forest coming back to life, pouring herself into him.

You see it, the landscape would whisper. I was not meant for stillness and silence.

The feel of his skin was familiar as she held the sides of his face — unmanaged scruff along the hard angle of his jaw, curving cheekbones, warmth. He pulled her closer, hungry in a way that stole her breath. It sent her nerves into a frenzy, and she knew it should’ve been terrifying. Instead, she drank him in, savoring the way he commanded her attention.

When she finally pulled away from him, she was breathless. Her lips tingled, sending sparks of electricity through her body. She stayed there, eyes still closed, and let the sound and smell and touch of him wash over her.

Her eyes fluttered open. They found his immediately, his pupils blown wide, his ocean green made deep and fathomless. Up on her knees, she was taller than him for once. She took in this new angle of his face, tilted up to look at her. Then Amaya pressed a kiss to his forehead, tender as a blooming flower.

Partner. Queen. She was inexperienced, and ignorant of the world. But if he was beside her, maybe she could learn. Maybe they could step forward, and keep each other from falling. Her thumb brushed softly over the shadow beneath his eye.

“Tell me what you learned from the High Priestess.”

Flynn’s breath was unsteady, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he looked up at Amaya, bathed in firelight, eyes sharp as ice and warm as embers all at once. One hand rested on her hip, his body angled into the couch, drawn into her intensity. He leaned into her touch, savoring this new sensation—being held by her, pursued by her. A hunger stirred deep in his chest. He wanted more. Needed more.

He didn’t want to talk about the High Priestess. He didn’t want to talk at all. The only thing he could think about was her—her lips pressed against his, the way she had pushed past hesitation and thrown herself into him. He wanted to pull her closer, to feel the warmth of her against him, to lose himself in this fire she had set.

With slow, gentle care, his free hand curled around her right hand, gently peeling it away from his face. He planted a kiss on her palm, then her wrist, his lips trailing slow, deliberate touches along her forearm as he considered his next words. Her voice had left no room for argument, yet he found himself delaying, as if each kiss was an unspoken plea to stay in this moment with him just a little longer.

But she had told him to speak, not asked. Demanded it.

And in this moment, he was certain he’d do just about anything she commanded.

His grip on her waist shifted lower, fingers pressing into the curve of her body. And then, in one smooth motion, as if she weighed nothing at all, he pulled her into his lap, settling her against him. A surprised sound escaped her, briefly dissolving into an airy laugh. Her arm, the one he had been kissing, now rested over his shoulder, and his hands found their place at her hips.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark beneath her shadow. "Can you keep a secret?" His voice was low, a whisper in her ear, barely rising over the crackle of the fire. Something flickered in her eyes as she tried to hide a shiver. She arched a dark eyebrow.

He was aware, distantly, that her guard was somewhere in the house, likely within earshot if they were careless. He didn’t want to keep things from her, but certain things would have to stay between them and only them. Though, right now, all he wanted was for nothing to be between them at all.

“From everyone but you, it seems,” she muttered, matching his volume. But her hand was soft as it drifted down from his cheek to the side of his neck. The accusation didn’t stick.

Flynn smirked, unable to hide his satisfaction at her answer. He held her gaze, letting the moment stretch as he tried to ground himself back down to reality—tried to focus on anything but the way she fit against him.

He was broad and solid beneath her, his hands burning through the fabric of her dress. Amaya was… not nervous, per se. But aware. The intensity of his eyes, the fullness of his lips, the rough edge to his voice. Her weight on top of him, her many layers shed, the few that still remained between them. She catalogued all of it, her attention pulled in countless directions, all of them leading back to Flynn.

His mind drifted to Tia—the way he’d cornered her with questions, demanded answers she had been reluctant to give. No wonder she had vanished when he’d needed her. His smirk faded, the amusement in his eyes slowly dimming.

“The High Priestess saw it in a dream.” His gaze flickered away, jaw tensing briefly before adding, “She’s a seer… I think.” He shook his head slightly, uncertainty evident. “She doesn’t seem to trust her dreams as visions.” He met her eyes once more. “But she saw the path to Lady Hightower’s discovery.”

Amaya was still as she tried to process this new information, emotions flickering across her face.

A seer.

It was an exceedingly rare gift. Valuable. Powerful, both magically and politically. Aurelian Priests and their dreams had gotten them to this mess in the first place. And they’d sent one to Dawnhaven? Why had she tried to hide behind clues and the Sage instead of ingratiating herself with Flynn?

That she didn’t trust her own visions was another point of confusion — Amaya had never known a member of the clergy to admit they were uncertain of anything. They posed themselves as a font of guidance and answers. Doubt was poison in a church.

Then again, the Sun faith seemed vastly different from what she was used to. Ranni flashed in her mind, nervous and trembling and blight-born. She would’ve been stripped of her station before the first meek apology escaped her in Lunaris.

Amaya’s eyes drifted, her thoughts racing. Questions clamored for the open air.

“What do you make of her?” she asked, refocusing on Flynn. He’d met her. He knew his clergy better. Amaya didn’t have all the pieces yet.

Flynn’s fingers toyed absentmindedly with the thin fabric of her gown, feeling its softness between his thumb and index finger. His mouth tightened as he gave a small shake of his head. Finally, he admitted aloud, “The Arch Priest can’t be trusted… I don’t trust him.” The weight of saying it felt oddly freeing, but it was followed by a sigh as his gaze traced the curve of her shoulder. “I don’t know if she can be trusted yet, either.”

He pulled his eyes back to hers before they could wander any further. “She shows more kindness than I’ve seen in the Citadel, but I… I don’t know yet. We’ll need to keep a close eye on her.”

He considered pulling her in closer, letting the conversation end there and dissolve into something else entirely. But there was still more. Always more. He shifted slightly beneath her, settling more comfortably against the back of the couch before speaking again.

“Regardless, Lady Hightower’s discovery needs to be taken to the blight and tested.” His hands instinctively tightened on her hips, a subtle, unconscious protest against the very thing he had laid out in his mind earlier that day. He had planned to lead the voyage himself, but that idea felt like it had formed a lifetime ago. Before she had been attacked. Before the world had irreversibly shifted beneath his feet.

“We’d need to send her and a few of the Sages out there to do it. With protection. A small force, nothing that will draw too much attention, but enough to keep them safe.” His focus remained on her face, watching for any shift in expression. “I can ask Orion to lead the expedition in my stead.”

Reaching up, he tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “What do you think?”

Amaya’s free hand, the one still hanging over his shoulder and out of sight, curled into a loose fist as she caught his words.

“You intended to lead it.” And he didn’t anymore. Amaya’s voice was carefully neutral, her expression quiet.

Flynn nodded, his hand finding its way back to her hip as he lost himself in the steady way she looked at him. “I’ve rethought it.” he said, quietly. “My time is better spent here.”

Words formed on the tip of her tongue, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. He’d changed his plans because of her. He shouldn’t have needed to. But beneath her displeasure and tired shame, Amaya couldn’t help but feel grateful. Warm, despite the chill.

So she didn’t push.

Amaya sighed, her expression melting into something thoughtful as she watched him. Then she leaned into his chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around her as she nestled into him. Her head rested along the slope of his shoulder as her arms curved loosely around the back of his neck. She lay there, feeling his breath rise and fall like the tide.

“Then he seems the logical choice. If this discovery stems from the church and they’re not trustworthy, then there’s no telling what it leads to.” She was silently relieved he wouldn’t go — even without the blight poisoning the land and all the political and divine intrigue, the wilderness had never been easy to survive. “You’ll want people familiar with the Lunarian wilds, too. More have died from the cold than the blight.”

Flynn rested his head against hers, his eyes trailing the length of her back as he listened. She was right. “Do you have anyone particular in mind?” he asked, his gaze flicking to a nearby window. Large snowflakes were gathering against the glass, a sight that might have sent a shiver down his back, had he not been comfortably warm beneath her. But he dreaded the thought of sending men and women out into the cold—the ill-equipped Aurelians especially.

“I plan to talk to both Commanders tomorrow, if you’d like to join me,” he continued, his voice still quiet. “I need to make it clear that they have to work together while they’re here in Dawnhaven. We can ask Commander Volkov for specific people to volunteer, too. He should know who is best to handle the terrain.”

Amaya tried to remind herself that this wasn’t a trap. He wasn’t giving her a test she was meant to fail. He asked for her opinion, invited her to discussions, because he thought she might contribute — even if Amaya didn’t know how. She bent her arms a little tighter around him.

“All the guards I know are from the palace.” It was a whisper — too soft and vulnerable for the innocuous words. But throughout her life, guards had meant her father. Kind, or competent, or intelligent… whatever their merits, they had been above all, obedient to the crown. Sir Abel flashed in her mind again, as she’d known him — cold and distant, at the periphery of some of her worst memories.

“You spoke to a blight-born, once,” she said, hiding behind the change in topic. “He was from one of the wild tribes. No one knows the forests better than them.” And they were independent, disconnected from the palace’s influence. Amaya remembered his booming voice, the way his laugh had pierced through the walls. “And he has less to fear from the blight.”

"Ivor," he said, recognizing the blight-born she was talking about. "Good idea." Something bright bloomed in Amaya’s chest at his approval.

He closed his eyes, letting silence stretch between them. He was utterly exhausted, but for the moment, it felt like the world outside this room didn’t exist. Her heartbeat pulsed softly against his chest, like a dance in time with his own, and he breathed in the warm, subtle undertones of her perfume. He could have fallen asleep here, with her.

But his mind did as it so often did. Drifting, cataloging the day’s events. Eventually, an unwelcome image surfaced—Nyla. Standing in the cold outside the tavern, looking up at him with her own blue eyes full of sorrow and regret. The memory hit him harder than he wanted to admit, a sharp pang that lanced through his chest and made his heart miss a beat in their dance.

He opened his eyes, grounding himself in the soft feel of all Amaya’s curves against him. Forcing himself to focus on the fire crackling across the room, he tried to chase away the guilt gnawing at him.

Quietly, he grappled with whether or not he should say something—confess and risk unraveling the bond they'd only just begun to build. Desperately, he wanted to protect it. Their connection still felt so fragile—like one wrong move could shatter it and Amaya would cast him back out into the cold.

Something in him had shifted today. He craved what she so scarcely offered out. He’d been bathed in that rare, precious warmth that she held, and the thought of being out from under it again terrified him.

Yet, he knew keeping secrets could rot people from the inside out. He’d seen it in his father, in his mother—how lies and hidden truths poisoned everything they touched. He didn’t want that for them. Didn’t want to start their partnership on ground riddled with hidden pitfalls.

"Amaya..." he breathed, his voice low and hesitant. He glanced down at her, resting against him, her head turned away on his shoulder. Nerves coiled tight in his stomach. He wanted her to look at him, but at the same time, he didn’t. Maybe it would be easier not to see the inevitable shift in her eyes that threatened to slam a wall of ice between them.

"There's something else you should know, too..."

The words felt heavy, almost suffocating, but he made himself say them. He wanted to be brave enough to risk it—to be honest with her, even if it cost him the warmth he'd fought past endless barriers for.

Nathaniel Stormlight

---

Location: Eye of the Eye of the Beholder.

---

Nathaniel opened his eyes, the room slowly came into focus. A heavy sigh came from him, his chest rising then falling as the soft lining of the bed wrapped him. Confusion etching his face as his brow furrowed. Where am I? having to take his time sitting up, the sheets slipping from his bare chest. He took in his surroundings, a well decorated, well lit room, the double bed he was upon was on one side of the room, the door was across the way to him. A loud yawn came from him as he ran a hand through his brown hair, it was soft, definitely bed hair, but clean.

On the nightstand to his right, a glass rested on it, half filled with water. Reaching for it his muscles were reluctant to obey, but he grabbed the glass, then took a sip.

---

His memories slowly started to come back to him. After the alarm and the lockdown had been lifted a Lunarian priest arrived to the temple to check on the temple grounds, at first when she first saw him sat on the floor in front of the divine pool, with all the blood that he was covered in, she thought he was a corpse. It was only until he turned, that her shriek echoed throughout the temple and to the outside. Enough to alert a couple of guards who were on patrol.

After some explanation and a lot of forgiveness, mostly for moving all the benches and braziers to barricade the door. After a huge apology and Nathaniel moving everything back to where it once was, the priest forgave him and whispered a 'Thank you.' for defending the sacred temple. Once Nathaniel was done the Guards escorted him back to the inn.

There were a lot of stares as he made the slow journey to the inn. With both guards walking close on his heels, Nathaniel felt like a prisoner, being paraded across Dawnhaven, a few mumbles and hushed voices came from people, some people he kinda recognised as patrons from the inn. Still he kept his head up, not making eye contact with anyone.

Once in front of the inn, the guards continued their patrol, Nathaniel passed through the door exhaustion was etched across his face, he stunk, of grime, sweat and a lot of blood. The patrons as well as a lot of the members of staff gasped at seeing him, some people even backed away from here. "My luggage was left here?” Nathaniel asked, his throat dry. The worker nodded "Y-yes, your luggage has been put into one of the rooms, room 10. If you are wanting to use the room you'll need to pay for it." At this point, Nathaniel didn't care, he went into his satchel, pulling out a small satchel of coins, throwing it onto the counter, "I'll rent the room. Also I'm in desperate need of a bath.” The person nodded in agreement, let me take you to the bathing chamber so you can clean yourself up. Once she took to the bathing chamber, Nathaniel didn't even wait to undress himself and jumped in fully clothed. It wasn't until his third bath he was fully clean, after his first he took his clothes off and jumped back in.

---

Placing the glass that was now empty back onto the nightstand. He got himself free from the confines of his bedsheets. Sitting on the end of the bed the cold floor kissed the base of his feet, causing a shiver to climb his spine. He rolled his shoulders then his neck followed by stretching his arms. With a shake of his head his hair rested down his back. Today was his first actual day as a citizen of Dawnhaven, regardless of how much he wanted to just stay in bed, he had a few tasks to do. First explore the town, then head to the Alchemy chambers to play meet and greet with the other sages who work there. Given how that other Sage mentioned about his luggage was send here to this inn. But it was more on the feline smile she had. He grumbled to that thought, with a quick motion he got up. Raising his arms over his head he stretched. Striding towards the armoire, opening it up the fresh scent of his clothes came out.

After he decided on what to wear, he laid them out onto the bed, and put his boots under where they were. Gazing out of the window, the eternal night sky looked just the same, a trickle of snowflakes danced on the wind as they drifted by. The snow wasn't as bad as it was before he went to sleep, he would often find himself gazing out to watch the snowfall or quietly read his book nestled into the nearby chair.

As always, he started his day with some stretching exercises. During his time when he was being tutored his father figured it would be best for Nathaniel, well any of his children to help train their bodies. So for about four years Nathaniel was trained on how to wield a sword and how to fight. Everyday he was asked to do stretches and lunges. Originally he protested at it at first, but then after a few weeks it grew on him, now he mostly does them to keep himself in shape.

Once his morning workout was done, he quickly brushed his hair, then tied it. Then proceeded to get dressed. A simple white tunic and black trousers hung in the armoire was his coat. Before grabbing his coat, he paused. A knock came from the other side of the door, then a muffled voice

"Excuse me Lord Stormlight, but breakfast is available for you downstairs." The voice said to him. As if hearing her, Nathaniel's stomach growled almost immediately. "Thank you. I'll be down momentarily after.” he responded to the voice. With that footsteps seemed to fade down the hall.

Once his coat was on he reached for the door, before looking back at the small room. A room he spent an hour placing his things and arranging it. Paperwork store in and on the desk near the window. A series of books, some romantasy, others were just basic fantasy. After one final check at his appearance, he gives a small smile. "I wonder what's for breakfast.” he opens the door, the sound of people talking and smell of food coming from the stairs down the hallway. "That smells good” he mumbles before closing his room door.

---

Amaya heard the change in his voice, rumbling beneath her. Nerves. Caution. It prickled down her spine like a warning. For a moment the weight of his arms around her back, holding her to him, felt paralyzing. Her eyes opened — she didn’t know when they’d drifted shut.

It took her too long to remember how to move. Flynn was silent, seemingly waiting for her to be ready to take the next step forward. Her arms slid down until her hands found his shoulders, and Amaya pushed herself away from his chest. It wasn’t much. Just enough for her to look at his face, the firelight painting dancing shadows. She wanted to raise her hand and smooth the tension from his brow. Instead, she waited.

Flynn’s hands shifted along the subtle curve of her waist, settling on her hips again as she pulled away. Her warmth that had seeped into him faded, and he couldn’t help but feel regret twisting through his gut, telling him to just drop it—to pull her back against him and pretend none of it existed. But he’d already started down this path, so he took a breath, and let the words spill out.

“Before all this... before the prophecy, I... I had a girlfriend, of sorts.” His lips tightened as memories played out in his mind—long nights filled with easy laughter, flirtatious teasing and reckless adventures. They had never thought to label themselves. They had just been together, and knew it without needing to say it. “Her name is Nyla.”

The name felt foreign on his tongue now—a reminder of a life he barely recognized anymore. A name that had once held so much meaning to the person that he no longer was. It was strange, saying it aloud to Amaya, his wife, who had been threading herself into his heart without him even noticing.

“And she’s… she’s here.” He looked at her, trying to read her expression. But it had locked in place. His fingertips were tense against her hips, bracing himself for her to pull away completely and turn to ice—for the air between them to grow cold and hostile.

“I saw her at the tavern this morning.” He continued, forcing the next words out. “She’s also... turned.” The words stung. It hurt to picture her that way, succumbing to the blight and facing a slow, agonizing death. “I think that’s why she came here.”

The truth hung between them like a drawn blade, and Flynn couldn’t help but feel like it was pointed right at his chest.

Thoughts swirled in Amaya’s mind, chaotic and numerous as snowflakes in a blizzard. They blurred together, impossible to grasp. They left Amaya numb.

Better numb than hurt. Or angry. Or foolish. Or relieved, or jealous, or embarrassed, or alone, or —

I need to know if you want me here because you need me, or because you want me.

The memory of Elara’s words slammed into her with shattering force. It consumed her, burying her in frost. She still didn’t know the answer. Amaya was too small and poorly developed to know the difference, always too desperate for any warmth offered her.

It had cost her everything.

It felt like a terrible prelude now. Flynn watched her with fear in his eyes and it sent a jolt of pain through her. This woman… he expected his affection for her to be taken as a betrayal. He saw Amaya more clearly than most. Could he feel it? The way her frail, sickly heart clung to him so desperately? So suddenly? She’d thrown herself at him today. Embarrassment flooded her at the memories, the way she still sat on his lap damning. How long would it take Amaya to turn his compassion into grief, as she’d done to Elara? Or something even worse?

A small, bitter voice told her that at least it would be familiar. She had a lifetime of practice being an unwelcome obligation. Amaya was suddenly so cold that she expected to find ice crawling along her skin. But her magic was silent, too drained from the chaos of the day. No, a different sort of spell froze her now.

Retreating into herself was instinctual. Amaya tried to fold away her heart, but it didn’t seem to fit in its little hidden box anymore. It was a long time before she trusted herself to speak.

“I don’t begrudge you your happiness, Flynn.” Her voice was flat, emotionless in the way she’d spent years perfecting. His body beneath her, around her, suddenly felt stained under her touch. But she couldn’t move. “I wouldn’t keep you from it.” Amaya tried to make the words true, even if they were too fragile and glasslike, slicing at her throat.

Flynn stared at her, caught off guard and unsure of what to do with that kind of answer. He found himself searching her eyes, trying to make sense of the emptiness in her voice. He had braced himself for pushback, for anger—something he had weathered countless times before. He’d prepared himself to shoulder the weight of her resentment and fight through her barriers all over again, if it came to that. Though it would have crushed him, at least he would have known where to place it.

This emotionless acceptance left him feeling off balance. A sharp ache pierced his heart, and suddenly, he realized that her offer was far from what he wanted. He had wanted her to fight. To give him anything but cold detachment.

A month ago—maybe longer—he might have been happy with this. Resigned himself to a marriage of frigid obligation while seeking comfort in the arms of another. But everything had changed. He wasn't the same person anymore. The way he saw her now could never be undone.

Flynn didn't know when it had happened, but he'd become utterly intoxicated by her. He hadn't lied. He needed her—wanted her—in ways that felt different from all the rest.

Nyla wasn't in his future. His future was right here, sitting in his lap, more bare and vulnerable than she'd ever allowed him to see before. And he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful.

Yet, he didn’t know what to say. Words failed him, slipping through his grasp like sand. All he knew was the suffocating sense of her slipping away from him, and he couldn’t bear it.

A few heartbeats passed as he stared at her, trying to gather his thoughts, but all he could think was—

His hands slid up the small of her back, drawing her closer, and before he could think twice, his lips found hers—gentle, cautious, slow—testing the waters of their fragile connection. He pulled away, lips hovering above hers for a moment before his hand cradled the back of her head and pulled her into him again.

His face rested in the nape of her neck, and he pressed a kiss to her skin, his breath warm against her shoulder. “My happiness is here,” he whispered, fingers gently curling into her hair.

Amaya let out a shaking breath, sparks rippling across the sensitive skin of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed. His words twisted around her heart, sending another pang through her.

She remembered the sound of his voice when he’d said he was hers. Somehow, she knew he believed it – or at least he wanted to. He’d held her close because she’d needed it. He’d smiled at her because he was determined to find happiness here, every other door closed to him. But that wasn’t true anymore, was it? Amaya wasn’t his only choice, like she was for so many others. It was almost a relief.

“Your duty is here,” she corrected. Her voice wasn’t as steady as it should’ve been. Every warm breath that ghosted along her skin, the feel of his fingers burrowed in her hair, brushing her scalp, made it more and more difficult to hide herself away as sensations danced through her. “You can convince yourself they’re the same thing –”

Her words caught as Flynn pressed another gentle kiss further down her neck. His eyes flicked upward, unfocused and dark, listening as she tried to push him away again. Amaya’s hands tensed on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. She tried to convince herself he couldn’t feel her fluttering pulse against his lips. When she found her voice again, it was soft and too breathy.

“But not forever.”

It was like Amaya could reach into the future and feel the spaces he now warmed turning cold and icy. She could hear his voice, detached and distant – or worse, disdainful like her father’s.

Just this morning Elara had been a source of warmth too, tied to Amaya by obligation and compassion. They’d found rare happiness together in the cold halls of the palace. What had she done to ruin it so? How long until she did it to Flynn, too?

Her thoughts were too unfocused to search for her own mistakes, split between the need to preempt disaster, and the distraction of Flynn and all the places she felt him against her. This was her problem – she too easily entangled herself with those who didn’t have a choice, was too greedy with what sparse affection she could find, and then –

It hurt too much to lose.

“I –”

“Stop talking.” The words came out swiftly, rough and hushed—an order whispered against her ear as he lifted his head, his fingers tangling deeper into her hair. The tone in his voice was unequivocally more dominant than he’d ever dared to use with her before, but it held no anger. He’d spent too long walking on eggshells, uncertain and afraid of pushing too far or making her unhappy. But right now, he wasn’t uncertain—he knew exactly what he wanted. Underneath her, craving every piece of her that she kept guarded, he’d felt something in him click into place. Nothing she said or did could make him unfeel it.

Before she could protest, he kissed her again—deeper this time, with a certainty that bordered on possessive. His hand tightened on her waist, fingertips curling into the fabric of her nightgown, as if holding her closer could somehow keep her from slipping away.

Amaya was soft and pliant against the force of him. The insistent way he pressed her close, every movement a command rather than a question, left her unmoored and undone. Flynn was the only stability she had. Her hands slid over his shoulders, one curving around the back of his neck, the other bracing against his chest, as he pulled a soft sound from her.

When he parted from her, his lips just a breath from hers, his gaze settled on the softness of her mouth.

“Stop trying to push me out,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I want this.” He felt something buzzing beneath his skin—electric and nervous all at once—making his heart race. “I want you.” His gaze finally met hers, searching for understanding, willing her to see just how much he meant it. “Only you.”

He stayed like that for a moment, just looking at her, as if the world had slowed to let him catch up with his own heart. His hand slipped from her hair, tracing along her jaw, his thumb brushing tenderly over her cheek. Realization crept over him like the first light of dawn, soft and inevitable. He’d thawed past her ice, and for him, there was no going back. He’d never be the same again. Whatever he felt for her had rooted deep into his chest.

“Forever.”

Amaya’s heart lurched towards him, even as she tried to hold it in place. His certainty was overwhelming. His gaze was filled with a heat so intense, Amaya thought it might burn her if she held it too long.

She could retreat. As unyielding as Flynn was now, she didn’t think he’d stop her from pulling her hands away, from escaping his touch and leaving the room. The conversation wouldn’t be over – he wouldn’t allow that – but she would have a reprieve. She could rest, and clear her mind, and…

Her head tilted the slightest bit, leaning into the gentle touch against her cheek. She hadn’t meant to. Distantly, she saw herself – falling into him, pulling him around her, only to remember herself each time and scramble for reasons and justifications and excuses to shut him out again. What he’d told her about Nyla didn’t matter, not really. Nor did the open wound of Elara’s absence. No, the only things that mattered were the way he held her and how desperately she didn’t want him to let go. The terror of falling, even when Flynn asked her to trust that he would catch her.

But Amaya had only ever known how to shield herself. And he saw her too easily. With a breathless voice and bruised lips, she couldn’t keep herself from whispering a final defense.

“I’m sure the church will be pleased.”

_{Location: Crystal Cavern on way to Aelios’ Temple → Ivor’s cottage → Main Square}

---

After leaving the two of them in the cave, Ivor had headed back to the surface to survey the weather, to make sure the return journey home wouldn't be hampered. The skies had considerably darkened, the moon was covered and the wind was picking up faster, first signs of another imminent storm. Unless the three of them wanted to be stuck in the cave for another blizzard, he urged both Tia and Zeph to pack up for the journey home. By the time the three of them left, the snow was already beginning to fall. It took them somewhat longer to head back, the snow and wind hampering their movements somewhat, but ultimately it was their combined exhaustion that held them back from charging home. The giant’s gaze from time to time wandered to the priestess, who’s steps weighed heaviest among all three of them. The time spent in the cave seemed to trigger something when she first examined the stone he had retrieved. Whatever had happened, Ivor hoped that it was worth it, though something in his heart told him of ill tidings and omens ahead.

As if to confirm his fears, the priestess’ steps became painfully slow, slow to the point that she nearly collapsed in the snow. Zeph, much faster on his feet, was able to catch her body weight before she fell into the freezing snow. Ivor’s eyes grew wide, he knew that this excursion had been exhausting, but he hadn’t realized just how much of a toll everything had taken on her. The town was close at this point, and the temple not only had another priestess, but the doktor was there as well. Wordlessly he scooped up Tia from Zeph’s grip, ignoring her horrified face and motions of protest; her light body crumpled into his arms like an unfluffed pillow. His legs moved forward, harder, faster, “Back to temple, quickly! Healers! Doktor!”

Regardless of the journey or its outcome, they were able to return to town and both Ivor and Zeph, as protectors, rushed to bring their charge back to the temple. As the three approached, the blonde haired, armored woman from before was at the entrance there to receive them; scorn and wrath writ plainly upon her face. Ivor had expected harsh words, loud noises, perhaps crying, but the champion’s face was stony; stoic. There was a fire within her that spoke louder than words ever could, her harsh gaze almost seemed to command the priestess indoors as the smaller, bloodstained woman gripped Ivor’s arm, signaling him to let her down. Once on her feet, she meekly bowed to both him and the lunarian guard before slowly retreating inside. Again where Ivor expected harsh words, he was met with a glare so raw and filled with vitriol it sent shivers up the blightborn’s spine before he was shocked back to reality as the temple door slammed in their faces.

The giant blinked, attempting to process the last few moments before turning to Zeph who just as bewildered, shrugged at him. There wasn’t much to say at this point, the job was done, whether it was good or bad, who knew. The two nodded to one another, exhaustion quickly setting in as they parted ways. Ivor went off to collect his fish nearby, having left it in the snow earlier before leaving. The freshly fallen snow covered them, but he knew where he could find them, quickly retrieving the catch. Fortunately it was mostly intact, some critters must have gotten to a couple, but nothing that made the whole batch unsalvageable. He’d need to bring it by the eye later in the day, for now though he could use some rest, and time to grapple with feelings he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth. Fish slung over his back, he trudged back to his cottage on the northern end of the village. His face felt hot and flushed, only getting hotter each time his mind raced back to those angry, beautiful eyes.



Ivor had returned home to slumber, but his mind barely allowed him to maintain it. Periodically he’d wake up, often in a sweat, sometimes from events that happened in the cave, to ones that didn’t happen at all, but felt just as real. Then there was that one dream, the one that he first experienced while in the cave. Something begged for release, a release he could not dare give into. After about the seventh or eighth time, the blightborn giant finally had it and needed to take a walk.

The air was still, the snowfall having died down since his journey home. What Ivor had mistaken for people beginning their morning bustle was actually the activity of additional guards in the streets. As a blightborn, particularly one of his size, he was used to the staring eyes of both the denizens and scrutiny from authorities, but something felt different this time. The quiet wasn’t just from a lack of people, there was a tension in the air that wasn’t present last time Ivor was in town. Guards were not just watching him, they were staring daggers, daring him to do something reckless enough as to allow them to draw their blades. He wasn’t sure when this shift happened, but he wasn’t a threat to anyone and would continue to walk the streets, fish slung over his shoulder as he delivered it to Sya at the eye.

Still the intense glaring was a lot and Ivor tried to tune it out with a different kind of glaring. His mind wandered back to the temple, that armored woman, staring at him with such intensity. He hadn’t realized it earlier when he had first entered the temple and she was in the middle of arresting that man. Even then she held a level of authority that caused Ivor to step back in her wake as she carried out her duty. She seemed strong, confident, brave even; brave enough to stare at a man three times her size in the eye with an intensity as to scorch the sun itself. Most men could barely look at him without some amount of fear or awe. Yet she not only sent his heart a flutter, but his soul ablaze; who was she to hold such sway?

Clearly that woman held far too much sway as the giant blightborn absentmindedly bumped into another individual in the street. Snapping back to reality he quickly began apologizing, “OH, Ivor is so sorry, did not see you there, I hope I did not step on the toes and the-” he paused, looking over the fur coated individual, a singular eye blinking back at him. “Syraea! It's good to see you my dear, it has been far too long!” The giant blightborn exuberantly spoke in his native tongue. Ivor, as excited as he was stopped for a moment as he looked the woman up and down, “Something seems different about you Syraea…” he looked her over, trying to figure out what was different. Her clothing looked like the usual, she still had one eye…she wasn’t wearing her usual braid though… “Oh! You did something with your hair!” He smiled, feeling proud of himself for noticing this change. “Ah, before I forget, I brought you many, many fish!” he said slinging the fish from over his shoulder to show his neatly bundled catch, “I think it’ll make for a few hearty stew, keep the people warm, ja?”

_{Interacting with: Tia @c3p-0h, Zeph @The Muse, Dyna @Queen Arya, Sya @PrinceAlexus}

Daphne

Lunaris Temple

Good Morning Honey

Daphne had shed her armour and layers down to her thin under shirt and left them in a neat pile with her swords resting on the top of the pile and a neatly folded set of leather gambeson below. She was still a soldier and guard training kicked in automatically as before Daphne climbed into bed, it was warm by the fire and it made the violet eyed woman feel especially sleepy.

“They are, it was…tough but worth it. He was a hard master but a good one.” Daphne remembered saying to Katherine as they talked and snuggled up together, her arm fell across the smaller cute priestess waist with an ease that she had not felt before. “Today been….nice to be with you. Cute Kat. Feel, safe and warm. a good thing.” Daphne said tiredly the warmth and gentle press of Kat against her sent the Squire quickly to sleep light a light went out.

She grumbled an unknown hours later when her warmth and feel of her friend.. with cuddles? whatever they were left and her return she made a content sigh as she resumed to Snuggle into a shared embrace together wordlessly and resumed their rest. Daphne honestly needed the rest and it was too cold to want to leave the covers, rest was exactly the cure, especially as she anticipated a whole bunch of issues in the morning to deal with when the clean up and day after the attack came around.

Whatever this was she felt something between them resumed when Katherine returned and she had no idea what this bond was but it felt like it was something she wanted. For the first time in a long time Daphne felt comfortable like she had a home of a sort again? A … something that made her feel safe and rested in a way that was more than just sleep.

Maybe it was just the soothing atmosphere of the temple, or Katherine had bypassed her walls freely.

…

Morning came too soon as she finally cracked her violet eyes open with an effort of wills as she wanted to remain warm and let someone else have duty today. But that was not something that could be put off forever. “Good morning Kat, This is a good dream” Daphne said with a smile and glitter to those rare eyes, even in her homeland the violet was uncommon.

The Squire gave a content noise as she with a show of her playful side warmed her cooler feet on Kat while they were still tangled up together and gently moved to let Kat rest against her shoulder and be aide to soft side. “Don,t want to get up. But someone will come chasing us if not.” She said not fully awake and yawned as they took a few quiet minutes to enjoy the last of this little luxury until the world forced them to wake up and face the day.

Daphne volunteered to put some more logs on the embers and poke them to life, draping her furs over shoulder as she grabbed a poker to warm the room back up. That was one thing about the Eye, Sya never let the fires stop in the main bar and that caused at least some degree of widespread warmth about all of the rooms close in that part of the Inn above it.

A little poking and some kindling later Daphne had the fire burning again and warmth began to return as she worked on the small fire. “You needed the rest Kat, next time you sort the fire, I get to watch you in your thin nightgown or less one day.” Daphne said kindly but cheekily with a flirty smile and hoped that this would not be a one time thing, she really wanted to see where all this went as she absentmindedly swished some hairs out her hopefully future mornings together with a friend eye for her. The neat braid had got jostled over the night.

Mentions
@SpicyMeatball

Sya was walked in as the smaller woman turned Lamia made her way through the town square before more people were about and out. She was not scared of being out but it was easier to get to the place and manage the Inn if she did her errands in the quieter hours of trade and could be ready to help when things got more hectic.

She turned quickly to have to crane up and had she not been changed probably would have been bowled over but she was a lot more flexible and stronger in her lower body now. She righted self once she found her balance and the familiar strong tones and harsher language of her homeland meant it could only really be Ivor as far as she knew anyway they were the only two here who spoke it fluently and naturally vs the sages who honestly got words right but no sage could do a accent to save their lives if they ever spoke it.

“Ex….Ivor?” She replied and switched almost automatically over more natural and in her first language and one she had spoken from a small child. Her hood got knocked back and the furry blue coat revealed her long dark hair and bright blue eye as well as a chill or would have been had she really felt the cold as such anymore. “Ivor, I hope you are well and safe, it's been a rough quartet moon. Your new door is holding up very well, the blackssssmith is going for studs and wearing plates so we can keep it nice.” Sya said using her native word for a week. They spoke close enough that they understood even if each had their own dialect.

It was funny, kind of sad how people thought Ivor was a dumb brute, when you spoke his true language he was a fairly intelligent and quite attentive as well as kind man who picked up on details. All part of being a blightborn and outsider among the two grand kingdoms.

“Oh, how so” said Sya with a laugh as she realised he would not have seen her since her metamorphosis Into her new form, last time he saw her she was two leg Sya not tail and scales Sya. She could not help but to laugh as he was one of the first to notice she had changed her hair to a more feminine and showy braid than the simple practical one she used to favour. She was dressing more nicely and confidently too though under the warm Fur coat that was not so noticeable. “A lover did it for me, and I liked it, so I kept sssss it. I think it suits me.”

Sya could not hide her natural hiss on a S, that was just a quirk she had to get used to though easier to control in this language. Her mind wandered to the other things Olivia had done and made her feel… she was quite vocal about those.

“Da Thankyou hunter” She said respectfully and gave him a nod of her head, in a formal acknowledgement. “Just puts sssss them round the back, we take to basement cold and make a ssspecial.” Sya was already wondering what a whole load of fish could go with, maybe some fresh bread, onions, and such.

Sya made a slightly nervous gesture but this was Ivor, he had never shown judgement or ill intent to the small innkeeper so she slid out from behind her coat and gestured a wave with a bright cobalt blue tail and moved her coat to reveal it ran all the way to her waist and a shorter skirt of layered dark leather. There was no point hiding it and she would get stares regardless.

Her tail moved and she did a silly little move as her hands and tail copied perfectly in sync like she was a puppet in the hands of a master player in a show. “I… kinda changed a little, still Ssssya, just I … new and really hope I did not lose my friendssss because of it, Orion and Kira have been nice though. I hope you remain my friend.” Sya said with a little plea in her voice but she did not hide the fact she had changed and she hoped the big man would be kind about it. She felt bad lying or pretending so she embraced the…elephant….snake in the room.

She was 2 to 3 feet shorter than him and multiple times smaller and lighter, he would practically have to pick her up if chose to hug her but she mentally made sure her items were safe deep pockets of the snuggly coat she wore.

Mentions.
@SkeankySnack

Amaya’s regret was sharp and immediate as she watched the hurt reverberate through him.

Her words struck him like a blade, and Flynn’s face tightened, a faint grimace passing over his expression before he glanced away. His entire body tensed around her, and the fire that had burned so fiercely in him just moments before seemed to flicker, nearly snuffed out. Like running full speed into a brick wall, she had forced him to face reality.

The church. The prophecy. Their impending death. The way his heart ached for her, and how impossibly vast the distance between them could still feel despite how close she was now. He’d seen her layers peeled back one by one over the past couple months. He’d memorized her patterns and habits, watched her move like a ghost around him, always trying to slip away. He’d been carefully observant, intrigued, and took in whatever she allowed when he'd made an effort to know her.

But this fire he felt—how could she possibly feel even a fraction of it? She’d shut him out at every turn until she had no choice but to let him closer. Yet, even now, she tried to create a boundary. She didn't feel what he felt. She couldn't have, and the ache in his chest grew sharper.

With a growing sense of clarity, he realized that the feelings he couldn’t name had been shaped by what she perceived to be her duty.

His fingers curled along her face, tempted to pull away entirely. But then he looked at her again, feeling the way she leaned into him. Her words didn't match her body language. She'd wrapped herself around him, softened against him, even made the initial move. He could still hear her breathless under his touch, that intoxicating sound he had the power to command from her. It didn't feel like obligation, duty or pity that had driven her. It felt real.

Then again, Nyla had felt real too—bright and fleeting, burning hot and burning out. Had it really been so easy for him to forget her and the way she reciprocated his passion equally? His heart cracked at the thought. Was he just desperate for something—someone—to hold onto?

Reality had sobered him in an instant. The crack in his heart widened, but still he couldn’t bring himself to let Amaya go. She felt like glass in his hands—fragile, delicate, and so beautifully breakable. He could shatter her if he wasn’t careful, and she’d leave him bloody for it in return.

He finally exhaled, a quiet, defeated sound. “I suppose so,” he murmured, the heat in his voice gone, replaced with a flat, hollow tone. It made Amaya want to shrink into herself, into him, and pull the poison of her words out of the air.

He eased back into the couch, creating a small distance between their bodies, his hand slipping from her face to rest on her hips again—holding on just enough to keep her there but not enough to feel like a demand. Her hands didn’t follow him. They were empty with the space he used to fill, before she pulled them back towards her own body. His eyes were somber, reflecting a quiet sadness as he resigned himself to the idea that maybe this was as close as she’d ever let him get.

“Is that why you're here?” he asked, refusing to retreat back to walking on eggshells. His gaze dipped to where she was settled in his lap before lifting to meet her piercing blue eyes, bracing himself for whatever distance she might try to wedge between them.

Some part of Amaya, larger than she wanted to admit, felt betrayed that he’d proven her right. For all his passion and assurances, a single sentence had undone him. His question hurt – but it was a fair one, wasn’t it? Why had she said what she’d said, if not to make him pull away? Shame and guilt smothered her as the ache in her chest grew.

Amaya looked in his eyes and it was like seeing her own heart break. The parts of her that he no longer touched grew cold. It was painfully familiar.

In her desperation to know when and how this would all be ruined, she’d done it herself.

Her gaze dropped. The silence grew like the distance between them, punctuated by the crackling fire as it filled the air with smoke. Finally she managed a shake of her head, so small it was nearly imperceptible. It didn’t feel like enough.

“I –” Amaya cut herself off, the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t know how to lie to him anymore, and anything she could possibly say felt wrong. It was inadequate, or an excuse, or an explanation that was too raw to give. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. She couldn’t look up at him and bear witness to the hurt she’d planted, the distance she’d created.

“You didn’t deserve that.” It was weak and thin, like tissue paper held against the light of the moon. But it was the truest thing she could’ve said, even amongst all the thoughts she didn’t know how to voice. No matter how scared she was, Flynn had never once deserved her cruelty. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t know what to say. The ache in his chest hadn’t faded, but seeing her fold under the weight of guilt felt worse than anything she could’ve said. Silently, he cursed himself for asking the question at all, for letting his pain spill out.

Amaya was so very tired. Every new hurt she’d gained today seemed to weigh her down all at once. She’d almost forgotten them earlier, when she’d been nearly asleep in his arms. The pain in her chest solidified. There was a burning weight behind her eyes. And she was still sitting on Flynn’s lap, like she belonged in his space.

She tried to swallow her emotions – at least long enough to remove herself and give him privacy. Careful not to touch him, Amaya pressed her hands into the couch and began to move away from him.

He acted without thinking, his hand darting out to catch her wrist before she could get a leg out from under her. The motion was quick, firm enough to stop her retreat but gentle in its hold.

“Amaya,” he breathed her name like a plea, begging her not to move any further from him. His heart pounded fast against his ribs, his fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, careful despite the desperation in his touch. He realized too late that he hadn’t thought through what to do next. He just knew he couldn’t let her go—not like this. The thought of trying to sleep with this hanging between them felt unbearable. Not when his own barriers had been stripped away, too, leaving him raw and exposed.

He couldn't rebuild them against her anymore—couldn’t even begin to try. Not when he found himself still craving her, even if she only stayed for the sake of duty. It would kill him, slowly and surely, but there were worse deaths than being beside her. He’d take it, even if every encounter left him bleeding.

“Please stay,” he whispered, the words weighted with more than just the physical act of keeping her there.

Stay when things got hard. Stay when it was messy and painful. Stay with him, in the moment, without closing herself off. Open herself to him. Let him in. Let him learn all the darkest parts of her. Give him the chance to stay before she made that choice for him by locking him out.

She finally looked at him again and ice met the sea. Glistening and breakable, turbulent and relentless.

His hand loosened around her wrist, giving her the freedom to move if she wanted, but his eyes never left hers.

Amaya saw her own ache reflected. Her emotions swelled, threatening to drown her.

Slowly, carefully, like she was mindful of all the ways they might break each other, Amaya looked down and gently pulled his hand from her wrist. She cradled its warmth in her lap, tracing her fingers lightly along the parts of him she’d seen but didn’t know. His skin, golden in the firelight. The calluses lining his fingers and palm. Faint scars and freckles that spoke of a full life under Aurelia’s sun.

Flynn’s skin tingled where her fingertips drew patterns, warmth spreading through him like wildfire. He let her do as she pleased, hand relaxed in her grasp as he watched her—helplessly captivated.

“I grieve the loss of things before they’re gone.” The admission stung like frost, reminding her of silent halls and a vicious crown — of blood splattered across pristine snow. But she didn’t know what else to offer him. “And this,” Amaya whispered, drifting her thumb along his knuckles. She looked back up at him, trying to be brave enough to meet his eyes. “This will hurt.” Her voice broke, choked by fear and grief as a heavy tear slipped down her cheek.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, just in time to see the tear stream down her cheek. His chest clenched, a painful, powerless feeling wrapping tightly around his heart.

She wasn’t wrong—it would hurt, especially if they couldn’t find a cure before the clergy decided that their time was up. It hurt even before he’d found himself wrapped around her finger, and now it felt like there was even more at stake—more to lose if he let himself fail. But for him, the hurt felt worth it. Whatever time they had left, he'd take every moment she offered.

Straightening, he leaned in and lifted his free hand to her face. His thumb swept over her cheek, catching the tear, and he kissed the trail it left behind—slow and unhurried. Pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, his fingers lingered along her jawline, tracing the delicate angles of her face.

“Then let it,” he whispered, silently asking her to take his hand and leap off the cliff of uncertainty with him. Take the risk. They'd already lost so much. What else could they possibly have to lose, except each other?

His heart pounded rapidly against his ribs, vulnerable and bracing for more of that painful rejection he wasn't used to. But still, Flynn refused to retreat.

Whatever the church’s aims—whatever cruel plan had brought them here—he couldn’t bring himself to entirely hate it anymore. Not when it had led him to her. He’d never known someone quite like her—someone who could make him feel so raw and exposed while still leaving him wanting more. So he’d let it hurt. They could hurt together.

For a moment, he thought, perhaps the Goddesses had truly fated them together after all.

“Stay.” It wasn’t quite a demand, but it slipped out before he could think better of it. Then he kissed her, pouring all his longing into that gentle touch. He pulled back just a fraction, his breath brushing her lips as he whispered, “Let me stay.”

Let him mend her when it hurt. Let him kiss every broken piece of her. Let him hold and protect her. Let him love her.

Eyes shut, Amaya’s dark world was only the sound of his plea, warm and low like the crackle of the fire. It was only the breath he gave her, the gentle way he cupped her face in his hand.

His hand… filled with a heat that he wielded as second nature. He held it so lightly against her, little more than a touch when before it’d been firm and sure. It was like he’d finally realized he might burn her – or perhaps that she might leave him numb and bloodless. But still, he held her. Amaya found herself tilting her head again, leaning into it.

Her eyebrows pulled together, face tensing as she tried to fight back another wave of emotion. A shuddering breath escaped.

Flynn asked too much of her. So much of her life had been about weathering one pain after another. Hadn’t that been enough? Wasn’t it cruelty to ask her to choose to bear one that could very well shatter her?

Amaya turned her face into his touch, feeling the roughness of his calluses scratch against the delicate skin of her cheek. Her lips were still and soft against his palm. When she opened her eyes and let light back into her world, it remained as it was – small, fragile, and composed solely of Flynn.

He was beautiful in a way that stopped her heart. Or maybe he was just that moment between one beat and the next, the brief, quiet terror as she waited to see which would be her last. One day, that stillness would be all that was left.

Slowly, she nodded. The sharp edges of his hand caught on the curve of her lips.

Relief flooded through him, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. But Flynn watched her carefully, as he always did, looking for the words she couldn’t or wouldn’t say. There was more she wanted to say—he could feel it in the way she hesitated, how she shuddered against him, how her expression tightened. This was a small victory, but it felt bittersweet.

Amaya leaned into his body, more cautiously than she’d done before. He knew she must have heard the way his heart pounded—steady but quick, almost frantic—but he didn’t care. His arms wrapped around her and Amaya let herself be thankful for it. In the absence of his warmth, a chill had seeped through the meager layer of her nightgown and deep below her skin. The fireplace simply couldn’t compare to his embrace.

Sighing, she closed her eyes again and let him adjust the way they fit together. When he settled she pressed a kiss to the tender spot between his collarbone and neck. He closed his eyes, nerves alight and sparking in ways he couldn’t quite control. His hold on her tightened. All the better, she told herself, to chase away the cold. Nestling into him, she pressed herself closer in return.

Amaya stayed, and tried not to count all the reasons to pull away.

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Frankly, Nesna’s head was spinning. Laying down in her little bed in the inn, it all felt unreal—like a hallucination conjured up by a mind that had finally shrivelled away from years of being alone. To feel warm, so truly warm, that she actually needed to sleep in her shift alone again, was this unconscionable luxury compounded by the alien support of a real, genuine bed. Nesna could remember this sort of thing. She remembered her lovely bedroom setup back from back when her world made sense. And this bed, though it was neither as large nor as soft as that previous bed was, felt incomprehensibly better.

It couldn’t be this easy, could it? To speak to people again, to engage in polite conversation, and then to retire? This human comfort felt somehow as alien as her new appendages had felt when she first transformed. Every muscle and every instinct in her bones was telling Nesna that she needed to pry the window open—to be sure there was an escape—and then to curl up tightly under her wings beneath a shelter of blankets and rags. But that wasn’t possible or reasonable—no sooner had she done so than she’d found herself uncomfortably warm. To be dressed to sleep, to be in a place where one was expected to lay on a bed as a real person, to be treated—if only for a moment—like a real person—to feel like a flicker of a real person again—it was an intoxicating, yet sickening, disheartening feeling.

It felt altogether too real. For years, the world had felt like some endless haze trapped between dreams and nightmares. For years, the world had been shrouded in a silent, mind-bending irreality that let her feel like anyone but herself. Nesna—belonging to the dead—felt so believable as a being. The funeral felt so final and blessédly conclusive until…this moment. Her fingers gripped the blanket tightly as her back tensed and relaxed in a rhythm, demanding that she curl into that protective little ball again. Slowly, her stomach dragged her into submission. Nesna curled up, until her knees were against her stomach. But as she pressed her face into the pillow again, she found herself overpowered by the same thoughts again.

When did it feel so perverse to feel the fleeting glimmer of humanity in one’s heart?

It was all so overwhelming. And it felt too real. Uncomfortably real. Like life was ceasing to be a survivalist haze and mutating back into that painful beauty of the social world.

Nesna felt her heart skip a beat in horror. Where was she?!? She fumbled around in her covers for a moment as her heart started to race.

She jerked out of bed and fell to the floor on her hands and knees like a maddened beast. It was too much. Where was SHE?!? Nesna spiralled quickly from worry to panic as she tore into her bags like a starving animal. Spiking from rest to a state of nigh-hyperventilation, she ripped out half the things she’d brought with her before turning every bag but the jewellery bag upside down and shaking them. She clamoured on the floor, tossing things to the side with possessed fervour until she found it.

A soft little coo escaped her lips. She popped up onto her knees and hugged the object of her relief while gently rocking.

“Thanks be—oh thanks be to Seluna,” she murmured to herself. A black, viscous tear began to push its way past one of her eyelids. “Agnella, my sweet!”

She cradled the little lamb-blanket like it was a baby, then hugged it again. Nesna sat there for a time, freezing in place after babbling to her toy.

No, it was all real. Agnella was here—it could not be a nightmare preparing to be cruelly stolen, or a baffling dream preparing her to be disoriented upon waking. It couldn’t be anything else. Nesna began to softly fidget with the silken folds that made up the blanket-toy’s wool. As she did, she could feel—in the very moment—her heart and breathing slow. It was all real. And all would, maybe, just maybe, be fine.

In time, Nesna soothed herself more, and brought herself to fold the clothes she’d strewn about and return them to their bags, still holding her Agnella close to her as she did.

Trying again to get some sleep, she found herself caught up in the thought of the Astaros Prince. Zeph had said he wished to meet with all of the new Blightborn of the town as they arrived, and would be doing so at the earliest opportunity. Pending whatever came of the…disaster…that had happened around shortly before her arrival, that surely meant the meeting was soon.

Oh, and how she had so little to wear! So few options! Her first time properly meeting royalty—royalty who would decide her fate no less—and she had but the one dress to wear. A nice dress, kindly tailored to fit her, certainly, but how understated it was compared to something that could hope to be fitting for a royal audience! Nesna curled up tightly in the bed, petting Agnella with greater speed as the newest thought consumed her.

She was real. And she had precious little to wear about it. And she was a freak! A monstrous creature! Like one of the ones that attacked the Princess.

Nesna produced a faint whimper as the notion set in. How could the greatest honour of her life be so deeply terrifying? But it was going to be fine. It had to work out in the end. Didn’t it?

…

Nesna had tossed and turned, cursed and sat up, and tried all manner of positions to lay in her newfound bed. Were it not for her great fortune of needing very little sleep to begin with, she likely would have slept the day away. But of course, the movements of the other patrons who had awoken at sensible times rattled her awake. And after slowly rising, and spending some amount of time more laying on her right side, with Agnella resting on her left hip so her left hand could stroke the lamb-toy’s wool just so, Nesna finally got herself out of bed. Though wearing the same peacock-blue dress and overall outfit as the day prior, Nesna had managed the forethought of brushing and putting her hair up in a series of tight braids to produce a head full of white ringlets neatly draping about, rather than the barely-tamed white rats’ nest she’d come with. In fact, the effort of the affair was what had at last coaxed her to sleeping.

Producing her hand-mirror from her bag, if she covered her face…and ignored her skin and horns…and slumped her wings behind her back…she almost…looked like a person. A beautiful…human…person. Nesna dropped her mirror on the bed without another thought to it.

Nesna wrestled with herself for a moment, before finally deciding she couldn’t bear it. She wrapped Agnella around her tail, and then curled her tail around Agnella for good measure. Before she left the room, she grasped for a moment, and then looked back to her bag of jewellery. Earrings! A gift would make everything a bit better, wouldn’t it? Surely the royals must have been missing some of their nicest things?

Nesna returned to the bag and dug through it.

Perfect, she thought as she tucked the earrings into one of the little pouches hidden in the folds of her dress.

With a final, anxious exhalation, Nesna departed from the room.

…

As Nesna made her way through the inn into the main area of the tavern, her first instinct had been to enquire with Sya about the state of the curfew. But seeing as Sya was nowhere to be seen, and that the place was no longer hunkered down as it had been the night before. her question was answered anyway. At first, she had resolved to simply head out and perhaps make her way to the Aurelian temple to ask a few questions about decorum in anticipation of that meeting. But something else caught her attention, and her gaze settled back on this pair who seemed, at least as best as she could tell from a distance, quite official—surely bearing some rank superior to most of the guards. As she approached, her sense was better confirmed. The woman in particular seemed well-to-do, courtly, something in that range, anyway. Stopping a short distance from them, Nesna cleared her throat.

“Begging your pardons, My Lady and My Lord,” she began, “Could I trouble you for a moment?”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

Flynn opened his eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, allowing his lips to linger there, inhaling the newly familiar scent of her hair. For a long while, he simply held her, his gaze fixed on the fire crackling across them.

His mind wandered—wondering just what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into. She had consumed him, completely, in a way no one ever had before. All the fleeting flings of his past, the many faces and bodies he’d caressed, kissed and left behind—none of them had felt like this. In every cell of his body, he knew this was different, and it terrified him. Yet, he ached to indulge further, to lose himself in her. She’d marked him without even trying, left him aching and hopelessly bound, and he knew with a bone-deep certainty that he’d never be free of her—nor did he want to be.

A desperate hope stirred in him. He wanted her to feel it too, this pull between them. A small, bitter part of him warned that it was impossible—that she would always resent him for removing her from everything she’d ever known. She was here out of duty, fulfilling her nation’s expectations. And yet, his heart couldn’t forget the eager way she’d moved into his arms of her own accord. He hadn’t pulled her closer; she had come willingly. She had kissed him first.

His gaze drifted down to her face, resting softly against his chest, her eyes closed in peaceful surrender.

Ruined. That's what he was.

Ruined for anything but her—soul tangled up in the way her breathing changed when he kissed her, the breathless way her voice sounded against his touch, even as she tried to resist it.

And yet, it occurred to him how little he knew of her life beyond the speculation of his mother’s spies—beyond what his mother saw fit to tell him. His thoughts drifted to the way Amaya had so easily refrained from interfering with his past relationship. He couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, had someone waiting for her—if that was the reason she hadn’t given any pushback. An unfamiliar pain struck through his heart, the mere thought burning like an open wound.

He wouldn’t have been so gracious, wouldn’t have stepped aside and let her go without a fight—the way she had been so willing to do.

The idea stung, but it didn’t diminish his desire to know her more—everything she was, not just the surface. So, with a soft exhale, he broke the silence, his voice quiet. “Did you also… have someone? Before?”

Nearly asleep, Amaya was coaxed back to the surface. She let the question sit in the air. In her mind, she saw skin so pale it was like milk against her own. Dark hair. A cunning smile. A faded, foolish memory she’d nearly buried until her attacker’s magic had pulled it to the surface this morning. It made her want to hide herself.

But Flynn had asked her to stay.

“Not in any way that mattered,” she murmured. She kept her eyes closed, her words careful and measured. Amaya wanted to leave it there – it was honest enough. But Flynn’s breath feathered against her hair. His heart set a steady rhythm against her ear. ‘Honest enough’ was less than he deserved. She forced herself to continue.

“My world was small.” Certainly smaller than his had ever been. Self-consciousness shot through her as she thought of her own inexperience. He was barely older than her – but how much more life had he lived? What had he thought when he’d realized she was more doll than person? She –

Amaya curled into him, trying to ground herself in his warmth. She let out a slow breath.

“Few had access to me. Fewer still wanted to risk antagonizing the King.” How he felt was no secret. Amaya could hear her own voice growing distant. She fought to keep herself above the familiar pain of her father and his treatment — how he’d made her untouchable to everyone around her. She tried to swallow around the lump in her throat.

“There was one.” Amaya’s words were more breath than voice. But she supposed she was just thankful that they were steady. She saw the glint in his eyes as he tugged at her hand, pulling her behind a corner. “Once. Barely a month. He spent most of that time chasing me.” There was almost fondness in Amaya’s voice, but it slipped away like smoke. “Then he was gone.”

Flynn made a soft, thoughtful sound, almost as if he understood the truths that might’ve been hidden between her words. Her answer settled into him like a weight—just a month. Then gone. He couldn’t help but think of the way both his parents and the church had pulled strings, maneuvering people in and out of his life with strategic precision. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine a boy brave enough to chase the Princess, and win over her affection, would have just vanished by his own accord.

Bitterly, he was relieved to hear that she wasn’t waiting to run into someone else's arms. But his mind wandered, unbidden, to what she might have been like in the throes of a passion-filled fling. How she might have laughed and let herself smile without restraint. He’d seen so little of that side of her—bright and unguarded, like the rare, quiet laughs she’d shared with Elara. Or, briefly, when he had lifted her into his lap. The memory struck him warm and sharp, and he forced himself to blink it away.

“Did your parents present suitors to choose from?” he asked curiously, wondering if Amaya had endured the kind of treatment he had—choices laid out like pawns on a board. His own mother had meticulously selected those she deemed worthy of growing into a Queen and laid them all out on a silver platter. Each one more disappointing than the last.

But there’d never been any suitors for Amaya — at least none that she’d known about. And if there had been, she doubted she would’ve been given a choice.

Of course… she supposed that was exactly what’d happened.

“I already married you Flynn, you don’t have to duel anyone for it.” Perhaps he’d allow a deflection if it played to his ego. Beneath her dry words, there was that shadow again.

Flynn’s lips quirked upward, barely, the tightness of his smile betraying his weariness. A soft, humorless sound escaped him—half amusement, half something heavier. “I know,” he murmured, his fingers absently playing with one of the loose curls of her dark hair, sleep tugging heavily at his eyelids.

No, he wouldn’t have to duel anyone. Her father had been more than willing to accept Flynn’s offer. Eager, even, to let him whisk her away.

Clearly, he'd hit another one of her roadblocks. But his thoughts continued to wander, searching for other ways to prod her for information while he still had the chance—anything to keep her talking, to peel back just one more layer.

Despite the fog of exhaustion wrapping around him, his mind found Elara—the only real piece of Amaya’s past that he vaguely knew. Their interactions had been few, but all of them had been pleasant enough. Dutiful, professional—she floated around the house with the same quiet grace as Amaya, unassuming and composed.

Yet he remembered stepping into Amaya’s frigid room, finding it colder and emptier than the way he’d left it. Elara had abandoned Amaya’s side during the turmoil, and she hadn’t returned.

“You and Elara…” his voice trailed off as he studied her face. The question lingered unspoken between them.

Amaya’s eyes drifted open.

She wasn’t surprised that he’d brought up Elara. Still, the name sat heavy in her chest, leaching pain and guilt into her body. It was a vivid wound that almost made her gasp when she pressed on it.

I’ll stay. As I always have.

The memory of Elara’s words fractured something in Amaya — the words she’d been so desperate to hear, made distant and cold in a way that broke her heart. And then Amaya had sent her away.

Words and memories and hurt clamored in her mind. The frantic search for when and how she’d failed her only friend. The bitter pain of knowing that it was simply her nature of holding too tightly and…

And convincing herself that happiness and duty were the same thing.

That familiar fear awoke — the inevitability of loss. The dread that she would repeat her mistakes with Flynn. The guilty way she kept her head resting against his heart, trying to steady herself with its tempo. Amaya measured the space between each beat and wondered what he held there.

Emotions flickered across her face as too many painful thoughts grabbed hold of her.

Elara had been… everything. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d been forced to take up too much space in Amaya’s small world, and now there was an aching, empty void. She saw countless shared moments of warmth and worry. They choked her, each struggling to escape her in a voice she couldn’t find.

Amaya remembered seeing Elara for the first time — the cold wave of terror that had threatened to drown her. The sensation of a large hand on her neck. Crimson against white.

“I don’t know where to begin.” It wasn’t an evasion or a closed door — just a soft, vulnerable confession as Amaya studied the texture of his shirt.

Flynn hesitated, not sure how far he could reach into the hurt without making it worse. Part of him wanted to tell her that it was alright—that she didn’t have to explain anything to him. That whatever pain she held, he wouldn’t force her to lay it bare.

But another part of him couldn’t let it go. How could he hope to mend her if he couldn’t trace the map of all her scars?

“You two must’ve known each other a long time…” he speculated, remembering the way Elara’s voice had shifted when she spoke to Amaya—how it held a conviction and familiarity that no servant back in Aurelia would have dared to use with him. Something flashed in Amaya’s eyes, too quick to grasp.

“She spoke to you like my sisters do to each other.” he added, his lips curving faintly as memories of his own bickering siblings came to mind. The way they’d snap at one another, quick-tongued, stubborn and hot-headed. But their arguments had always ended in reluctant apologies, a playful shove, or a silent peace offering. Nothing had ever ended as coldly as the state Elara had left Amaya in.

His eyes softened, tracing her features as he searched for some hint of what had gone wrong. “Did she… say something to upset you after I’d left?” he asked, his voice hesitant and careful as he tested the waters to see how far she’d let him pry.

Amaya’s expression was distant. Elara’s words sat sharp and vicious in her mind – but motionless. They’d been spoken so calmly. Gently. They’d only cut her so because of how she’d wrapped herself around them, tight and desperate as Elara pulled away. Now there were fine, bloody tracks in the space she used to fill, the words still embedded deep in the wounds they’d carved. Amaya could feel those razor edges again as she grasped at the memory. They drew fresh blood as she forced them up, out of her throat.

“She said…” Amaya could taste them, bitter and metallic on her tongue. She tried to swallow and thought she might choke. “She said she couldn’t be what I wanted her to be anymore.” She enunciated each word carefully, like that would keep them from cutting her. But her voice shook. It was too weak and frail. Her eyes unfocused as she tried to pull inward, to wipe the stain of her own hurt and shame away from Elara’s damning statements. Amaya took a breath and even that was shredded. “That I was just afraid to lose her because she was all I’d ever known.”

Flynn’s arms tightened around her, his brows pulling together as her voice trembled. He couldn’t help but wonder what had driven Elara to speak so harshly. Why, after barely escaping death, would she choose that moment to wound Amaya more deeply.

Perhaps the near death experience, coupled with Amaya’s refusal to be helped, had pushed her over the edge—forcing her to say things she didn’t mean. Or perhaps it was something deeper. Something that had built up year after year, caught up in her duty to the crown, until it had no choice but to break free.

He felt the shape of Amaya’s world settling into place in his mind—a small, sheltered world, walled in by the expectations of a father who ruled with an iron fist. It was so unlike his own—a world that had stretched vast and open before him, where his parents had let it. And when they didn’t, he’d bent it to his will, slipping past palace walls in search of something more. How greedy and selfish he’d been—wielding freewill like a weapon, as if happiness were his birthright, something owed to him just for daring to want it.

He rested his cheek atop Amaya’s head, looking off into the shadows of the room. “Is it true?” he asked softly, risking an approach to the fragile edge where she might pull away or cut him down again. “She’s all you’ve known?”

His questions stung. The day was filled with gentle words that left Amaya raw – but she was the one being held, this time. She kept herself still as Flynn pressed on burning, bleeding wounds.

She nodded and another tear fell. Shame, grief, anger… they were a heavy mix that stuck in her veins. When she found her voice again, it was a whisper.

“It wasn’t fair to her. To be made into so much for so long.” Handmaiden. Sister. Servant. Friend. Subject. Healer. Anchor. And Amaya had gladly accepted it all, not thinking to ask what it would cost. In her arrogance, she’d even felt responsible for Elara – she’d thought herself the protector of her sweet, generous friend, when all along she’d been the blade digging into her, inch by inch.

“I didn’t see it.”

Flynn’s gaze softened as her words lingered in the air, the quiet sorrow in her voice echoing in his chest. He could feel the weight of her self-blame, how easily she accepted herself as the sole cause of the pain around her. It was as if, in the midst of others' pain, she had forgotten her own. She apologized so easily, so quickly—like she had long been taught that she was the root of all problems.

He shifted to see her face more clearly, his hand gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "Nothing has been fair to you, either," he murmured a quiet reminder, lost in the glacial blue of her eyes. "It sounds like you’ve never had an easy life, Amaya." A wave of guilt washed over him then—guilt for the ease he had known, for the comfort he had taken for granted while she had carried heavy burdens, hidden behind frozen palace walls.

"She must know that. Give her time.”

Flynn anchored her in place, even as his words broke in her like a storm. His eyes were too soft. His voice too gentle. The simple acknowledgements were a series of lightning flashes, sudden and blinding. For a few scattered moments, every pain she’d ever felt, every fear and resentment, all that she’d tried to bury under numbness and shadow, was in stark relief.

The flood grew slowly until it didn’t. Then suddenly there was no more air in Amaya’s lungs – she was drowning in herself. She let out a sharp, shaking gasp as a fresh tear drew its track down her face. Her hand snapped up to cover her mouth as she tried to turn away and squeezed her eyes shut. More burning trails lined her face. She was trembling, she realized. Muscles tensing, curling in on herself, composure in tatters – and Flynn, always Flynn, to witness it. Another high breath fought to escape her as she struggled against the force of her own emotions.

Flynn didn’t think—he just moved, wrapping her more securely in his arms, pulling her closer and tucking her head against his chest, as if he could absorb all the pain that reverberated through her.

He didn’t tell her to stop. Didn’t tell her to breathe. He just stayed—holding her as she sobbed, letting her unravel in his embrace. Because sometimes, he knew, there were no words to mend what had been broken for so long. All he could give her was the quiet assurance that she didn’t have to carry the shattered pieces alone.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of her head, his heart lanced with pain as he listened to the raw, shaking breaths escaping her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her—sorry for everything she’d endured, for the pain that had chased her all her life, for the wounds she carried that never seemed to heal. Sorry for what had happened today, and for questioning so much that it had brought her to tears. He hadn’t meant for this. He was just... sorry. Sorry for it all.

Regardless of his guilt, he could still be here. He'd hold her as long as she needed him to. For as long as she allowed him to.

Amaya poured herself out until she was empty. It seemed never-ending. Nameless wounds and unspoken fears, fresh and faded, sorrow and wrath and an aching, hollow loneliness — Amaya couldn’t keep them from spilling out of her once they’d found the path to escape. The force of them shook her body as she wept.

She didn’t know how long she spent pulled by the current of her own emotions. But eventually, the storm cleared. The flood receded. Amaya found herself in the scattered, hollow wreckage of herself — held by, and holding onto Flynn. Her hands were curled in the fabric of his shirt. His were firm and warm against her back, cradling her head, drawing gentle patterns. Her face was buried in the dark shadow of his chest — his was pressed into her hair, his soft breath the push and pull of the shoreline in her ear. Amaya kept her eyes closed and let the rhythm of it coax her back to stillness. Her sniffles and stray hiccups grew further apart, her breath slowly evening out.

There, in his arms, Amaya could’ve gone to sleep. It shouldn’t have been surprising. Exhaustion hung heavy on her mind and body, and already she could feel herself slipping away. It wouldn’t have even been the first time she slept in his arms — she’d done it once already, just that afternoon. But it felt… different now. Heavier. There was more between them now than the brief terror of loss and the bright spontaneity of connection.

Amaya didn’t try to examine it. She didn’t have the energy. Instead, she let her breathing slow to match his, something warm and tender glowing between the shards of her broken pieces. It reached towards him. She didn’t try to hold it back. Amaya’s voice was thick with dried tears, soft and muffled where she hid in his chest.

“You shouldn’t have to carry this, Flynn. Any of it.” Not just the weight of her trauma — but Dawnhaven. The cure. The sun. The prophecy they shared. Every burden and responsibility he could find. Amaya hesitated for a heartbeat. “But I’m grateful it’s you,” she whispered into him. She was grateful, even if she knew what losing him would mean now.

Flynn slowly opened his eyes, a pang threading through his heart and sinking into his bones. Her words struck something deep within him, painful and healing at once. The weight of what he was doing—trying to change their fate, standing defiantly in the face of Goddesses—seemed to lift from his tired shoulders, acknowledged at last. If only for a breath, he let himself feel that fleeting relief—how it eased an ache he had thought he'd grown numb to.

It wouldn’t last; he knew that. The burdens would find him again, pressing down when reality clawed its way back to the surface. But, for now, he let himself savor the gentleness of her words.

He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself against the storm of emotions roiling within. Pity and sorrow, anger and indignation, defiance and duty, betrayal and loyalty—all tangled together, complicated and sharp against his lungs.

He shouldn’t have had to carry it. Neither should she. But he would—until his dying breath, he would shoulder whatever he needed to. They wouldn’t bow to fate or fold to death. Not him, not her. If he had to go down, he wouldn't meet death on his knees. He’d fight for them, for a future that didn’t end in ruin. A future where she was safe and smiling, light on her feet—dancing with him, unburdened by shadows and kissed by sunlight.

With careful, deliberate movement, Flynn shifted, his arms keeping her held securely as he turned her inward, pressing her back against the cushions and guiding her to lie down. He settled on his side, face-to-face with her, their bodies separated by mere inches.

He looked at her for a long, quiet moment, drinking in every detail—the weary shimmer in her eyes, the slight flush that warmed the deep tone of her cheeks and nose, the tear stains drying on her skin. His gaze dropped to her lips, and a warm spark spread through him, like fire caught in his veins, starting in his chest and tingling down to his fingertips. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of the hand he rested along the soft curve of her waist.

When his eyes finally returned to hers, his voice was quiet, low and certain. “I'm grateful it's you, too.”

It settled deep in Amaya, painful in the way it washed over old, familiar wounds. She couldn’t look away from him. As exhausted as she was, stunning clarity returned — his breath on her skin, her tear stains on his shirt, all the ways they were tangled together.

Wanted. Amaya was wanted.

She held her breath as another swell of emotion rose — but it didn’t drown her. It rocked through her gently, soothing and calm. She was unbalanced, but Flynn held her. She held him closer in turn.

Amaya could feel something building. It was quiet as it filled the air like ozone, waiting to spark. The space between her heartbeats seemed to lengthen, and there was that quiet fear, the anticipation of waiting to see if her heart stopped entirely. It…

Her hand drifted to his cheek, like she was afraid to move too quickly. He leaned into her touch, lips brushing against her palm. She catalogued the warmth, the way he sent little sensations across her skin. There was that heat again, in his eyes. In his hands. It was a wonder when Amaya realized she wasn’t cold.

She pulled her hand back. The air didn’t ignite. Amaya tucked herself in closer to him and closed her eyes. When she took in a breath, she felt the soft expansion of her body, after a lifetime of stillness. Flynn shifted in space around her, always close but never stifling. Amaya slipped away to the gentle push and pull of their breath, warm and held and wanted.

Flynn's body relaxed around her, tension unwinding from his shoulders and sinking into the cushion beneath them. His eyes grew heavier as he listened to her breathing, letting it lull him into sleep.

For once, he didn’t worry about the past or the future—didn’t let his mind wander beyond this moment. Where he belonged.

Desmond had gotten up early that day, right at six, when mostly everyone was still asleep. Including his mother, who was still asleep when he woke up. she needed it after yesterday, and he decided to let her sleep.

He slowly got out of bed and quietly put on some warm clothes. He knew he would be needing them, Desmond thought to himself as he curiously looked out the window of his home to the sight of snow falling from the heavens. It looked like a bad one, with no sight of the blue sky, just grey clouds dumping their frozen tears. At least it is not a blizzard, and he can actually move around the town. But there was a reason why he woke up this early and was willing to move around town despite the snow. He needs to release Sliver since she has been rather cooped up in his home for some time, and it is time for her to spread her wings.

Once he was ready with mace and with Silver in tow. He quietly left his home and as soon as he was out in the cold. Silver took off into the morning light. Desmond does not know when she will return, only that she will return once she is ready. Hopefully, after catching something to eat, he thought.

So Desmond had a destination in mind for today, well, several, in fact. Today, he was actually going to check on his goods that have managed to arrive and ready to be sent to his shop once it was ready. There was some progress with its construction, being halfway done, but the falling snow has proved to be a limiting factor to it getting finished. At least quarters for him and his workers and staff were mostly finished before today. Though his mother's was not but once the falling snow lifts, then finishing her house should be no problem.

As Desmond made his way through the falling snow, with each crunch his feet made, he made it to where his goods were being held. A medium-sized warehouse that, luckily, was finished in time for their arrival. After saying hi to his guards and being allowed inside. Did he make his rounds. Everything was in place as he thought, and not a single sight of snow had gotten in. It took some to inspect the goods and seeing how some of the products that he requested for his first two clients in this town were among the goods. Wine and an axe that was surprisingly easier to get than he thought. He even gave him some test swings to see if it was as good as they said. That and he wanted to make a good first impression with his first borderlander client.

However, there was a reason why he was here and not sleeping or elsewhere. Given the recent instance of murder, he felt that he should check up on his goods since who knows if a theft could happen or maybe he was just too worried about things. He is still new to this town and so far, despite the blizzard and the murder. It has been no different to live in the North. Though a blizzard on his first day here and then a murder. Not quite the introduction to this town that he would have liked.

So, after putting the axe back after being satisfied with it. He finished his rounds and left the warehouse. His next stop was his shop. Despite being unfinished, Desmond still wished to check it out and see how much snow was on it. He forgot if the roof was finished yet, and it would be a pain to have to shovel all of that snow off right now.

But, to his relief, as he reached the site of his shop. The roof was finished and, so far, was withstanding the heavy falling snow. It was a simple design, his shop big enough and fancy for someone of his profession and reputation. It had to be if he could compete with the Raunefeldt.

Ayel Raunefeldt was a name he had heard about. Desmond, from what he has heard about this Aurelian merchant, is a rather rich noble who likes himself a bit too much and is not afraid to show his wealth. The Aurelius Emporium is not a company to be taken lightly, and Desmond knows that if the Wathen Trade Company is to do well in Dawnhaven. Then, he needs to stay on his toes and not be complacent.

Then Desmond felt something on his right shoulder, and it was a returning Silver. He smiled and spoke to her, "hello Silver. I trust you had a good flight?"

She simply hooted.

"I will take that as a yes and did you get something to eat?"

Silver would look down and turn her head in a disappointed way.

"I see, and I am also feeling a bit peckish as well... hmmm." Desmond has not eaten yet since getting up and now he is still starting to feel hungry. "Perhaps some food at the Eye of the Beholder is in order."

Silver made two hoot-hoots as if she was agreeing with him.

So Desmond made his way to the Eye of the Beholder Inn to get some food and maybe meet with some people. As long as Silver was with him, then he felt at ease and ready to take on the day.

Flynn lay still, his arm still draped around Amaya as she slept peacefully, nestled comfortably between him and the back of the couch. Her breathing was soft, slow and even against his chest. The blanket he had pulled up in the middle of the night covered most of her, her face tilted down slightly as she curled herself in against his body.

He’d been awake for some time, roused by distant noises outside as the guards resumed their regular duties. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but darkness engulfed the room—the logs in the hearth long since burned to ash and the moon’s glow barely visible through the window. They must have slept through the “night” here, wrapped around one another.

He hadn’t moved since waking—too afraid to untangle himself from her, to wake her and be faced with reality. Last night felt like a dream. A fever dream with raw emotion that had left them both undone in each other's embrace. A part of him feared that when she woke, she’d regain that stubborn strength of hers, harden, and wall him out again.

His gaze wandered from her peaceful face down to her shoulder, tracing the curve of her body beneath the blanket. Her legs were intertwined with his, fitting in between each other as they had adjusted throughout the night—conscious or not.

He hadn’t slept like this with someone in months. The last time… The last time had been Nyla.

The memory found him before he could stop it, clawing its way out of the dark corner he’d shoved it into. He didn’t want to think about it, but it came anyway. The way they’d been tangled in sheets, breathless and fiercely passionate, her fingers digging into his shoulders. How she’d kissed him with that easy, confident smile, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be wrapped up with him. How he’d whispered things he meant, things that felt so real in that moment.

He could almost hear her laugh, warm and unguarded, and it struck him like a dagger between the ribs. She’d always been flighty and unpredictable—hot and cold like a fickle flame, burning bright one moment and slipping through his fingers the next. Their love had been unsteady—like trying to hold on to a summer storm. Sometimes he didn’t know whether she’d kiss him breathless or tease him just to watch him get flustered.

But there had been subtle, comfortable warmth, too. Gentle, quiet moments when she’d rest her head on his shoulder, humming softly under her breath. Times when she’d look at him like he was the only one who could tie her down without clipping her wings. He’d been so sure of her back then—so sure that, despite her unpredictability, she would always find her way back to him.

And she had.

When he’d been forced to leave, it had felt like a part of him had been ripped away, leaving something jagged and empty behind. Maybe that was the nature of loss—it left echoes that never truly faded, even when life moved on.

But Amaya was here—solid and warm, breathing softly against him. Right where he’d asked her to stay. A hollow ache settled in his chest, his fingers flexing along her waist as if to reassure himself that she was real.

He let out a slow breath, trying to let go of the guilt that gnawed at him—that whisper in his mind that he told him he had no idea what it was that he truly wanted. That he would hold onto anyone who would let him get close enough, if only to feel like he was more than just a pawn in someone else's game.

And yet, Amaya... She'd tried to keep her distance, had attempted to evade him at every turn, but he’d pursued her anyway—drawn to her regardless of the fact that she held no love for him. His heart twisted with something confusing and complex as he tried to pick apart the emotions swirling within him, but it was too much to analyze, and he was too weary.

The air between them suddenly felt too thin. There wasn’t enough for the both of them to share this space. She was stunningly beautiful—a glass work of art that he’d inevitably break.

Carefully, he shifted under the blankets, retreating his hands and untangling his legs from hers as slowly as he could manage. Inch by inch, he freed himself, finally managing to sit up on the edge of the couch. He almost got away with it—almost. But as he reached to pull the blanket back over her, piercing blue eyes blinked open, catching him mid-motion.

That anxious fire within him flickered out, and he couldn’t help the soft smile that curved his lips, caught in her sleepy stare. “Good morning.”

---

_{Interactions: Amaya @c3p-0h}

Lord and Lady Coswain

Eye of Beholder

Royal waiting

...

The man turned, that man was Lord Coswain as he saw the blightborn approach though he looked less polished than the Auralians especially as his armour was wrent on the chest plate and had the burn marks of acid blood of the feral beast. It was dull dark steel, polished and clean but worn and solid rather than the perfect mirror finish of the sun realm.

He was mid talking to Persephone as they discussed their how their children would keep the home in the Capitol in good order, they trusted them and they had raised them well. “it ill be fine, I'm more worried about the stairs and the baby, they get all over…”

She was a blightborn and was drinking a watered down ale with one hand as he played a little game of who could catch who with his wife. It was silly but they had done it for years. The loser had to light the fire in the morning. “You got a message, or you need help? I can do my best, though I'm not in main command.” He asked, Dawn Haven being Dawn Haven he chose to be calm and polite and see what happened, for all he knew she was a Royal messenger. This was Dawn Haven.

“Got you! Homes can be repaired, they do need a stair gate… We only have one Grandchild.” Persephone said with a grin as she looked over, her uniform was detailed with Lunarian ranks, though much less armoured and more intended for status than combat. She had been stuck dealing with the Paranoia and such issues of the court far too much than wanting to get out and effect real changes against the kingdom's enemies and internal problems within the walls.

“Oh, How can we help? Please sit down and get comfortable.” She opened with a neutral to positive position not giving too much away but also not turning the woman away. She would let her open the door and tell her own side, it was much easier to learn about people by Just letting them do it themselves. She seemed to have a air…of something more interesting than the norm to the woman, some…intangible Way she carried herself despite the corrupting forces the blight had changed.

With non verbal communication a long relationship had formed between them and a few glances and a nod, they chose to go less formal especially as they where hardly at court sat In an inn that though solid and warm, was not the most luxurious. They had to play things very different in this new land and it almost was a fun challenge, like their courting years. If you did not count the end of the world.

“I'm Lord Castellan, but Adon or Coswain is fine, formerly a Battalion commander, and this is my wife and better half Persephone. Probably my best choice I made.” He could not hide a little of his disappointment at his former role being taken away and did not exactly give his wife's status as a full throne agent of the king's eyes away freely. Though Anyone who digs deep enough might join dots, they have not been in town long. The banter between the couple came easily and was just part of them, entirely unforced and natural as a 20 some year bond could be.

“And don,t you forget it” She said with a smile and to lighten things abit, people needed to feel comfortable to open up. “I'm Persephone, or the better half, what is it you need?” She was not actively doing this but that was just how she thought after Years of living her life the way she had, some things and Habits stuck hard and were not very easy to undo.

Mentions
@enmuni

Zeph leaned against the counter, a mug warming his hands as he watched thick snowflakes drift lazily down, layering the already heavy pine branches outside his kitchen window. The morning—or what passed for morning now that the sun never rose—was quiet, the only sound a soft whisper of wind through the trees. His hazel eyes were unfocused, thoughts tangled up as memories from the previous night played back in his mind.

The cavern, unassuming from the outside, but glittering with odd crystals hidden deep within. The bladed teeth of those fish that still sent phantom pain through his arm when he thought about it. The gemstone—whatever it was—which had caused pure panic to flash through the little firefly. And yet, tiny as she was, he couldn’t forget the power in which she wielded. A bright, warm light cutting through the darkness that had closed in around his vision.

But he had always been lucky, Seluna saw fit to let him see another day, and they’d made it back to Dawnhaven in one piece—just barely. That much was a miracle in itself. One owed mostly to Tia for saving their lives. He didn’t like relying on someone else to bail him out, especially not a Priestess, but he knew without a doubt she’d saved his life. And now, he owed a debt. One he’d have to figure out how to repay.

She hadn’t saved them without a cost, either. After her legs gave out, Ivor had ended up carrying her the rest of the way into town. Zeph’s jaw tensed as he recalled the way she’d swayed on her feet, pale and shaky, and how his hands had shot out just in time to catch her before she fully collapsed into mud and ice. She looked a mess—blood and dirt streaked across her clothes and tangled in her hair, all the color drained from her face as she shivered against the incoming storm. Not exactly what he pictured when he thought of a pristine Aurelian Priestess—with all their decorum and elegant grace. But even then, she’d tried to wave them off, stubborn to a fault. Against Ivor, though, she hadn’t stood a chance. He scooped her up and carried on.

By the time they reached Dawnhaven, the town was mostly asleep, the streets dotted with only the occasional patrol making their rounds through the snow. Zeph hadn’t been surprised to see the Champion emerge from the temple doors, stern-faced and all business—just like when she’d passed prisoner duty off to him. He almost laughed at how rigid she looked, but thought better of it when he saw the way she scowled at Tia—and then turned her daggered gaze on him and Ivor. Anger, like a smoldering ember, daring them to add fuel.

Something about the way she stared down Tia didn’t sit right with him, but he wasn’t dumb enough to pick a fight with a Champion. He knew it wasn’t his place to get involved. Champions had their duties. Protecting the Priestess was one of them, and whatever tension was between the two of them wasn’t his problem. So he didn’t let it bother him. Not much, anyway.

Once they handed Tia off, the Champion snatched the spear out of his hand without so much as a word and ushered Tia inside, swiftly slamming the doors in their faces. Bewildered, the two men parted ways shortly after and Zeph didn’t waste much time getting home. He’d barely managed to kick his boots off before collapsing into bed. The exhaustion hit him hard—muscles aching, head pounding—but at least sleep came easy.

Now, in the stillness of his kitchen, a faint smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. The short-lived adventure had been exhilarating—far more than anything he’d experienced while serving in lowly guard ranks. A fleeting thought crossed his mind and he wondered what it might take to become a Champion of Aelios. Did the Sun Goddess take in detractors from another nation if they bent the knee to her? Aurelian Priestesses seemed a lot more entertaining than Seluna’s solemn lot.

Tossing back the rest of his coffee, his stomach grumbled, reminding him that the few bites of rainbow fish hadn’t done much more than keep him on his feet. With a sigh, Zeph set his empty mug in the sink and grabbed his heavy coat from the peg by the door, shrugging it on and bracing himself for the cold.

Stepping outside, the frigid air bit at this face, but he barely registered it. This was something he had long been used to. If he hadn’t known better, it could have been just another dark winter, like countless others Lunarians had endured before it.

With his hands stuffed into his pockets and snow settling atop his black hair, he made his way down the road toward the tavern. A hot meal sounded like heaven—a thick stew, fresh bread, maybe even those pastries from yesterday. The pathways had been cleared—someone else’s problem today. Luckily, he didn’t have duty today. No hauling snow or guarding the town’s edge from whatever decided to crawl out of the woods.

Finally, a break.

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Nesna smiled brightly and clasped her hands together by her face in delight.

“Lord and Lady indeed!” she chirped, “What a relief and a joy it is indeed to happen upon nobility here!”

Nesna let her hands down in front of her chest and exhaled as she composed her thoughts. Without further ado, she took her seat at the table.

“I wish to ask for counsel on a matter which I imagine one of you might be well-equipped to offer advice upon,” she began, wasting as little time as possible, “In order that I should not take up more of your valuable time than absolutely necessary, Milord and Milady, I will…endeavour to be expeditious.”

Nesna swallowed, and then continued, speaking quickly, “Essentially, I have been given the impression that His Highness should intend to meet with all who are…”

Nesna hesitated. She bobbed her head side to side for a moment and then let out a little sigh.

“Afflicted, shall one say, as I find myself. Knowing that Her Highness has recently undergone a rather stressful and unpleasant incident involving, as I gather, one such particularly abominable creature, and that there was some question for a time regarding Her Highness’ wellbeing outright—and to say nothing of the inauspicious time of my arrival here—I felt it only proper to make sure I am familiar with Aurelian customs as well. I wish to assure him of my genuine intentions, goodwill, and most of all my sincere desire to be a compliant and beneficial participant in this experiment here.”

Nesna seemed to register shortly after that she’d not necessarily succeeded in being “expeditious,” as she’d put it.

“In simpler terms, I was wondering if either of you might be able to give me some insight on any Aurelian customs or particularities of His Highness’ temperament that might be beneficial, or, failing that, direct me towards someone who might. And it is at this point that I recall that I have failed to introduce myself!”

Nesna offered a genuine little smile and a chuckle, shaking her head at herself.

“Please, you may simply call me Nesna. Please accept my most sincere apologies for my indiscretion!”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

---

_{Location: The Sun Temple}

---

---

---

Tia’s List of Priorities and Tasks

In no particular order

• Serve Dawnhaven as High Priestess of Aelios
  
  • Tend to eternal flame
  • Keep temple and hot springs clean and well maintained
  • Provide counsel and healing to residents as needed
  • Perform religious rites and blessings as needed
  • Clean bloody robes Discard ruined robes
• Take care of Ranni and Dyna
  
  • Find out what happened between Ranni and the Prince and Princess
  • Apologize for disappearing
    
    • But don’t tell them where I went or what I was doing, too dangerous and possibly punishable
    • Don’t lie
• Check on Gadez
  
  • Double check spear for fish guts
    
    • Triple check sacred dagger of Aelios for fish guts
  • Don’t tell Dyna
    
    • Sneak? Bad at sneaking
    • Tell Dyna
• Stop getting Céline sick with my anxiety
  
  • Encourage to move out Support transition to independent living if she brings it up
  • Suggest regular group meditation
  • Stop having anxiety
• Report to Queen
  
  • Don’t tell Prince
• Discern if visions are real
  
  • Remember Arch Priest’s training
    
    • Meditate and pray for wisdom
    • Possibly just bad anxiety dreams?
      
      • Evil?? From unverified and possibly risky source?
  • Don’t tell anyone until sure
    
    • Tell Prince
      
      • Too dangerous to tell Prince
      • Prince said tell Prince
        
        • Prince said don’t tell Arch Priest??
        • Stop making Prince mad
      • Tell Prince about visions upon verification that they are safe/worth pursuing
        
        • Verify without telling anyone
          
          • Don’t lie, bad at lying
  • Two visions confirmed Three visions confirmed Three dreams corresponded roughly to discoveries/events of unverified consequence
    
    • Sun disappears
    • Blood compass?
    • Cave with evil gem?? gem of unknown origin and power that gave scary vision
      
      • Give gem to… someone?
        
        • Eris
          
          • How to give her gem and let her know that it’s evil and needs to be researched very carefully and might be dangerous and what it did without explaining how I got it and where I found it?
            
            • Anonymous mail
            • Ask Ivor to discretely te
        • Prince
          
          • Stop making Prince mad, he will be very mad
  • One dream as of yet unexplored
    
    • Hand on fire?
      
      • Very scary, don’t want to
• Properly thank Ivor and Guard for assistance and apologize for cold treatment at temple
  
  • Learn Guard’s name
• Find hairpins

---

Tia rubbed a bleary eye as she looked down at the scrawled pages on the floor of her room.

Everything hurt.

She felt like Ivor had turned into a bear and walked on her. Her legs throbbed and shook with pain whenever she tried to pull on her overworked muscles. Her shoulders were tense and sore from the phantom weight of the bag she’d taken on their journey. Her hand cramped so badly she didn’t think she could make a proper fist. And all of this was wrapped in a stiff, aching chill from having slept on the hardwood floor of her room with a fire that had long since died in the night.

“Ow,” she squeaked out as she tried to stretch her limbs.

Tia looked at the mess surrounding her. Paper strewn about, a pencil worn short, and that small, glinting gemstone that may or may not have been evil – something about the look of it all felt… poetic almost. Metaphoric, in a way that made Tia want to throw herself on her bed and indulge in some good old self pity.

Tia leaned her head back against the side of her bed and sighed.

Her return to the temple last night… could’ve been worse, all things considered. After the mortification of needing to be carried back, she’d been greeted by a thunderous (but terrifyingly silent) Dyna and a sleepy Ranni, curled on one of the church pews with puffy eyes and her trusty stuffed gecko. Guilt had lanced through her when faced with the reality of her choice to lead an unsanctioned expedition – she didn’t have just herself to worry about anymore. She’d left her sisters so soon after being reunited, failing to think through the consequences. Their worry, Tia’s abandonment of them to face Dawnhaven alone when they’d just arrived… and there was some issue with the Prince and Princess that Ranni had faced in her stead? And what was this about all the alarms Tia remembered when they’d left town?

But they’d all been too exhausted last night to do much more than give each other tight embraces, with the unspoken promise that there’d be words about all this in the morning. Dyna had ushered the two Priestesses to bed (and a very thorough cleaning for Tia and the two weapons she’d commandeered) like the world’s most muscular mother hen. Tia remembered the look of murder she’d shot at her two escorts – they hadn’t deserved that. Ivor and… the guard she still didn’t know the name of… had only been acting at her request, and had been exceedingly conscientious of her safety. They’d nearly died because of her. And Tia had been so cowed by Dyna’s displeasure that she’d hurried into the temple with barely a backward glance at them.

Tia squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered her own discourtesy. Both of the men deserved better than that. Ivor was so accommodating and infectiously joyful, and the guard…

A cocky smirk appeared in her mind, his hazel eyes glinting as he called her Firefly.

Heat bloomed across Tia’s face.

She shook her head – only to freeze and wince at the pain that shot through her stiff neck.

Tia hadn’t gone to sleep once she’d returned to her room. She’d instead retrieved the papers from her drawer, both clean and marked. Descriptions of her dreams, the Arch Priest’s censuring letter, and the newly written recordings of the vision she’d had when she’d touched the gem, lay haphazardly around her. She’d written out the gem’s vision over and over again, trying to find every detail she could recall, until she’d written a final version that was as thorough as she could possibly make it. She’d even tried to draw what she’d remembered of the odd rune carvings, though they were little more than vague squiggles. Perhaps if Eris had a book of runes, she could identify them?

But that would mean asking Eris for a book of runes.

Which might be suspicious.

And she would tell the Prince.

Who would be mad.

Tia reached over and hesitated before picking up the small gem. She’d tested it again last night, half afraid that she’d have another terrifying vision. But it was cool and quiet against her skin, the cut edges pressing into the pads of her fingers. She held it up and watched as the pale moonlight glinted over its surface. Pressing her lips together, Tia slipped it into the pocket of her oversized sleeping robe.

She didn’t know what to do – but nothing at all would be done if Tia didn’t start moving. Bracing herself, Tia started the slow, painful process of forcing herself to her feet. Her stomach stretched as she straightened up, pulling painfully against itself, and Tia swayed. She hadn’t eaten anything when she’d returned, after she’d hiked in the snow for over an hour, gone cave diving, exhausted herself of magic, and hiked in the snow again, on some soup and a single slice of raw fish. No wonder Ivor had needed to carry her. But Tia hadn’t felt her hunger when she’d made it back to safety. She’d been too exhausted and consumed with the need to organize her thoughts and memories into something useful.

The chaotic mess of papers seemed neither organized nor useful. And she certainly felt her hunger now.

Tia was very proud of herself when her legs didn’t buckle as she took a wobbling step. She hiked up her robes (one hand little more than a loose hook of her fingers) to keep its heavy edge from dragging across the papers and disturbing them. She’d clean it all up… later.

She didn’t notice a page camouflaged amongst her own, filled with a familiar, bubbly scrawl.

Navigating through her room proved difficult as she tried to step around each page, to the islands of hardwood that remained. She couldn’t bring herself to step directly over any piece of paper, a cultural habit from her childhood that she’d never been able to break. Picking a winding path through her room, Tia eventually made it to the door. Her hand – the one that didn’t feel like it was about to lose all its fingers – rested on the knob.

Taking in a deep breath, Tia leaned her forehead against the door. Emerging it would mean facing her sisters. They deserved answers – but how much could Tia give them? What could she say that wouldn’t put them at risk? She tried not to think of all the ways she’d failed them yesterday, of Ranni’s puffy eyes and Dyna’s anger masking her worry. They were her responsibility. She needed to do better by them, especially after they’d all been given the miraculous opportunity to be together again.

She forced another breath. Nerves and dread filled her as she thought of all the answers she couldn’t give – but she knew she’d have to face it all eventually. Tia gave herself a long moment to just… breathe. Listen to the quiet. Prepare herself. Then she opened her door –

To find a small basket with a note on the floor of the hallway in front of her.

Tia blinked down at it.

For Dyna and Tia <3

She gave a little smile at the note in her hand, eyes softening. It seemed Ranni had been up for a bit. Opening the basket, she found a small stack of chocolate chip cookies. Sure enough, Tia could smell the scent of baking in the air. Concern filled her though as she looked down at them. Ranni must’ve been troubled – on a mission to make nice with as many people as she could find. Her dear, sweet sister, always trying to please everyone, lest they think her a burden. The irony was lost on her. Tia took a bite of a cookie.

Walking with careful, unsteady steps, Tia made her way into the temple, half expecting Dyna to be waiting for her, ready to demand answers. But it was empty. The kitchen was clean and spotless, filled with the scent of cookie dough – also empty. The hot springs were empty. When Tia knocked on the door of the twins’ room, she received no answer. She opened it slowly, peaking her head in to find it just as empty as everywhere else. Her eyebrows drew together.

Wandering back to the main chamber, Tia wondered where her sisters could’ve gone. Had they been called away somewhere? Had Tia just slept in that long? The cookies left behind meant that Ranni had clearly ventured off into town… perhaps Dyna had gone to escort her? Not knowing what else to do, Tia took another bite of her half-eaten sweet. She’d been so anxious to have a Talk with her sisters, it was almost… disappointing that she’d been spared from it for the moment.

Tia stood in the middle of the temple, filled with the very disconcerting and unfamiliar sense that she’d gotten away with something.

---

_{Interactions: –}